#I wish I could get that sense of freedom back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fayes-fics · 11 months

Text

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

6K notes · View notes

qingxin-dream · 7 months

Note

Scara relaxing on the couch with you<3 if u do NSFW having him cockwarm you so he can relax

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬”

summary | today was one of those days where nothing could go right. well, maybe, it’s been like that for awhile. and you know damn well that your loving husband was not about to watch you fall into despair. (art credits: unknown)

warnings | not proofread, reader has a mental breakdown, comfort, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, cockwarming, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, slightly possessive/dominant, marking, breeding kink, creampie

genre | modern au, comfort, smut

word count | 3k

pairing | husband! scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The sky had been overcast all day, only putting a damper on your mood. Work has somehow become extra stressful lately with more and more responsibilities piling up. You felt the crushing weight on your shoulders with each passing hour and you couldn’t wait for the clock to hit 5pm.

The last place you wanted to be was at work, away from home, and without your husband, Scaramouche. Even then, your relationship was getting to a point where it was nothing more than bitter roommates. He had missions to complete while you were obligated to work every day. Someone had to be the breadwinner, after all.

Sweet freedom washes over your exhausted body when it’s finally time to go home. You rush outside only to find that the clouds had turned a nasty gray color and wet droplets of rain dotted your suit jacket.

Great, you forgot an umbrella.

The rain was really picking up now, your clothes soaked and your hair flattening into drenched clumps. Running through the downpour, you had to make it another block to your car until you got stopped at an intersection—narrowly avoiding the wave of water a speeding car almost splashed onto you.

Once you practically leaped into your car for safety, the sense of stillness that suddenly permeated the air brought you back down to earth. You were more than overworked. You were burned out, with hot tears freely streaming down your face in a choked sob. Gripping the steering wheel, you slumped your forehead onto your knuckles, shoulders shaking as you cried out all the pressure you had bottled up inside. The rain beat against the windshield, drowning out your agony.

Once you managed to compose yourself with a few sad sniffles here and there, you turned the key in the ignition. Tonight you decided to forget about everything. No stress. No work. Not even a single load of laundry. You couldn’t muster the strength for anything other than some sort of self-care or self-indulgence.

When you walked through the door with an expression bordering on despair, Scaramouche knew you had a rough day. He frowned to himself. Frankly, the distance between you two was a sore spot for him as of late and he was expecting you to lock yourself in the bedroom.

At first, he had been stubborn about the tangible separation pushing you further and further away from him. Foolishly, Scaramouche had tried to drown himself in his busy work and missions, simply trying to ignore it. But after a while, he realized that this damned feeling of alienation and being constantly on edge like some old married couple was ridiculous.

That’s not who he married or the life he signed up for, and Scaramouche found himself determined to finally act like you both loved each other for once.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you from the couch. Looking down at his casual sweatpants and shirt, you wished you could’ve stripped down and lazed around on the couch this afternoon. Sleep was something you desperately needed. He offers a small olive branch with his softened tone of voice. “Why don’t you get changed and come sit with me? I missed you.”

You drew in a hesitant breath. Perhaps it was your way of attempting to decompress before answering your husband or you were unsure of his intentions. The couch was definitely calling to you, and the prospect of your lover’s comforting arms enveloping you was even more tempting. In a haste, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag, nodding with a bit of a pitiful pout on your lips as you went into the bedroom.

Scaramouche perked up slightly upon hearing your return, making room for you on the couch so that he could spoon you just right. As you sat down, his hand immediately went to your hip and he found himself gravitating toward the comforting crevice of your neck. Your skin was colder than he expected from the rain but he was more than willing to share his warmth with you, his fingers venturing up the contour of your waist under your baggy shirt.

“There’s goosebumps on your skin,” he noted with an obvious smile in his voice. “Why don’t you take this off and let me warm you up, hm?”

You gaze at him over your shoulder, catching the subtle seductive intonation of his offer. Despite his pads of his fingers gently caressing and massaging your hip in encouragement, you weren’t entirely sure if you had it in you for too much physical affection. Most of all, you just felt tired.

Yet, Scaramouche always got his way. Maybe it was how the words rolled off his tongue that sparked your imagination in the back of your mind, or that mischievous gleam of excitement in his violet eyes. He had no problem catering to your needs, helping you slowly lift that baggy shirt over your shoulders and tossing it aside. He quickly did the same.

Suddenly, he ensnared you in his arms, burying his nose in your neck and sighing. The feeling of your back pressed against his bare, muscular chest was like a balm soothing his soul. You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, surprised by his enthusiasm, and pull a heavy blanket over you both.

“Better get rid of these too,” Scaramouche suggested softly into the shell of your ear, tugging at the elastic waistband of your shorts. He generously nuzzled your neck, peppering a few kisses across your sensitive skin to distract you as he easily slipped you out of your bottoms.

Your whimpers were buried in your throat. You purposely tried to stifle it, but the little shiver of your neck and body against his ministrations couldn’t hide your true feelings forever. The slow drag of his hand up your plush thighs, over the round of your hip, and dangerously close to your breasts was merely a confirmation of your suspicions.

“Scara… please,” you murmur, sounding more like a faint plea for peace and relaxation. “My feet hurt so much. I don’t think I can move anymore, let alone do—”

“Shhh, love, you really think I’m going to make you do anything?” he asks rhetorically, the timbre of his sweet words deepening to a level bordering on husky. His hand travels back down the curves of your body with silent reverence, hoping to ease your worries. “I don’t think you realize how hard you’ve been working until it breaks you.”

With a click of his tongue, your husband continues to let his hand journey over every inch of your lovely form. Your breasts, your stomach, your pelvis, hips, thighs… If he was being honest, Scaramouche would never have thought he’d discover someone as perfectly imperfect as you. To not remind you of how much he secretly worships your whole being would be a grave sin in his eyes.

“I feel like I never see you anymore. We never talk anymore,” he mumbles into your shoulder blade, taking his time to kiss and nibble as much of your upper back as he could. You involuntarily arched your back, the sensation of his mouth along your spine sending pulses of electric desire through you. His voice shifts into a possessive growl. “And I miss my wife.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you weep dryly, rolling your head back to relax on him fully. Your thoughts instantly short-circuited at the revelation of his thick bulge pressing into the plush of your ass, tactically held in place by his fingertips digging into your love handle. You were so ready to just melt into him completely, to give in and let him take care of you.

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness,” he quickly interjected to correct you. You could feel the smirk spreading on his face as he leans into you as much as possible. The back of his hand ghosts your inner thigh, nudging it to the side. “Show me how much you want my mercy.”

You were hanging on every syllable that left his lips in a hushed whisper. A featherlight touch grazed near your outer labia, enough to capture your attention like a moth to a flame. That was all it took for him to push your mind over the edge. It was pathetic, really, how you were desperately trying to mentally fill in the blanks and imagine the pleasure of his slender fingers massaging your needy clit.

Scaramouche knew exactly what he was doing. He loved getting a rise out of you. Admiring the subtle contortion of your features in pleasure may be his favorite pastime. Tickling the insides of your thighs and skirting skillfully around the one place you wanted him most, he scoffed in amusement every time you sighed softly in frustration.

“I thought you were going to be nice,” you groaned impatiently, beginning to lazily roll your hips in rhythm with the intermittent brush of his fingers just shy of your cunt.

“I am,” he snickered into your collarbone, his hot breath pouring down your chest and thrilling your skin. “You can’t lie to me. I know you like when I tease you until you’re begging for me to stuff you to the brim.”

Taking your lower lip between your teeth, you managed to defiantly buck your hips forward and finally feel the tantalizing glide of his index and middle fingers between your slick folds. The sweet victory ripped a lewd moan of your lover’s name from your pretty throat. To say you were utterly addicted to the sound of him parting the lips of your glistening pussy might be an understatement.

“Tsk, tsk, good things come to those who wait. Isn’t that what you humans say?” Scaramouche mocks you lightheartedly, though his fingers don’t leave your clit. Rather, he circles the sensitive nub at a tantalizingly slow pace to earn another cock-twitching moan from your angelic mouth. “I could touch you like this all night… unless you’d rather serve your punishment on my cock instead?”

You were too preoccupied with the intoxicating pleasure concentrated on your aching clit, eyelashes resting on your cheeks and jaw slightly agape. Scaramouche chuckled deeply into your ear with satisfaction, returning his lips to your neck but this time with a little more force. His teeth sunk into you, intent on leaving a good bruise.

It would be a clear reminder in the morning of who you belong to.

He sucked a little harder, causing you to yelp in a mixture of both pain and pleasure. His words were muffled against your skin with a gentle scolding. “I asked you a question.”

“C-cock, please,” you nearly choke, starting to grind sloppily onto his hand for some sense of relief. His other arm underneath you tightened, essentially pinning you to the heat radiating from his body from behind.

“Whose cock?” Scaramouche grumbled jealously at your vague plea. He needed to know that you didn’t just want anyone’s cock to fill up your drenched, gummy hole. The intensity of his violet irises demanded an answer, glued to your blissed out and desperate expression. His fingers were hastily stimulating your clit as he intently watched you parse love and lust on the brink of an orgasm.

“Y-your cock! Please! I need it so bad,” you cried out loudly, the threat of tears lingering behind your eyes. He abruptly slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet your moans, and then shoved his hot, veiny cock pulsating with desire across your soaking wet entrance.

Scaramouche couldn’t stop the salacious groans under his breath, wanting you to hear all the ways you make him unravel. He was eager to drag the mushroomed, pink tip of his cock over your clit over and over, occasionally teasing your hole with the pressure of his length trying to nestle itself within you. But he never pushed it all in. Instead, he continued to gather your essence on his cock—the mere thought of cumming in your rosy folds like this and fucking it messily drove him wild.

“Don’t tell me… hnnnghh… that this is all you want, (Y/N),” he grunted with honeyed pleasure, grinding at a little faster rhythm. You were already nearing your climax again, whispering prayers and praises under your breath for Scaramouche to plunge into you and fuck you senseless.

His hand was still tightly covering your mouth, so you simply shake your head and moan breathily to ask for more.

“Mm, good girl,” he mumbles intimately, kissing your ear and nuzzling you affectionately again. “I know my baby is tired and needy, so I’ll let you be my little cocksleeve tonight, okay?”

