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powderblueblood · 5 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SEVEN — WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS

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summary: christmastime in hawkins brings a bunch of cherry bombs in the boy's bathroom, a trip down memory lane via seven minutes in heaven avenue, and the least likely trio this town has ever seen. content warnings: MINORS DNI i'm going to fuck you up and santa isn't real so we've got, smut including references to and descriptions of male and female masturbation, smoking, swearing, a pregnancy scare, era-typical misogyny and ANGST in the form of a flashback!!! word count: 12.5k. merry christmas babies

Dear reader, it takes you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without Eddie Munson.

Which, given his propensity for being an absolute neanderthal, is concerning.

Eddie Munson talks with his mouth full and plays his music too loud. He never closes a cabinet all the way. He walks through anywhere, literally anywhere, be it a store or the library or Ronnie’s trailer–leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He talks during movies and puts his feet up on the seats at the Hawk. He makes fun of the books you read, but always grabs them away from you to stare at the blurb on the back. He never finishes a cigarette all the way before lighting another one, which is just wasteful. He pretends to be good at holding his liquor, but he’s not.

He stands too close to you in places where he’s got plenty of room to move. He makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to. He holds the door for you in school, at the bookstore, getting out of the van, even though you’re more than capable of doing that yourself. He takes advantage of you when you’re in a good mood, like making you scratch his head as if he were a cat.

Sometimes he calls you ‘baby’, as if you don’t have a nickname already. As if you two are…

You lean toward the only mirror in the girls’ room with decent light, reapplying the red lip stain you’d taken to wearing– it was coming on Christmas, for god’s sake, and despite everything, you’re feeling festive. Quick. Lighter on your feet than you have been in a long time.

“Hey girl, could I borrow that?” an out-of-tune simper rings right next to your ear and you almost jump out of your skin, lipstick clattering into the sink.

“Jesus!” you say, and Eddie Munson cackles. You knock him back with a one-handed shove, face setting into that funny little grimace you’ve taken to wearing when he acts up– and he’s always acting up. You’re gonna get wrinkles if he doesn’t cut it out. “What the hell are you doing in here? Hair in your eyes make you miss the sign that says girl’s room?”

You know that’s not true, because you were the one that just about tied him to a chair in Ronnie Ecker’s trailer so you could trim his bangs last week.

This is a fuckin’ violation of my human rights, Lacy!

Every time I’m seen with you, people think I’m out walking a goddamn Briard. Hold still!

“So, hot off the press, newspaper girl,” Eddie says, leaning against the yellow porcelain, “One, I am literate, much to everyone’s shock and awe. And two, someone threw a bunch of cherry bombs down the john in the boy’s bathroom and the place is fucking Hiroshima, but wet and kinda shitty smelling. So we all got told to use this…” He gestures around at the clean-ish tile. “...salon of iniquity.”

“Was it you?” you ask, plucking a cigarette from the soft pack he’s offering you.

“Huh?” He scrunches his brows, leaning with a lighter ready. He’s taken to doing that; cigarette at the ready, lighter at the ready, low-grade explosives at the ready, probably.

“The cherry bombs, was it you?” you say through a reel of blue smoke.

“For once, no,” Eddie sighs, head slumping forward like a Peanuts character, “Some other gorgeous, anarchistic genius got the jump on me.”

“Oh, god,” a frown sets in; you pick up your dropped lipstick and in its wake, ash into the sink, “There’s no other bathrooms on campus you animals could use?”

“Nuh-uh. Unisexuality, baby, it’s the way of the future,” Eddie tells you, fanning out his hands like P.T. Barnum.

A beat. You think. This bathroom, the unofficially allocated senior bathroom, the one you and the rest of the Hawkins in-crowd had been using since sophomore year, got crowded at the best of times. The fumes of Aquanet were a definite health risk, but that’s an occupational hazard when it comes to being a girl. You add boys into the mix, nay, couples into the mix–

Damn.

“We’re about to witness the conception of so many toilet babies.”

Realization dawns on Eddie, his brown eyes flaring. “Oh shiiiit. I never thought of that.”

“The band geeks alone, Eddie,” you whisper, head tilting toward him all scandalized-like, “We’re gonna show up at our fifteen year reunion and every single one of these suckers is gonna have their own little freshman clones.”

“Spare a thought for Heather Holloway.” Eddie’s face, a mask of mock concern, makes you roll your eyes.

“Why?” you scoff, not a fan, “She doesn’t inspire many.”

“Objection. Her implants do.”

You turn to face him fully. “J’excuse?”

“Swear to god,” and his palms are up, “Just saw her in Chemistry.”