You nod and hum against his hand enthusiastically.

He takes the opportunity to shower you with a few more kisses, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance once more. Your walls were already squeezing eagerly on the small inch of his tip inside you and he didn’t dare delay any longer. Scaramouche grabs you by the hip and buries the entirety of his thick cock in your slick tightness, his eyebrows crinkling at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“F-fuck!” Scaramouche curses sharply, bottoming out completely in your aroused cunt. “So good. S-so fucking good, yeah…”

“A-ah, yes! Mm…” you sighed raggedly with ecstasy, pure pleasure and relief washing over you. His huge cock was stretching you perfectly, the lips of your pussy sucking him in at every possible chance. Despite your exhaustion, your husband had wound you up so much that you begged for tiniest semblance of a thrust into your sopping hole. “Oh my god, p-please, fuck me.”

Without warning, you decided to selfishly fuck yourself on his throbbing cock, but Scaramouche instantly snatched your throat. He held you tightly against his pecs and craned your neck with a forceful grip so that you were facing the ceiling, your oxygen partially cut off. The submissive position had your spongy walls dilating in excitement.

“No, no, wait,” he chastised you, his voice cracking slightly at the end as he struggled to adjust to your greedy cunt. “N-Need I remind you, love? Good things come to those who wait; and if you’re lucky, I’ll cum in you.”

He couldn’t believe your pussy was still quaking around his girth, releasing your neck as you nodded obediently. Once he pulled you into him tightly with his strong arms around your stomach, Scaramouche nudged your legs closed so that you could completely envelope his cock. It was incredibly hot every time he shifted to get more comfortable and your walls only swallowed him further. His breathing calmed slightly, wanting to relax with you for the rest of the night deep within your cunt.

“I-It feels too good, Scara,” you whined, cuddling into the pillow on the couch and clutching the warm blanket to your chest.

For the love of Celestia, your body was so exhausted from work but at the same time you wished you had the strength to fuck him like crazy. You made a mental note to wake him up tomorrow morning with the feeling of your folds lubricating his hardened cock, sinking completely onto his impressive length when his pretty indigo eyes sleepily opened for the first time. You’d make sure to hush him and keep his sleeping mask on snugly, fucking him to your heart’s content.

But for now, your husband returned to worshipping the expanse of your soft curves, coaxing you to relax despite the occasional twitch of his cock inside you. Scaramouche’s voice was smooth as silk when he whispered into the crook of your neck, “See? That wasn’t so bad now. Why don’t you turn on your show and I’ll keep this pretty pussy of yours company for as long as you need, hm?”

You both melted into each other’s embrace, connected in every way imaginable for the first time in a long time. The sensation of your lover’s cock nestling into your folds slowly nudged your sweet spot, drawing breathy moans out of you. He thrusted slowly but deeply, marveling at the lust clouding your eyes pushing you just a little bit closer to the edge.

Though Scaramouche was enraptured by the heavenly sound of your pussy slurping his cock, the need burning in his core was beginning to overtake him. “Mm, turn around for me, babe.”

He was gentle and attentive to you as he helped you face him, holding you firmly against his chest and quickly ensuring his cock didn’t leave your cunt for too long. As he stuffed you full, his mouth captured yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers dug into your hair, keeping your lips planted on his as you lazily swirled your tongue on his own and moaned his name.

“Nnghh, can’t take it anymore,” Scaramouche growled hungrily into your mouth, lifting your leg slightly to support you so he could delve his cock deeper. His tone trailed off in a quiet beg, “Lemme breed you, (Y/N). Please…”

“Mhmm,” you agreed without hesitation, cupping your lover’s cheek and kissing him with growing reckless abandon.

He was unequivocally smitten by your ardent claim to his lips, groaning lewdly into the kiss as he began to fuck your desperately pulsating pussy. His grip on you tightened, focusing solely on ravaging your walls until you were on the verge of screaming his praise.

“Hah, that’s it. Goddamn it, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he takes your lower lip between his teeth roughly, plunging ruthlessly and chasing his impending orgasm. “You can take it, you can take it, yeah… you better fucking cum all over me or else, I swear…”

You reeled him in with a firm tug of his dark purple locks, nearly crying in pleasure onto his tongue intermingling with yours. Moaning and whimpering like a whore, you clutched onto your lover like your life depended on it. “O-Oh my god, Scara, shit, I’m cumming! I’m… mmph, f-fucking c-cumming…!”

Scaramouche pounded his cock into your sopping release, a guttural groan escaping him as he generously coated your spasming walls with loads of his hot seed. He kept himself buried in your cum-laden folds, your erotic juices mixing around the base of his cock while he kissed you softly.

“God… you have no idea how much I missed you.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

#thank you for the request anon! :)#i could really use a night like this omg i got a little carried away hehe😩#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fatui #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut

2K notes · View notes

sleepinthrumyalarms · 1 year

Text

— HEAVEN AND BACK

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, degradation (just a little), strapon referred to as cock, wednesday is a sadist, all characters are aged-up

summary: wednesday addams is cruel in many ways - you know that better than anyone else

word count: 1.2k

a/n: buckle up y'all, the wednesday smut agenda starts today

"Is this loose enough?" The ravenette asks softly, perfectly manicured digits gently caressing your chin.

You flex your palms where they're tied behind your back as you sit on the bed, making sure the blood flow in your hands isn't restricted, before nodding.

"Good," her eyes darken, and the hold she has on your face turns rough, fingers manhandling your jaw to look up at her, "Because that's all the movement you'll be allowed tonight."

You whine in dismay, pulling at your restraints, and the leather digs into your wrists, leaving you whimpering and tugging at the cuffs in another poor attempt at freedom.

Wednesday draws in closer, moving to sit on your lap, stocking — clad legs swinging over your thighs . You're thankful for the fleeting moment of seeing her like this, and you try to catch as much of her as you can, wanting to engrave the image into your brain— she's fully clothed, a display of composure and dominance, dark hair in the usual tight braids, her starched blouse hanging off her shoulders with buttons undone, and, as your eyes slide down over her milky breasts and lower, you're painfully aware that the ravenette has disposed of her panties, her skirt the only thing keeping you from seeing her perfect pussy.

Her picture is marvelous, but the way Wednesday eyes you up like a hungry beast is so dirty, and she has to bite her lip to restraint herself, but it's half - hearted — the only one needing restraint tonight will be you.

The black blindfold is silky against your skin when the ravenette presses it to your eyes, and you feel all your senses skyrocket when your sight is restricted — the smell of the girl in front of you overtakes, and it's darkly woodsy, so herbaceous and smoky and so Wednesday. She pulls back, admiring her work — you look so perfect like this, all tied up and pretty for her enjoyment, for her to take as much as she needs — and take she will.

The collar around your neck tightens as the ravenette holds the leash in a tight grip, and you hear her hum pleasantly at the way you gasp. Small palms pressing into your shoulders, she hovers over the silicone cock that's tightly strapped to your pubis, and proceeds to slowly lower herself down. Wednesday is never above teasing herself, pressing her pretty cunt against the bulbous head, and it spreads her lips as she lingers on the toy, inches from sinking onto it but not quite there yet. You wish you could catch a glimpse of her heat, wetness dripping down the thick shaft and no doubt mixing with your own.

She enjoys the deprivation as much as you do — well, to a certain degree, as, unlike you, she gets to see your writhing form, the way your bruised lips waver with every shaky inhale you take. Wednesday inches her face closer to yours, gasping into your half - open mouth rasply, and you almost go delusional.

Her lips barely graze yours, and you can sense it, the way she sinks onto the girth agonizingly slow, and you groan as you feel Wednesday sigh into your ear, the gentle feeling making goosebumps rise up your neck. She bares her pearly whites to nibble at your earlobe, silencing herself, and oh, how cruel the girl above you is, robbing you of her prettiest sounds, your only consolation in such a predicament. You wish you could touch her, knead the supple flesh of her thighs with your palms, maybe even inch closer under her skirt to swipe your finger through the warm slick between her legs. God, anything, anything to feel her.

“So pliable… so obedient, offering all of yourself to me, letting me use you however I desire…” Her voice is low and husky in your ear, and wetness pools between your legs at her words.

She sighs again, and this time you feel her breath on your lips, making the urge to kiss her burn deep in your guts — but you don't dare act out of turn, keening subtly with furrowed eyebrows, hoping she can understand your pathetic pleas. Wednesday grants your wish, pulling you closer by the leash to press her plump lips against yours in a hot kiss, hands moving to rest on your shoulders, fingers flittering around and brushing the back of your neck. Tongues roam over teeth, and your breath turns gasping and eager.

When Wednesday's plush walls squeeze around the toy, she pulls away from your mouth, dark lipstick smeared, and moans, breathless, right by your ear, and the soft sound is so gorgeous you think you might cum just from hearing it. She’s devilish – you know she’s doing it on purpose, completely aware of what her timbre does to you. Her thighs rest on yours, pretty cunt swallowing your fake cock to the base, fluttering around the thick shaft, and she can barely keep herself together at the feeling of being so full of you, finally.

You want to grasp her thighs tightly, sink your nails into her skin and push her down onto the length roughly, but she just won't allow it.

Not today.

"I almost forgot what it feels like to be stretched by you," she murmurs, and you shiver at the low tone of her voice, body arching into hers, feeling the ravenette's soft tits press against yours, "So good... My willing little fucktoy.”

"Oh, 'Day," you pant, mouth hanging open and watering at the humiliating insult, "Wanna touch you so fucking bad, please."

Wednesday can’t deny you the pleasure – she tugs on the leash, pressing your face into her neck, and you nuzzle into it, inhaling deeply. You leave an open - mouthed kiss on the creamy flesh there, and Wednesday cranes her neck to expose more skin — you indulge, peppering kisses along her throbbing vein, relishing in her steamy breaths. Lips skim over her collarbones, over the swell of her perky breasts, and you don’t waste any more time to wrap your hot mouth around one of her nipples, tongue out to suckle and stimulate the girl further.

The ravenette leans her free hand against your knee behind her back, the cold touch on your warm skin making you shudder, her other hand still holding the leash as she slowly raises her hips until only the head is inside of her and lowers them back down, filling herself back up, a breathy moan escaping her lips.

Even though Wednesday's pupils are blown wide and her fringe messy, the tingling sparks of pleasure almost enough to make her swoon, she doesn't let go of her control — grabbing the back of your head, the girl above you tugs forcefully, your mouth leaving her breast with a wet pop, lips delightfully swollen and covered in spit.

"Enough of that." She murmurs, and raises her delicate hand to your mouth, pulling your bottom lip down and tapping against your teeth. You comply, allowing her entrance, and Wednesday smiles, watching you lap at her thumb, gently and languid, tongue swirling around the digit.

"Touch has to be earned. You'll have plenty of opportunities to do so yet."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wlw smut

6K notes · View notes

hypewinter · 11 months

Text

Clockwork clutched the bundle close to his chest as he approached the two entities.

"I am glad you could meet with me on such short notice," he greeted.

The first of the two figures looked up. She was a tall and boney woman, with ash grey skin. She wore a long black mourning dress and a veil that obscured most of her features.

"Think nothing of it old friend," came a low gravely voice. "Why have you called?"

It was then that the ancient of time revealed what was in his arms. Gently unfolding the blanket, he exposed the face of a sleeping baby.

"Something has happened to the King of the Infinite Realms," he said. "As you can see he has now become a baby. As such it is no longer safe for him here."

"He's so cute!" the second being beamed. "I just want to squish his tiny widdle cheeks!" He was practically a being of pure light but right now, he had dimmed himself to a man with blonde hair. Very reminiscent of one of his chargers.

His outburst garnered a little slap on the back of his head from his companion. "Hush," she hissed. "The child is sleeping."

"Thank you, Lady Gotham," Clockwork said.

"Of course, you may continue."

"I have called you here because I need a favor. He cannot stay here and I was hoping I could place him in your care," The ancient of time explained.

Lady Gotham stepped forward, reaching for the baby, "Of course. It would be-"

Clockwork pulled baby Daniel out of reach. "Allow me to finish. I wish for you to raise him together."

It wasn't often that the guardian of Gotham was thrown off guard but this time, she audibly gasped. "You want me to raise the child with him?" she questioned, pointing to her companion.

"Indeed. I mean no offense but the Speed Force will provide a sense of humor and freedom you will not be able to. I have seen how tortured your own charges can become." Clockwork replied.

Lady Gotham growled but the Speed Force just went back to cooing. "Awwww I get to help raise this lil guy," he gushed. "Ohhhh I'm so excited! I'll teach him lots of fun games and we can binge watch so many shows together. And and and, I'll let him try all my favorite foods. Maybe I'll even introduce him to my speedsters. I bet it will be loads of fun!"

This earned him another slap. "You fool, what part of the child is sleeping do you not understand? Besides, the child will need more stimulation than television and he cannot eat all that junk you call food."

Clockwork turned back to Lady Gotham. "This is why I am leaving him in the care of the both of you. Each of you provides something the other can not. Can I count on you?"

Lady Gotham stepped forward once again and this time Clockwork allowed her to take the baby. "Fear not, Kronos. I will make sure this dolt does not endanger the child. He will be safe in our hands."

"Yep!" the Speed Force added. "We'll give him the happiest childhood on Earth!"

Clockwork sighed. He knew this was the optimal timeline yet still he doubted. He leaned in close to baby Daniel. "Take care little one," he whispered. "The Realms shall eagerly await your return." Then, in an uncharacteristic move, he planted a quick kiss on the baby's head. Daniel giggled softly in his sleep but didn't wake.

Clockwork straightened looked at the two before him. "Go now, quickly. And take care."

Both nodded firmly before turning and disappearing into the portal from whence they came.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #winter's tales

2K notes · View notes

justporo · 7 months

Note

Hiiii! Could you write some dom astarion headcanons? I can't get the idea out of my head now.

You asked - I shall deliver. This turned into a one-shot though. So, I hope you'll enjoy that as well.

I... I'm not even wasting much more time talking about it, let's just get to the fun!

Tav insists on provoking Astarion, but the vampire just won't be having it.

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You) Warning: Explicit sexual content Wordcount: 2,4k

Lessons Learnt

Astarion and you had come to an agreement some time ago.

The two of you were in a happy, committed relationship – being sweet, loving, romantic, caring about each other deeply. Everything you could dream of. And let’s not forget about the less innocent aspects of you being together: Astarion knew every trick in the book, easily figuring out how to push your every button – and he enjoyed it. Being the one to make you squirm, to make you moan, cry his name in heedless pleasure.

And you were committed to help him work through his trauma and letting him explore what exactly it was he wanted for his life, being with you – and figuring out how to reclaim himself in terms of physical pleasure. Because as he had confirmed to you, he was eager to finally and completely embrace his own desires and pleasures.

So, he had proposed to you to let him be in charge, giving him a kind of control he didn��t have for the last two centuries.

You had been a bit surprised as you hadn’t considered that this might be what he would want from his regained freedom, but it made sense: for all the growth and healing he had already done, he still liked having power – and there was nothing inherently wrong with that. He liked being dominant, being the centre of attention, being the one people couldn’t rip their gaze off, being the one making people scurry to fulfil his desires.

He was not a prey animal – he was the predator.

So, of course you had agreed – quickly realising how much this arrangement played into your own hand as well: no one had ever treated you like this or given you such intense attention. And you’d come to enjoy yourself just as much as the vampire did.

But it still didn’t help you from being bent down over the kitchen table. One of Astarion’s hands pressing both of your wrists to your back while the other had your hair tied around it like a rope and pulled to make your head arch back – in a manner, that was just the right amount of painful to induce more pleasure.

“I’ve had it with you today, you insolent little thing”, Astarion exclaimed angrily and pressed his hips into your behind. You were both fully clothed, but you could feel his massive erection rub against you while he pressed you down harder on the table, causing your boobs to squish against the hard wood and making you moan in desperation.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how you got put in this position, love”, Astarion whispered while he leaned over you now. He pulled your hair to make your head turn slightly sideways so he could easily reach one of your pointy ears and whisper in it. The posture giving you another jolt of delicious friction when his cock pressed harder against your butt clad in leather pants.

“You know exactly how you rile me up when you act like this! Arching your back to make me look at your sweet little tits straining against your shirt, putting your thumb in your mouth to lick something off it, making me wish it was one of my body parts you’d let your tongue work around. And finally, brushing past me while making sure your ass has ample opportunity to rub against my crotch”, he whispers into your ear as if it was merely a sweet nothing. His breath caressing your face and making your hairs stand on end… And the way he put it into words – you were already drenched and desperate for release.

But so was he – you could feel the evidence quite clearly.

But you couldn’t help but giggle despite your dire situation, raising an eyebrow at him, grinning and using what little room for movement you had to rub your butt against him once more, making him groan immediately.

Your triumph was only short-lived when you suddenly got hauled up from the table. “That’s it, you bratty little girl, now I’m going to make you pay”, Astarion hissed as he threw you over his shoulder and immediately made his way up to the bedroom. His grip on your legs was tight – not a allowing a smidge of resistance now. You gulped and hoped that you hadn’t pushed your luck too far.

“We are going to have a little talk now, my sweet, about your naughty behaviour. And if I’m nice I might even help you out of the mess you put yourself in”, the vampire declared through gritted teeth and quickly moved up the last steps to your joint bedroom.

He threw open the door, then put you down in the middle of the room. “Undress”, he simply hissed at you while he turned around again. You obliged, your heart racing in your chest and lust pulsating between your legs.

Astarion grabbed a single chair, put it down in the middle of the room and then sat on it, legs spread, leaned forward, one of his hands braced on his knee while the other arm hung languidly over his other thigh. And that’s how he kept watching you slowly undress, not saying a word, but his red eyes boring holes into you.

You didn’t dare to make a show out of it this time.

Astarion licked his lips while he watched you hungrily, his arousal still very much obvious. When you were done you stood there completely naked with the vampire intensely staring at your naked form – just his glances making you want to squirm. But he drew out the moment – unnecessarily long for your liking.

“Now, come here and sit, pet”, he finally said, releasing you from your limbo. You walked over to him while he didn’t change anything about his posture, still staring at you and devouring you with his ruby eyes. When you were directly in front of him, you weren’t entirely sure of where exactly you were meant to sit.

But Astarion made quick work of grabbing you by the thighs and firmly placing you on one of his knees and dragging you up along his thigh – making sure to tense his muscles so you would get even more friction while grinding against his thigh. You immediately moaned loudly and threw your head back at the sensation of your core rubbing against his body. You could feel his muscles, the texture of his leather pants, your own slickness turning it into a mess quickly. Your hands had immediately went on his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself on him. And you could also feel his tension there, under your fingers. By no means were you alone in these feelings of desperate, carnal lust.

Astarion’s fingers firmly held on to your hips – so hard there were clear indents where he almost clawed at your skin to hold you down tightly.

“Don’t act coy now, Tav, go on – I’m giving you all the opportunity to writhe and rub yourself against me now”, Astarion said to you, his eyes still glowing angrily – but hunger and pleasure taking over more and more. The usage of your name suddenly turning you on more in this moment than any other pet name could have done.

You stared at him a moment longer, not exactly sure how the situation had derailed to him making you ride his thigh completely naked so quickly.

“Move!”, he snarled when you didn’t get to work. The word snapping of his tongue like a whiplash while he forcefully moved your hips to grind against his leg again, making you whimper.

You started slowly – sliding back and forth over his thigh while feeling how slippery his pant leg had gotten quickly. Your hands curled into the vampire’s shoulder muscles, earning you a single groan. But other than that, he simply kept holding onto you, enjoying the show.

“Harder!”, Astarion ordered harshly after some time and pressed you down harder with the firm grip of his hands on your hips. You gulped and obliged.

Really getting into it now: the feeling of friction and just the thought of what exactly was happening turning you feral while you gripped onto his shoulders. The vampire lifted one of his hands off your side and grabbed your chin, thumb stroking over your bottom lip. “Open up, love”, he cooed at you now to which you happily obliged. He put his thumb into your mouth and let you start to suck on it.