“Good? Bad?”

“Conical. Jayne Mansfield.” Aaand his hands are gesturing, animatedly. Crassly. Pervily. “Take your goddamn eye out.”

“Wow. Christmas came early.”

“Christmas ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be coming early…”

“Ew.”

Eddie smirks and flicks his cigarette into the sink, hitting the faucet to wash it away– there were at least three good drags left in that, you think.

“Heather H, first one to get knocked up in the Great Bathroom Insemination Project of 1984. Mark my words.”

“And you think you’re in with a shot?” Your tone is dripping in sneer.

Eddie regards you for a moment, so you know something deeply annoying is about to happen. His voice goes all serious, barely above a whisper, as he closes space between you like he’s trying to beat a draft.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lacy baby.” His hands brace either side of the sink you’re standing at, trapping you against him. See? No respect for boundaries. But– Hm. Not… that annoying. “Oversexed teenagers sharing the same bathroom– at Christmas, with all that mistletoe around and shit.” His eyes, searching you with a glint that’s s’posed to be provocative. You, elbow propped up by your folded arm, puff a plume of smoke into his face. He doesn’t even blink. Smirk pursing his lips up. The two of you have established a rhythm. “Anything could happen.”

“Ew, what the hell are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” Enter some upstart underclassman, and Eddie’s peeling away from you.

“You didn’t see the biblical flood on the second floor, Pippi Longstocking?” His voice is big and booming and bouncing off the tile, making the underclassman cringe. “Forcible takeover. This is my house now.”

“God, shut up, freak.” She shuffles by the two of you to a vacant stall with a look you recognize– she’s so telling her friends about those two trailer park abnormos just about copulating in the bathroom later.

“Great choice!” Eddie exclaims, door of the stall slamming, “I warmed the seat for ya!”

—

“Watch where you’re going, you almost milled down that stroller!”

“I wouldn’t need to go so fast if you two, freakin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Priss Ass, didn’t insist on getting to this place before it closed!”

“We wouldn’t need to rush if you hadn’t spent all freakin’ afternoon at goddamn Lipton landing getting all– all–”

“All?”

“--toked up and shit!”

“Market research, Ecker! And, I’m gonna remember you said that! Later! When you want to get all toked up and shit– woah!”

Listening to Ronnie Ecker and Eddie Munson bicker in the front seat while you balance on a drum stool in the back of his van, clutching onto Ronnie’s passenger seat for dear life– no better way to get into the spirit of the season. You’d be joining in the milieu if you weren’t currently suffering from major motion sickness.

Eddie takes a harsh pull into a parking spot outside of Family Video and–“Go, go, go!”--you three load out like soldiers, locked on the target. He takes the lead, swinging the door open for the two of you ladies, but a voice calls out from the counter before Ronnie can even get a toe over the threshold.

“Oh, no– no way, no way!” Steve Harrington’s yelling from the helm of the ship, waving his hands. “We are– fifteen goddamn minutes away from close, I can’t do this tonight!”

“Highly unwise of you to turn away paying customers, Harrington!” Eddie gasps, Ronnie ducking under his arm.

“You guys come in here and spend honest-to-god hours talking shit in the aisles and– and you never even rent anything!”

“Well, your luck’s about to change!” Ronnie says, and Steve regards her with a mask of total confusion because, well, it’s likely he’s never heard her speak directly to anyone other than Eddie before.

That’s when you roll in the door under Eddie’s arm-arch, color rising in your cheeks that’s not from the cold.

“I am deeply reconsidering my association with you guys.”

“Tough shit.” “Find another trailer park.” “You love it. You love us. You’re obsessed.”

You pinch both of your hands towards them, the universal action to encourage zipping it, and cast a glance towards Steve. His shoulders relax. His vest is green and garish and a terrible color on him and… he’s wearing elf ears. And he’s Steve Harrington. And your stomach clenches, though it’s more muscle memory than anything else.

“Hey, Steve,” you smile, soft and small and not really all that there.

“Lacy. Hi.” He does smile at you, after a beat. “You responsible for these assholes?”

You hadn’t seen him since the night of his party, that grand inferno that had landed you here, standing between Eddie and Ronnie and feeling not entirely awful about it. Well, you hadn’t exactly seen him then either, except for a flash when Eddie was dragging you out of his house.

So, y’know, the blush is entirely justified.

“She’s bankrolling us,” Eddie says, closing the door to keep the heat in and speaking just to break the tension. True, too– you’d scored a part time gig at The Bookstore after a confrontation with the eagle-eyed Ivana regarding certain missing copies of Little Women, The Woman Destroyed and Fear and Trembling. You assumed you were working off the thievery, which you never directly admitted to and she never directly accused you of– but then, she paid you.