You really started to lose all shame as you kept grinding his leg, now moaning loudly with every move, your head rolling back and arching your back – desperately wishing for Astarion to also give some attention to your breasts that ached with arousal.

But that was exactly the wrong thing to do. His hand moved to your side again and Astarion’s grip on your hips tightened so much you weren’t able to get in even the slightest bit of movement.

“It’s not fun now, is it?”, the vampire angrily snarled at you while holding you immobile. You whimpered helplessly, overcome with lust and the desperate wish for release.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered breathlessly – your body helplessly shivering with unresolved tension.

“Promise you’ll be good and I might consider letting you have the release your craving”, Astarion whispered slowly, his eyes boring into you.

“I’ll be good, I promise”, you immediately answered, desperately wanting to please him so he might do the same for you.

“Good“, Astarion cooed and started to grin hungrily at you – in a way that made you immediately wonder if it was actually.

He lifted you up while he stood up from his seat. He walked over to your giant bed and almost threw you onto it.

As you moved to position yourself on the bed, you saw how the vampire undressed himself while looking at you. Pulling his shirt over his head, muscles tensing and softening with the movement. You hungrily licked your lips, immediately feeling the fire burning inside you again. You let your gaze wander deeper, seeing the outline of his arousal straining against his pants – and of course the slick patch you had left on his pant leg.

When he pulled his pants down and finally freed his hardness you audibly gasped – wanting him inside of you in a way that was nothing but carnal need. You’d never get used to knowing that you were the one making him this way.

Astarion prowled over to the bed, basking in your wordless admiration and eagerly staring back at your naked body – the swell of your tits and your hardened nipples, the tensed lines on your stomach, the sheen of wetness glistening between your legs.

He climbed on top of you, immediately immobilising you with his body weight. Your legs happily spread to welcome him and wrapped around his slender hips. His cock quickly found its way to your slick core and languidly created friction against it.

You moaned, your mouth falling open at the thought of how you’d finally get what you wanted.

Astarion licked his lips and grinned which bared his fangs to you. He slowly kept rolling his hips to let his hardness slide against your cunt. You let your hands start to wander over his shoulders and back.

“I know you just made a promise to me, my heart, of which I’m sure you’re eager to keep. But let’s make sure, why don’t we”, he purred and grabbed your one hand, then the other with his while using his other arm to hold himself up over you.

And with a swift movement he was holding both your wrists captive again and pushed them down on the mattress right over your head. His grip was strong, but you didn’t even want to rebel against him right now. You were mindlessly enjoying yourself being held captive by this vampire, once again realising and being grateful that he showed you time and time again how he not only embraced his own desires and pleasures, but also teaching you to embrace yours.

“I’ll be nice now and release you from your peril, my love, since I am such a gracious lover”, he promised you while looking at you through his lashes. He shifted his hips and with one swift movement filled you to the brim.

You couldn’t help yourself and cried out his name. He threw his head back and laughed seductively. “Hm yes, keep calling my name, love, make sure the whole Upper City knows who it is that makes you scream”, he whispered and started to fuck you.

The time for teasing and making each other wait was over now. He thrust into you while holding you captive, hitting deep inside of you. You writhed against him, desperately trying to get more friction while his movements grew more and more raggedly. So did his breaths as he kept staring at you losing yourself beneath him.

“Come for me, Tav”, he ordered breathlessly, and you didn’t need another word of encouragement. Just the sound of your name from his lips while his voice almost broke pushed you over the edge, your core clenching and pulsing around him hard – again and again.

You screamed his name once more while shaking with your orgasm and struggling against his hold while he followed closely behind, hoarsely groaning and still moving through your joint ecstasy.

When the fire had dwindled down to a pleasant glow and you were both just looking at each other with wide eyes and open mouths while breathing heavily, Astarion slid out of you and released you out of his grasp.

He rolled on his back and softly grabbed you to make you roll over too, so you were laying on his chest. The vampire immediately started rubbing circles on your back with one hand, while the other stroked your hair. “All good?”, he asked while cocking his head. You nodded and smiled at him in response but were just too exhausted to use your words. You wrapped your arms around him and tangled your legs with his to really snuggle up to him. Pleasant warmth filled the both of you while you kept just laying there.

“Now, have you learnt your lesson?”, Astarion asked after a while, just a tiny bit teasingly. “Hmm”, you replied “maybe I will need a refresher on that from time to time.”

Astarion laughed at that and embraced you even harder: “It would be my pleasure.”

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed, all you naughty little gremlins. Now, off I go, I have to do some very Astarion-unrelated stuff.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers

756 notes · View notes

moonit3 · 6 months

Text

THE OTHER HUSBAND

➥ warnings/notices: yandere, obsession, death mentions,, gn! reader, violence, reader implied to be depressed, reader has a child, the husband is implied to be a yandere too but show up at the story only mentioned despite being named aspen, your real husband is a bad man, threats, mentioned murder, blood, reader has scars, mentioned fight.

➥ yandere! male beldam x gn! reader

➥ synopsis: feeling trapped in a wedding with a child, a mysterious force manages to make your worsen by befriending your son.

➥ a/n: this took more time than i expected (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*) but it’s finally here on halloween days! and it’s quite big this one, maybe more than 1k words? probably. also, this is a Halloween special (yay!), despite not celebrating it, i really enjoy the holidays, so happy Halloween my dear readers!

➥ the idea of marriage was never really appealing to you, it never imagined to get married with a man like your husband, specifically with someone who was the responsible for this arranged marriage. aspen was the one who stolen your freedom when he paged mother and father with a great amount of money, he is the one who stolen your virginity and the one who made sure to make you have his child.

➥ billy, a little boy who resemble your husband, but has the enthusiasm you once had, your son is what many couple envy. a smart cookie, athletic and generous boy like him should have a perfect life, right? not really. you feel awkward to be around him, not bearing to look at his eyes, yet you try to take care of him and father doesn’t seem to care much, only using the little one as a reason why to keep you inside the manor.

➥ the three of you don’t live a perfect life and pretending to be a happy family don’t help either. billy is no fool to realize that you are trying to get a divorce from his father to leave away from here, trying to raise him away from father, but the same doesn’t let you to go. billy began to think about if you leave dad, then you would be happier, right? so he asked the wishing well for his baba to find someone else to be happier, someone who could be a better dad than his biological one. not knowing that someone did hear.

➥ after a few days, in the middle of the night, bill yreach your bedroom (as you refuse to share one with your husband) and woke you up with his tiny hands, saying that he needs to show you something. firstly, you wanted to go back to sleep, but your little boy made you get up and walk towards one of the unused room, where he made you kneel and crawl through a tiny door. you believed that it would lead to another room, but you two ended in the living room, how? and why is the walls like this?

➥ it’s look more alive, more happier and why there is a smell coming from the kitchen? who would be nuts to cook at this later hours? shielding bill, you slowly approach the kitchen, ready to attack the person, but it’s your husband, at least a copy of him. instead of eyes, there are buttons replacing it and a gentle smile in comparison of the usual cold expression.

➥ you wanted to run, take billy to somewhere safe, however the child escaped your hands and went to hug the mysterious man. your little boy looks so happier with this version of your husband, not even flinching when the other husband raise his hand to pat the boy’s head and he notices you.

➥ oh dear, i missed you so much! where you and billy have been in the last few days? aspen, or someone who resembles him, tried to hug you, but you step away. who is this man and why he looks like aspen? this doesn’t make any sense and something inside you is telling to go stay away from this man, but you can’t. not when bill is all over him and trying to make you get closer to his other father, that how bill refer to the mysterious man.

“baba, why you don’t want be around the other father?” the innocence of this boy not knowing where is the danger makes you worry about when he grow older to be able to do his own decisions. “did you two fight?”

the other father is preparing dinner, something the real aspen wouldn’t never do as this as your task most of the times, “well, because i don’t know the other father. i know your father, the real one who is back at our home, not here.”

“b-but this father is nicer and even cook to us! since when aspen made us a meal? never!” ah, yes. billy is on the phrase where he calls his father by name and you can’t even be mad at your son for that. “and the other father knows about my allergies too!”

really? does your son thinks that you change your mind by saying that? he puts his puppy eyes to make you let him stay just a little longer for true dinner with the other father, but you aren’t letting happening.

“after this dinner, we will go home, our home. do you understand me?” the little boy nodded at yours words, knowing is better not to change your mind when you speak the final words, but thee is something off with the smile on his face…what is this boy hiding from you again?

minutes later, the other aspen step inside the dinner room, holding the tray of food that he prepared for the three of you. it’s taste good, you can’t deny about it, and seeing billy interacting with the other aspen makes you heart pounding a little faster. your son never bonded with his father, no matter how hard you tried to make them closer nor the numerous family gathering. but with the other father, billy looks happier and even trying to show the drawing he did earlier today.

billy’s smile didn’t stop growing til the end of the dinner, when after he brushed his teeth and put his dinosaur pajamas. the boy look adorable sleeping on a such comfortable bed with many plushies surrounding his sleeping form. your could just stay looking at him for hours and not worry about nothing. he is your life, the main reason you keep going and try to be happy despite been marrying to a monster like aspen, and speaking about him, the other one seems enthusiastic to talk with you.

“we are finally alone, my dear.” his cold arms hold you to the bed he offered to share with him tonight (and forever) since it would be bad to you sleep in the couch, no husband shouldn’t allow this to happen with his loved one!

“yeah, we have.” you replied, trying your best to pretend this is your real husband, the real aspen that is trying to change, not a carbon copy. “billy told me that you want us to stay here, right?”

his lips curves into a smile, unlike the one he had on the dinner, this one looks more uncomfortable and scary. “i knew it you are a smart girl/boy/person and we both know that we want the best for our son, isn’t that right? from what he told me, your husband haven’t been the best and always yelling at billy for no reason.” he didn’t stop at there. “and he also told me about you. always working, tired and sadness on your face when you try to talk with aspen, asking for a divorce and only receive slaps and scars at your body.”

what?

billy saw that? it can’t be right. you always made sure to put him to bed before talking with aspen alone about a potential divorce, but guess you never knew how good your son is at pretending. that’s mean that billy heard every discussion, every fight, every broken plate and glass during the night or the moments when you cry at your bed, afraid that aspen would come in. it’s makes sense why billy began to sleep at the guest bedroom with you, everything makes sense now.

“what do you want from us?”

“only you, my dear.”

it’s seem that time froze when he answered. everything got silent, your breath being the only sound of the bedroom as you process his words. his hands are on your body, bringing you closer and closer to his chest, not leaving any space to escape form his touch.

“and what if i don’t want to stay here? what if I grab billy and leave this place for good?” you questioned him. “then locking that door to prevent my son to come down here.”

“then i will kill him.” what? he can’t be serious. “it wouldn’t be the first time i take a person’s life to archive my goals and won’t be the last. and if threats don’t work on you, how about i see you to my bed? you won’t be able to leave if i do that.”

its getting colder. your body shiver with a wind that you don’t know where it came from and your can feel his breath behind your neck, making you question what he plans to do next. is he going to hurt you? that doesn’t really matter, you can handle it. but what if he tries to hurt billy? then you don’t know if you can handle to see your little boy hurt.

“don’t hurt billy, please.” you pleaded. “he is the only thing that keeps me alive. please don’t kill him, please! i will stay with you, just let him go, i beg you!”

“oh, dear. it’s cute that you believe that you can request those things from me. billy won’t leave, after all, it would quite lonely to have only you around.” he hold your chin to look up, to look at his buttons eyes. “you would do anything to please me to assure that nothing will happen to him, am i right?”

his nails are making your face bleed, tiny drops of blood ruining the shirt that billy gifted you from christmas, “i-i wont misbehave.” how aren’t you crying form the pain? “i will do anything.”

“i know you will, dear.” he smiled. “from now on, im your real and only husband.”

@moonit3 writings

1K notes · View notes

hiraya-rawr · 1 year

Text

lover from another nation ~ hcs .

characters !! all the genshin men i could think of rn...

note !! it's been a while since i've written hcs for a lot! aaaah just some thoughts i had today (i had a few culture shocks here and there when i met up with new friends hahahah)

~ m o n d s t a d t ~

grabbing zhongli by the hand to dance and sing in the middle of the square because mondstadters live for the festivities! he quickly learns to freestyle dance along with you, moving with the crowd and cheers and wine. (remember that Tangled scene? yes)

kaveh wasn't sure how to react the day you ordered hard liquor on your first date. sure, your freedom and love for a good drink is one of the things which made him fall for you but wow– are you really gonna down that many glasses on a date? what do you mean you're still sober?

ayato finds himself in love with the way you sing. it doesn't follow the rules of inazuman opera at all; it's much more freeing (much like how his house help sings as he does chores) and you'd tell him stories and the history of your homeland in the form of songs. no mondstadter could ever forget the songs they grew up listening to!

heizou being almost appalled by your rather... robust and reckless nature. you don't have any backup plans whenever a situation goes south, you simply hold his hand, smile, and say "we go where the wind blows!"

~ l i y u e ~

diluc having chopsticks as part of your dining utensils because sometimes, you're more comfortable eating with it (let's not forget often having rice on the table! he must learn the joys of garlic rice with his steak <3)

dainsleif stays by your side as you offer incense and fruits to your ancestors. he whispers quiet prayers, bows when you do, and helps you clean their altars. he finds solace in the familial piety of liyuens– it makes him wish he could honor his ancestors with the same kind of peace as you do.

kazuha getting tongue tied over the language being so similar to inazuman but also so different– why are some of the characters the same? why are the meanings different? there's a bit of miscommunication in the start, but you both find your own ways to understand each other when words fail.

we all know gorou has always wanted to climb the mountains of liyue and you made it possible! meeting him by the docks and touring him around your home nation, you made sure to pick hiking routes with the most scenic spots, even managing to tour him around the jade palace and the floating lone island.

~ i n a z u m a ~

kaeya has no idea how you sit on the floor while being comfortable. you've made him sit with you once while reading a book, after that, his bones ached for days! shaking every time he stood back up!

albedo met you in the irodori festival- he painted you for practice and spark between you started. the long distance was difficult at first, but his long letters always had a little drawing of you and you'd send back the scent of cherry blossoms. klee would also send you letters, asking you to come visit soon!

childe loves a new fighting style; like most sword users in inazuma, you followed the raiden shogun's teachings– swift, efficient, and at one with the sword. he loves how you fight and it's often how you end your dates!

cyno was almost confident that you were playing a prank the day you said you'll make him your specialty and you showed him a platter of raw seafood. it's "sashimi and ngiri" you say, and he waited for you to explain the pun of your joke. it wasn't a joke.

~ s u m e r u ~

thoma is quite used to mondstadters and inazumans, two very different cultures, then he meets you and your sumeru upbringing! you show him how to cook foods that can be eaten with hands, and your menu is often so colorful he can't help but admire it!

itto doesn't really understand the study culture of sumeru, but he totally supports whatever it is you're talking about and tries to add in comments (his comments don't exactly make sense though...)

scaramouche, in his "path of redemption and healing", unwillingly gets involved with you as you show him around the beautiful parts of sumeru! you argue that he needs a different, better outfit with a color scheme that matches his vision. he insists that the hat stays. you tell him he looks like an aranara.

~ s n e z h n a y a ~

al haitham was almost concerned the day you got a heatstroke after being in the desert for no more than a few minutes. snezhnaya has prepared you for harsh weather, but never the heat. soon enough your lover is carrying around heatstroke-first aid packs just for you.

bundling up tighnari's fluffy ears before setting foot in snezhnaya because you just know the cold would practically freeze them off. his tail also gets wrapped and bundled warm in the large coats you wear, protection from the harsh snow. he says he looks like a big lummox.

note !! alright, choose your favorite dynamic! i personally think mondstadters with liyue/inazuma would be interesting maybe because i want to force feed them the joys of rice...

// if i misinterpreted a culture then umm... just know it wasn't intentional and let's consider it a real thing in teyvats culture 🫣😎

commissions || general m.list

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @stygianoir14 @shizunxie @bluriie @aestellia @abyislan08

4K notes · View notes

elliewritesfantasy · 2 months

Text

Escape in the Night

A/N: I never thought I would be posting fanfiction on this account. However, Baldur’s Gate has captured my attention and my inspiration for months now. I don’t even know if anyone will see this, but I enjoyed writing it, and that’s all that matters.

Some protective dadstarion for you all. And strong boss Tav. Female Tav x Astarion.

Snow fell in great white clumps, blanketing the forest in an eerie silence. Cold crept up your fingers, reaching further with every moment that passed. You remained crouched under the boughs of an old maple tree, the bare branches leaning under the weight of the snowfall. You were burdened with your own weight; a greatsword hung between your shoulder blades, a relic of your paladin oath long forgotten among other worries, and a bundle against your chest. It was the one spot of true warmth on this winter night. Your baby. Astarion’s baby.

Armelle.

Boots shifted, crunching snow and dirt.

“Astarion?” His name was barely a puff of air from your mouth.

“I’m here.” He appeared next to you, and knelt. His silver hair shone even on this starless night, a mess of curls barely tamed. His eyes searched your face, his hands clenched around his longbow.

“Where are the vampires?” you asked.

“They’re close. I need to get you out of here.” Astarion placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to your feet. “I’ve lost a lot of my vampiric senses, but not all.”

“I wish they would see reason.”

“I know.”

You had found a wish scroll for him long ago, as part of your promise after the defeat of the netherbrain. The wish scroll brought him not only the cure for him vampirism, but the promise of a wide open future free of having to hide in the dark. It brought him hope and the freedom to finally say that he could marry you without feeling like he had trapped you in a vampire’s nest for life. And it had brought him his second-most precious gift of all - the wrapped child you clutched with the strength of a mother’s fierce love.

The vampires didn’t know Astarion was cured. They thought he had sired a dhampir, the offspring of a vampire and a powerful being with hungers rarely fully sated. A dhampir would be an asset to their coven, and they wasted no time in searching you out in the two weeks you have had her. You hadn’t meant to have your baby on the way to Waterdeep for a companions’ reunion. She was early. A surprise. But you were already so far from home, it wasn’t worth it to turn back.

Maybe that was a mistake.

“Y/N.” Astarion broke you from your thoughts. “Waterdeep isn’t far. If you run, you can make it while I hold them off.”

“I can’t leave you.” Your soul burned with your paladin’s oath, and your hands itched to strike the vampires down with all of your holy might.

“Just for a second. I’ll meet you there I promise,” Astarion said. His lips lifted in his slightly crooked smile. “If we can survive the Absolute and the attempted end of the world, we can survive this.”

You steeled your nerves, drinking in his familiar confident expression, though it wavered just a bit as the bundle on your chest let out a small, sleepy whine. “Alright”

“I can smell you. I can smell her.” The crooning voice of the vampire master Kazimir cut through the dampened night. Your heart quickened.

“Run.” Astarion notched an arrow, his breath coming in quick, clouded puffs. “Run!”

You didn’t hesitate. Your boots dug into the snow, into the frozen mud and you sprinted with all of the strength left in your body. The lights of Waterdeep twinkled on the horizon. It wasn’t much farther. You could make it.

“Ah, not so fast.”

You skidded to a stop, your throat lurching with fear. Kazimir stood before you, red eyes shining with glee.

“I can’t let you go, not with that creature you have.”

“She’s not a creature,” you growled. You drew your greatsword.

“Oh, but she is. And what a delicious creature she would be to have. She should be raised by a real vampire, not a pithy elf and a weak spawn.” He drew his own blade, a wicked sharp rapier. “Hand her to me peacefully, and I will let you return to your spawn without fuss.”

“No.” You swung your greatsword in an arc, poised to strike.

“A shame. Then I will have to take her from you.” Kazimir lunged forward, blade catching on the woolen edge of your wrap. You lurched back, narrowly escaping his rapier. You raised your sword, letting the anger in your stomach explode outward, lighting the weapon with a golden light. The vampire hissed and shrunk back instinctually at the light. With a cry, you leaped forward, bringing your sword down in a blazing arc. The vampire recovered just in time, spinning out of the way of your smite, his cloak billowing out behind him. He vanished among the trees, flitting between them like a ghost. You reeled, then recovered, and grounded yourself in the snow. You had to be ready.

Your eyes searched the darkness desperately, your eyes struggling to perceive anything beyond the falling snow.

“Behind you!” Astarion ran from the trees, an arrow whistling through the air. It found its mark in the shoulder of the master vampire. He screamed, turning from you to Astarion.

A blast of blue light blinded you all in an instant. A dimension door appeared just to your left with a familiar hand reaching through it.

“Gale!”

“Come with me,” Gale emerged wholly, his hair whipping in the wind of the portal. “Quickly!”

“But, Astarion-“ you looked back the silver elf now fighting Kazimir with his dagger, locked in an expert hand-to-hand battle.

“You have something more important to think about now, eh?” Gale gestured to you once again. You closed your eyes tight, sheathing your weapon. With one last glance at Astarion, you let Gale pull you through the gate and into the candlelit drawing room of his tower.

Shadowheart was the first to run to you. “Y/N, what happened?”

You couldn’t answer, your body wracked with violent shudders and shakes. Some of it was from the cold, some from the fear that made your very soul twist. Shadowheart wrapped you in a blanket. Through a tendril of consciousness, you managed to pull aside your wrap to check on your baby. You collapsed into a chair at the sight of her, eyes still closed, asleep. Safe.

“I’m going back for him.” Gale began furiously searching for a scroll through the precarious stacks upon his end tables.

Shadowheart laid a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t risk it. What if the vampire comes through this time?”

Gale shook his head. “I can’t leave him to that master. I remember how strong Cazador was.”

“We have to trust him,” Shadowheart argued.

You could only sit, your arms holding your baby to you, her head cradled in your hands. A prayer of safety rang through your mind again and again. You had been a thirty minute run from Waterdeep before, and with the fight, maybe it would take him an hour.

“Please, I need you,” you whispered. Gale and Shadowheart retreated, letting you hold your child and warm by the fire while your brain was wracked with thoughts.

Please. Please.

I should have stayed.

Please.

The door to the drawing room burst open. You ran to it immediately, blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m here.”

“Astarion.”

He was here, his armor streaked bright red with blood. His hair was clumped with gore, and a cut on his cheek shone. He drank your face in hungrily, then reached for the woolen wrap, pushing it aside to reveal the perfect girl curled at your chest, her fine, newborn-soft silver hair glowing in the candlelight. Astarion placed a hand on her head, giving her a soft kiss right above her brow. He pressed his forehead against yours, tucking you both into his chest.

Even years after his cure, the feeling of his body warmth was novel. You soaked it in.

“He’s dead,” Astarion said. He twined a hand through your hair, pressing you into his shoulder. “He will never bother us again.”

“I can’t believe you killed him.” You drew back, studying his face.

Astarion laughed, his brows crinkling. “What, you doubted me? Hero of the world, slayer of the netherbrain?”

“You know it was my sword that landed the final strike,” you teased.

Armelle stirred, drawing Astarion’s attention. Oh, how much he had changed. From only being able to care about his own survival, to dedicating his whole existence to the survival of two others. It scared him more than the impending end of existence did.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He traced Armelle’s rounded, flushed cheeks, taking in the hair that matched his own, the nose that matched yours. “I have everything that I need right here.”

#astarion #Astarion ancunin #Baldur’s gate #Baldur’s gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart #astarion x reader #Astarion x Tav #fanfic #fanfiction #dadstarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction

349 notes · View notes

topmalereaderblog · 5 months

Text

Five More Minutes // Miguel O'Hara

Breathe the air again, it's a beautiful day

I wish this moment would stay with the Earth

Some primal paradise

But there you go again, saying everything ends

Saying you can't depend on anything or anyone

When there is creation, there is destruction, life, and death. The universe has a balance, and when disrupted, it collapses, taking away everything and anything with it, leaving nothing but a blank void.

But Miguel didn’t know that, how was he supposed to. He wasn’t thinking straight, he wasn’t thinking with his brain but with his emotions the same emotions that kept him grieving the same, emotions that made him cry himself to sleep. He had lost everything in his world and was left with nothing. Living a lonely life, but then.

Then there was hope, hope that showed up in another universe, a universe where his husband was alive and they were happy. He was happy. He had a family, a father to a little girl, married to the love he had lost.

His thoughts consumed him, plagued him, and haunted him. Five minutes, that was his most recurring thought. Five minutes is all he needed, five minutes to act like another version of himself, five minutes to hold you and tell you he loves you one last time, five minutes to get to know the daughter he never had even if it was just a little bit.

But he couldn’t, the guilt eating him alive, the pain in his chest swallowing him and consuming him every day. But he couldn’t, it would hurt too much to go and then leave. Going back to his life a life where you weren't there and he was alone.

If the end of the world was near

Where would you choose to be?

If there were five more minutes of air

Would you panic and hide

Or run for your life

Or stand here and spend it with me

If we had five more minutes

Would I, could I, make you happy?

He did everything he could to distract himself while keeping an eye on the other version of himself the pain in his chest filling with hurt and jealousy. Instead, he waited, watched, and observed. Miguel questioned if this version of you would fall in love with him too if he could make you happy. Soon.

His opportunity arose when the version of himself that he grew jealous of died. Shot in the chest and left alone on a sidewalk. He felt guilty but relieved he knew his thoughts were sick when he felt a sense of relief wash over him but sad that the version of himself that was happy died. But it was his turn to be happy to play a role and act as another, taking the place of another as if nothing were wrong.

He was nervous. But as he walked into the house the thoughts in his mind crashed seeing you again. His heart skipped beats you- you’re his love, and you were back alive standing in front of him. A warm feeling spread around his body.

Five minutes, that's what he told himself, having a home dinner with you and Gabriella talking and enjoying the moment, a moment that soon turned into five days, then five months. Distracted with his own selfishness, happiness, greed, and lust.

And we would live again

In the simplest of ways

Living day after day

Like some primal animals

We would love again

Under glorious suns

With the freedom that comes with the truth

His brain couldn't function, and his senses were overwhelmed. His body felt hot sweat beading down and sticking to his body. His ears filled with your grunts as you thrust up inside him while simultaneously hearing the bed creek.

His hole stretched around you so perfectly, like a missing puzzle piece being filled and abused. His tight warmth sucking you inside as if trying to keep you inside him. His prostate was hit multiple times with every thrust you gave.

Grunts turned into sweet talk, your hot breath near his ear sending goosebumps all over his body.

"You like this Miguel- like me fucking you." You asked, watching as his whimpers and moans increased.

"Por favor no pares-," his legs wrapped around you, his hands feeling up and down your body as if making sure you were real, making sure you wouldn’t go anywhere.

Your thrust went faster and harder plunging into Miguel. His cock bounced with your thrust being neglected by stimulation leaking precum onto his stomach.

Your lips and hands wandered his body as words of praise fell from your mouth.

"You are such a good husband for me, fuck~ you're taking me so well," his hole tightened against your cock as he pressed his chest onto yours.

Your hands worshiped his body, treating it like porcelain. Go near the spot where he needed your touch the most but never fully.

"P- please." He gasped just a little more he needed this needed you to fuck him and worship him to take the guilt he had and make him forget even if it was for a little while.

A moan left his mouth as your hand grabbed his aching cock moving it with your thrust. "Come on baby cum with me."

And all too soon enough you came inside his reaching deep within him as your cum painted his hole. He bit your shoulder moaning and cumming with you as his thighs shook by the intense orgasm.

Was it wrong? Possibly, maybe, definitely. It's been five minutes since you fell asleep after another passionate night with Miguel.

How- why, why should something so wrong feel so right? He knew he had to give up the act, but nights like these, where you both could show your love for one another was something he lost, and now that you were back he didn't want it to leave.

You were his husband, his true love, and while he lost you in one world, you were here with him in another.

Nights where you would fuck Miguel were always his favorites. It was the time when he didn't care if he was right or wrong or crazy or sane he was with you and those thoughts that plagued him left his brain with every thrust every word his mind went numb.

If the end of the world was near

Where would you choose to be?

If there were five more minutes of air

Would you panic and hide?

Or run for your life?

Or stand here and spend it with me?

If we had five more minutes

Would I, could I, make you happy?

But then it happened again after spending the day with you and Gabriella. Something weird happened, everything around you started to crumble and disintegrate. He ran, holding onto you and Gabriella. Not again. He wouldn't lose you. He couldn't lose his new life, his new daughter, not now.

As he ran, Gabriella disappeared in his arms. He turned around, holding onto you tightly around your wrist.

"Miguel!"

"Well, be safe. We have to run." He said, not looking back. Tears fell from his face, sliding down his cheek. Five minutes and everything went quiet. He turned around only to see he was alone.

And with that, Miguel was alone again. He stood there sobbing and falling onto his knees for five whole minutes he sobbed but recomposed himself, trying to figure out what to do. Five minutes had passed, and the only thought on his mind was that he was back to square one alone and by himself.

So it finally came to pass

I saw the end of the world

Saw the madness unfold like

Some primal burial

And I looked back upon

Armageddon

And the moment of truth

Between you and me

Five years have passed and a lot has changed. He created his own organization filled with other spider people, each with their own story.

Then hope arose again a new spider person not just any but you, his mind went blank seeing the screen in front of him. Wearing a suit and taking out bad guys. Was this the universe's way of giving him a second chance? Were you made just for him? Did you have your own version of him? If so, could he take them out just like the last time?

The last thought in his mind echoed in his head. This time, it would be different, just five minutes. And with that, he opened a portal and stepped inside. Leaving his lab and getting ready to (stalk) recruit a new spider.

If we had five more minutes of air to breathe

And we cried all through it

But you spent them with me

On our last few drags of air, we agreed

I was, and you were happy

#dom male reader #top male reader #male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #x male reader smut #male reader fanfic #male reader insert #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x top male reader

415 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 1 year

Note

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration.

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full.

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear.

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand.

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue.

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride.

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying.

In some ways, it feels like you are.

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles.

It makes you laugh too.

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring.

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop.

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist.

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint.

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard.

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah.

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him.

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem.

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else.

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin.

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again.

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose.

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest.

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife.

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble.

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk.

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you.

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt.

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you.

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty.

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now.

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all.

It’s that exact thought that scares him.

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking.

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline.

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away.

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious.

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed.

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you.

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition.

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once.

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—”

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway.

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him.

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you.

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again.

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy.

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console.

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat.

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back.

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card.

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet.

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently.

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer.

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again.

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real.

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her.

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head.

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you.

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth.

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear.

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of.

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door.

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,” Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes.

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin.

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right.

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise.

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then.

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to.

You don’t.

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry.

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears.

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free.

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver.

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room.

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe.

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him.

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them.

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85.

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you.

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you.

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch.

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny.

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.”

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it.

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in.

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red.

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides.

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely.

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all.

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises.

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway.

For Max, for Steve.

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there.

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel.

Maybe that’s what this was.

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else.

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him.

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again.

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette.

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore.

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in.

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs.

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.”

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you.

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone.

You’re grateful for it.

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head.

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her.

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you.

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers.

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.”

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between.

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

“That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him.

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear.

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

1K notes · View notes

tangledupinyellow · 22 days

Text

Tonight | Joel Miller X Wedding Planner F!Reader

authors note: finally got this one out! with a new job and new house, life has been pretty chaotic recently but I finally got back into my usual writing schedule!! lots of wips at the moment so prepare for those!

part three of love is in the air part one here: love is in the air part two here: tensions rise

summary: Joel thought that he would be having the time of his life the night before his wedding. But he’s conflicted, for all he can think about is you.

warnings/tags: 18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, infidelity, age gap (24 and 46), nicknames (baby girl, doll, baby) fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, angst

word count: 4.6k

“We really can’t be doing this anymore, it isn’t right…”

The words repeated in Joel’s head over and over and over again. He gripped his drink of whiskey, swirling it around before taking a swig. Looking around, he saw all his buddies laughing and dancing, having the time of their lives and partying. Partying just like how he should be doing. But instead, he stood in the corner with a drink in hand, lost in his thoughts.

It was the night before his wedding, the last night he would be considered a single man. Much of his freedom will be washed away from him when he finally ties the knot. He was supposed to be getting wasted with his friends and having a blast, having one last ‘hoo-rah.’

But he felt like shit, to put it lightly.

He watched as all of his friends were having a good time without him at a party that was supposed to be for him letting loose.

He would say that he would much rather be home than here, but that would also be a lie. Jenna would most likely be home. He wanted to be with you.

Taking a deep breath, Joel finished his glass of whiskey in one go before setting it down. With a groan, he rubbed his temples and another sigh left his lips.

“Pre-wedding nerves?” Tommy joined him in his corner with a laugh. He could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Joel chuckled and nodded, “S’pose you could say that.”

Yes, he was nervous and anxious, but they didn’t feel like the pre-wedding jitters he’d heard so much about from his married friends.

His nerves felt more like a sense of guilt, of regret. Possibly regret of sleeping with someone that wasn’t his fiancee, but he knew damn well that wasn’t it either.

His thoughts were messy and unorganized, all because of you.

All he could think about was you.

“Don’t be all mopey for the rest of the night. Come dance with us.” Tommy’s words were slurred, but Joel was barely paying attention anyway. With another laugh, his brother walked back to the rest of the group, leaving Joel on his own once again.

Instead of going with him and having a good time, he ordered another whiskey, drinking in silence.

┉┉┉

It’s late, nearing one in the morning. Sitting at your kitchen table, you dunked your tea bag into the warm water several times. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you watched the lemon tea bag go up and down, feeling as though you could fall asleep right then and there.

However, sleep seemed to be a big struggle for you. You were laying in bed for hours, restless. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Joel and Jenna standing at the altar, sharing a loving kiss as they became one. Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Your heart would initially sink, and your stomach would be sick. And immediately after, you would feel guilty and stupid for feeling that way in the first place.

They were your clients—Joel was only a client. You were the one who helped them plan their wedding. You should be ecstatic to see them finally marry. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t.

What’s worse, you’ll have to attend their wedding tomorrow to make that a reality. You wished you could bail somehow and devise an excuse, but this was a part of your job. You needed to make sure that everything ran smoothly at their ceremony.

The thought made you uneasy. However, you tried your absolute best to push your feelings aside. You couldn’t let yourself be selfish. Not when you need to remain professional.

Sipping your tea, you hoped it would help you relax and ease your mind and racing thoughts. Maybe then you could sleep without having to envision Joel and Jenna kissing at the altar over and over again.

You almost felt like you were losing your mind. You had never felt so reluctant about attending a wedding that you assisted in planning before. But it was different with the Millers. So, so different.

You thought your time with Joel was just going to be a one-time thing, one mistake. But that one mistake turned into two. And now, you couldn’t take your mind off of him.

You had to keep reminding yourself that you needed to keep things professional between the two of you. Even though you had failed this before, you needed to put it in stone now before it was too late. He was getting married tomorrow, and you needed to accept that fact. He is in a happy and loving relationship; that’s something you need to swallow.

Taking a sip of your tea, you closed your eyes and felt the relaxation hit you instantly with the warm lemon flavor. It never fails to calm your nerves. While they weren’t gone completely, they did decrease significantly.

With a few more sips, you were sure that you’d be able to fall asleep in no time. After all, you needed to be wide awake and perky tomorrow morning for the wedding. But no matter how many times you tasted the calming lemon tea, Joel never left your mind.

You kept thinking about the way he felt, the way he touched you, the way he held you as he would thrust into you over and over again. Just thinking about it made your cheeks hot and your pussy throb. But the way he made you feel was what stuck in your head the most.

Clearing your throat, you sighed before sipping your tea, already close to finishing it off. You were just hoping that this would work and you would be able to drift to sleep without another thought of Joel.

After a few minutes, you started feeling more relaxed and drowsy. You felt as if you were going to lie down in bed and attempt to fall asleep, and you may have been successful.

That was until you heard a knock on the door.

Your eyes quickly widened as your heart rate picked up. A knock on your door was the very last thing you were expecting. It scared the shit out of you, to say the least.

Your heart was still pounding as you slowly turned to face the door. You were cautious, for it was the middle of the night, and you had no clue who was at your door or why. You felt your heart in your throat as you slowly stood up, still overly wary.

Surely, if it was a murderer, they would have already attempted to break into your house, right?

A second knock followed shortly after the first as you approached the door.

With a deep breath, you slowly creaked the door open, cracking it open an inch to see who could be at your house at this hour before opening it up completely.

It was Joel.

You furrowed your eyebrows and opened the door, knowing that it was safe and that it was somebody you actually knew. But that didn’t calm all of your thoughts. You were still beyond confused. Why would Joel be at your doorstep? On the night before his wedding, of all nights? Shouldn’t he be cuddled up in bed with his bride-to-be all fast asleep?

While you were lost in your thoughts, Joel was staring at you, lost in his own. His eyes bore into your own, a swirl of thoughts in his mind.

“Joel?” Was all you could say before he took a step forward, not even saying a word before putting his hands on either side of your face and pulling you into him.

His soft lips crashed into yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. He kept you close, as if he were to let go, he would lose you completely, and that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

You didn’t hesitate for a second before kissing him back passionately. You felt as though you wished upon a star, and now your dream came true. You had been thinking all night about Joel, and now here he was, standing on your front porch kissing you as if you two were the last people on Earth.

Your arms draped around his neck, bringing him in even closer to you if possible. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting all of you that he possibly could. It pained him to know that this could potentially be your last kiss. Although, there shouldn’t have even been one in the first place. He was supposed to be a married man soon, for fuck’s sake. But you were like a drug to him. He kept on coming back for more. Neither of you could get enough of each other. Each promise that you made to yourselves never lasted. There was always a part of you that knew you two would find each other again one way or another.

“Joel.” You tried to mumble against his lips, but your words were muffled as he kept kissing you, never wanting to stop.

He shook his head to shush you and brought your lips back to his into a passionate kiss.

He moved his hands down to your ass, giving them a cheeky squeeze before grabbing your waist, picking you up, and placing you on his hips. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss never breaking in the process.

His strong arms kept a grip on you while he moved you over to the counter to place you down, his hands squeezing and caressing your hips. Pulling his lips away slightly, he moved them down to your jaw, placing kisses down to your neck.

“Joel..” You took the opportunity to speak but interrupted yourself with a moan when Joel found the weak spot on your neck. He already knew you and your body much too well, “Your wedding’s tomorrow. We really shouldn’t-”

You trailed off from your sentence when Joel pulled away to look you straight in the eyes, “You want me to stop?” He whispered, his hand still firm on your hip.

You didn’t want him to stop. And he knew that you didn’t from the way you looked at him, the way all your emotions swirled in your eyes.

“We shouldn’t.” You repeated, but Joel quickly stopped you before you could say anything else.

“I asked if you wanted me to stop.” He shook his head slowly, never looking away from your eyes. He could feel you tense slightly under his touch, debating with your mind on how to answer.

“I…” You whispered, licking your lips as you looked him up and down. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the bulge in his pants, and your mouth went dry. You wanted this man in front of you so damn bad. You knew it was beyond messed up and wrong, but you knew that this was your last chance with him, that after this, he would be married for good, “No. I don’t want you to..” You whispered breathily and pulled him in for another kiss, your fingers getting tangled up in his hair.

He smirked against your lips as he kissed you back instantly, proud of your words. They were exactly what he wanted to hear. He wasn’t ready to let go of you yet and wanted to show you that.

He moved his hands from your waist up to your chest, cupping your breasts in both of his hands. Your moan vibrated against his lips as he slipped his hands underneath your tank top, his strong hands now caressing your skin. The coldness of his hands sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

His thumbs moved over your nipples as he massaged your breasts with both of his hands, knowing just how to touch you to please you.

It was a familiar feeling, the feeling of guilt and pleasure all in one. Your mind has already told you, screamed at you, countless times before that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you shouldn’t allow yourself to be in this position. But no matter how much you reminded yourself that this wasn’t right, you couldn’t stop. Especially now, when this may be your last chance to be with him again.

The thought that you may lose him after tonight made you pull him in closer to you, wanting to be as physically close as you possibly could. You wanted to touch and feel all of him, memorizing every nook and cranny in his body to keep stored in your memory when he would inevitably disappear from your life.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you couldn’t express those feelings, especially not now. You didn’t want to ruin this moment between you. You just wanted to enjoy it while you still could.

“God, I need you so bad, baby girl.” Joel mumbled quietly in your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe. This caused you to lean your head back slightly and sent a warm vibration over your lower body.

You need him just as much. But you didn’t need to say any words to get that message across. He could tell the second he moved his hand under your panties, slipping a finger rather easily into your wet folds.

Joel groaned as he looked at you, his eyes darkened with lust and want. Knowing and feeling how much you wanted him turned him on even more. His bulge was prominent in his pants; it was almost unbearable. He could feel it throb with eagerness, being trapped by his boxers.

“Tonight, you’re all mine.” He growled, attacking your lips with his.

That one word stuck with the both of you. Tonight. He was yours, and you were his, but only for tonight. After that, he would belong to Jenna. And tonight, you would make sure that you would make it one hell of a night, for it may as well be your final night.

Agreeing with his words, you kissed him back passionately, your teeth nearly clashing with his. You put your hands on his cheek, his scruff prickling against your skin. You nearly held onto him as you kissed him, letting out all the emotions you’ve kept down since now.

“Bedroom.” Joel demanded, out of breath, panting against your lips for a quick moment before pulling away. He held onto your hips and helped you down off the counter. You could only smile in excitement as you made your way to the bedroom, Joel right on your heels.

Joel’s shirt was already half off when he stepped into the bedroom. He really wasn’t wasting any time.

You lay on your bed, resting your head on the pillows, your eyes watching Joel’s every move. Within the blink of an eye, Joel was on top of you as he threw his shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

Your hands instantly moved up to his chest, running your hands up and down as he started to take off your pants effortlessly. You were sure that by the end of the night, you would have touched every single inch of his body.

“Look at ya, look how damn gorgeous you are.” Joel shook his head, his tongue going over his lower lip. He gazed upon your body, putting his entire focus on you as if it was the first time he had ever seen your body underneath him.

You blushed and failed to hold in your smile as you stared up at him, “Oh, just fuck me already, Mr. Miller.”

Joel chuckled lowly and shook his head as he moved his hands down to his hips, his fingers grazing your skin gently, “Little impatient are we?” He whispered, lowering down to press kisses on your jaw down to your chest.

“Very.” You admitted with an involuntary whine, needing him more than ever. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to wait without him inside of you.

Joel smirked at your confession and shook his head teasingly. Oh, how he loved to tease you and see you squirm under his touch, just desperate to feel all of him.

“I love seeing you needin’ me so bad..” Joel cooed and caressed your hips firmly with his thumbs, “I won’t make ya wait any longer.” He didn’t admit it, but he was just as desperate as you. He didn’t want to spend another second without him inside of you. He wanted to fuck you until you were unable to walk, wanted to make this a night that you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for the rest of the week.

Without any more warning, he slipped inside you with ease.

“Fuck, I love this pussy.” Joel groaned and held onto your hips tighter as he pushed himself inside of you. It wasn’t his first time fucking you, but each time felt like the first. He could never get sick of you. Whereas with Jenna, he couldn’t even remember the last time they spent a night together.

You fit him like a glove as if your pussy was made just for him, and he had found the missing puzzle piece. Joel took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down just a little. He didn’t want to get himself too excited, for he wanted this moment to last. And seeing you like this and just being inside of you was more than enough to get him going. He didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want this to be the last.

You and him both knew that you didn’t want him to go through with this marriage. Jenna never did anything wrong necessarily, but there was just something about you that she was lacking. He wanted to be with you and to stay with you. And even though you couldn’t admit it to him, you wanted the same exact thing. You had an ounce of hope that after tonight, he would tell you that the wedding was off and he was going to stay with you. But that was just wishful thinking.

“Nice and wet just for me.” Joel breathed, his hot breath hitting against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your skin tingled, yearning for the feeling of his lips on your neck.

His thrusts were slow and steady at first, getting you nice and eased in. But it wasn’t long until he pulled out before going back in one thrust, getting as deep as he possibly could, “God, I just wanna be deep inside of ya, doll.” he mumbled before doing it once more, the feeling of being empty to completely full causing you to moan.

You tried not to think about the possibility of it being your last time with him, and it was easy to do so at the moment, considering that your mind felt foggy from him thrusting into you over and over again.

You leaned your head back and grabbed onto his hair for something to hold onto as he thrusted mercilessly into you. The tugging of his hair only made him more motivated as he quickened up the pace. He could feel himself getting close, but he tried his best to distract himself from finishing for he didn’t want this to end any time soon.

He held himself up with one hand over your head, the other grasping onto your breast, squeezing and teasing the nipple while he kept the pace of his thrusts. With each thrust, you let out a moan or a breath of pleasure.

This was something that you had enjoyed about sleeping with Joel so much. The fact that he knew exactly what you liked and that he knew what he was doing was incredible for you. He was the first to make you finish, and he’s always ensured you did.

You loved it. And for your own selfish reasons, you weren’t ready to let it go. To let him go.

Joel moved his hand from your breast to caress and squeeze your hip, the gentle squeezing making you even wetter. You loved the effect he had on you.

“Fuck, Joel! You’re incredible, fuck” You moaned out, feeling like your words were choked up in your throat. Moans followed your words, making you feel almost pathetic for how he easily made you feel like this.

Your head leaned back against the pillow, and you bit your bottom lip. So hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were able to taste blood sometime soon.

Joel groaned and smirked at your praise. It was just that little bit of motivation that kept him going.

There was a deep sinking feeling in his heart. Not because he knew he would be married to someone else soon, but because he was sleeping with somebody else. But knowing that this might be the last time he would be so intimate with you. It pained him to think about it.

However, he wouldn’t allow himself to get distracted and doleful, for his current goal was to make both of you feel good. And damn, he was going to do a good job of it.

“God, so fucking sexy,” Joel groaned and leaned down slightly to kiss your neck, a place that you were badly aching for him to touch, “Can’t get enough of you.” He bit your neck gently, pulling the skin slightly before placing a kiss over and over again on that same spot.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close.” You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut, putting all of your focus on getting to your climax.

Joel took these words and continued to do precisely what he was doing, gripping and squeezing your waist while keeping the same pace with his thrusts, knowing just what you wanted, just what you needed. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Your hands moved down from his hair onto his shoulders as you felt the finish line getting closer and closer.

“Come for me, baby.”

With your nails dug into his back, you kept your eyes shut and moaned and screamed out his name, your climax taking you by storm. You felt elated as he continued his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm.

Your breaths became quicker as you came down from your climax, your heart racing at a million miles an hour. You felt as though you were on cloud nine. The idea that this was possibly the last time wasn’t even in your mind anymore. All you could think about was how incredible this man was able to make you feel, each time without fail.

With you finishing, Joel didn’t feel the need to hold himself back anymore, knowing that he had gotten you where he wanted you to be. He squeezed your waist gently and leaned his head back, the veins in his neck nearly popping as he came inside of you. Wet and hot rope after rope shooting inside of you, he felt as though it was one of the longest and most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced.

While he was with Jenna, you were the one who made him feel good about himself. You made him feel like the man he was. His legs nearly shook as he slowly pulled himself out of you, both of you instantly missing the feeling of being connected so intimately.

Joel kissed the top of your head before slowly laying down next to you, wrapping his arm around you. You had already come down from your climax while Joel’s heart was still racing, and his breathing was unsteady.

“God, you never fail to amaze me.” You break the silence and laugh.

Joel chuckled along with you and rubbed your arm as he pulled you in closer to his naked body, “Same goes for you, doll.”

While the two of you were feeling incredible, you knew that there was an elephant in the room that neither of you wanted to begin to discuss. But you know you had to.

“So, you’re getting married tomorrow.” The words felt forced from your lips as you glanced over at him.

You could feel him tense up once you brought it up.

“Mhm.” He hummed out and looked down, refusing to look at you.

You almost felt bad for asking, but you knew that it had to be done, “Must be pretty exciting, huh?”

You were hoping that he would say what you were hoping, that the wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place. But again, that was nothing but hopeful thinking.

Joel opened his mouth to say something but sighed, his body still tense, “You would think so,” he spoke quietly, holding onto your shoulder a bit tighter to reassure himself. He couldn’t hide the truth from you. He didn’t want to, “But I’m not feeling the least bit excited. It’s dread, is what I’ve been feelin’. And I can’t lie, baby, you’re all I can think about.”

This is what you wanted to hear. But it didn’t feel right. Your heart was still sunken in your chest.

“But the wedding?” You whispered while staring up at him, wanting him to continue.

“The weddin’s tomorrow. I can’t just not marry her, she loves me.” The corner of Joel’s lips turned into a frown, “I can’t do that to her.”

The words hurt you more than you ever thought they would, especially now that you were cuddled up against him, close in his arms. You weren’t ready to let him go.

With your head resting on his chest, he felt at home. You felt safe in Joel’s arms. You couldn’t deny that feelings for him were beginning to develop, which made this all that much harder. And saying goodbye wasn’t necessarily ever easy.

You swallowed the big lump in your throat and nodded slowly. Now was quite possibly the only time you could ever tell him the truth. If you stayed silent, you knew that you would regret it in the near or far future.

“I understand,” Your voice was soft, your throat was tight, “I really do like you, Joel… I’ve loved spending these nights with you. I ended up looking forward, wondering if I may see you again,”

His eyes bore into you as you spoke. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed along with a frown on his lips. He had a gut feeling that he knew where this was heading, and he dreaded the words coming from your lips.

“And I want you to be happy. I know that if you cancel this wedding, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want to get in the way of that, not more than I already have. You and Jenna deserve to be happy.” You fought back the tears, refusing to choke up in front of him.

Joel stayed silent and frowned as he looked at you, squeezing his hand gently. He didn’t say a single word as he stood up from your bed. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling down.

It was a silent goodbye. He was hesitant, but he didn’t want to make this goodbye harder than it already was.

He left the room without turning back.

Once you opened your eyes, the tears fell down.

You tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep that night. They are getting married tomorrow. And there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #18+#female reader #writing #fiction #joel miller smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut #joel miller angst #tlou angst #the last of us angst

202 notes · View notes