Ivana, it turns out, is incredibly pro-workers rights and even more incredibly anti-Hawkins gossip mill. Which works out a treat for you. The bookstore’s become more of a haven than it had been before.

“Can you scatter already?” you direct two thirds of your threesome towards the stacks. “Let’s make this breezy, I feel a wave of mortification rising.”

“No. I was promised in-store bickering,” Eddie says, rooting himself to the spot. You catch a weird flash of– something in his eyes. Ronnie, with her unlikely band geek strength, groans and yanks him toward the horror section. “It’s my favorite part! It’s like the pre-show!”

You take to the counter, gingerly, shyly. Why are you shy? Why, all of a sudden, after showing your ass in such a spectacular bruise-garnering fashion, are you shy to speak to Steve Harrington? Is it because Nancy’s dropped a tidbit here and there that he’s not exactly great boyfriend material? Is it because you sometimes secretly think, good, I hope you two are having a terrible time, even if you and Wheeler are making baby steps towards a friendship?

Is it because you never forget the first person that called you Lacy?

Fuck knows. Some of that.

“So you’re… what, hanging out now?” Steve asks, gesturing to the twin dipshits. There’s a bite in his voice from a former incarnation of Steve Harrington, one with (somehow) bigger hair and an unchecked ego. It doesn’t all shed at once, you figure. He’s sloughing it off and there’s still some left over, judging by the way he’s staring at Ronnie and Eddie.

You look over your shoulder to them. It would be so easy to deride it, right– only due to my unfortunate proximity to them, yes or girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do for a ride these days or it’s community service, I swear.

But you don’t. You turn back to him with a pinchy little smile. “I’m this close to getting them to let me play tambourine in their band. Can you even deal?”

Steve, after a beat and a brow furrow, sort of half nods. “Think I kind of… get that.”

You’re about to answer when another body comes barrelling in through the back.

“Just wanted to let you know, dingus, that I just got off the phone with Keith–you remember Keith, right, our manager who is currently in a war of words with our boss trying to keep this place open–and your little stock-take fuckup has cost us, like, weeks of manhours in work and–” Robin Buckley, complete with a light-up Santa hat, stops dead. Counts every person in the room. Shakes her head like she’s in a dream. “What is…”

“H–hi Robin!” Ronnie calls, her voice all squeaky– due to the scuffling headlock that Eddie has somehow managed to put her in without you and Steve even noticing. “Don’t worry, we– we’ll be out of your hair in a second!”

And Robin– wait, is Robin kind of… blushing? She backs down immediately, putting her Family Video branded binder flat on the counter. “Yeah, no… that’s totally okay, take your time!”

You look at Steve. Steve looks at you. You quirk an eyebrow like– is that, is she… And Steve shrugs like, don’t ask me, sister. Pleading the fifth. Saving Robin’s dignity.

But you’re still you and you’ve been bugging Ronnie about her situation for weeks so you hold up a finger.

“What are you two idiots arguing about?”

“Black Christmas–” “Silent Night, Bloody– ow, Ronnie, don’t pull hair, you girl!”

A swivel back to Robin, who is totally pink-cheeked. “We need a professional to settle this.”

Her mind seems to stutter like a badly wound tape. Oh, she’s suckered. “Uh– uh, Black Christmas, for sure. Not exactly the coziest thing to watch, but–”

“We’re not cozy people!” Eddie yells, Ronnie coming at him with arms like weed whackers.

“--but Margot Kidder, right?” you poke, goddamn Jimmy Page and John Bonham for the Midwest set slamming into the counter on either side of you.

“Olivia Hussey,” Ronnie says breathlessly. Eddie seems to have winded her somehow. “That’s– she’s cool–I heard she was in this–”

“Exactly!” Robin lights up, excited, “She– she played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet–”

“Wait, don’t you see her boobs in that movie?” Eddie jerks in.

“Yes,” Robin and Steve chime in unison. And glance at each other. Telling.

Ol’ Munson there snaps his fingers. “Sold.”

“But not in Black Christmas,” you say, almost gently, so as not to… let him down?

Eddie rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward your shoulder. “I’m a man with an imagination, ain’t I?” he rasps. You pretend-shudder.

“Okay, let’s do Black Christmas and– you got a copy of The Thin Man?”

Blink-blink goes Robin, like a cartoon. It’s nearly audible. “... like, the William Powell, Myrna Loy Thin Man?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. God, you guys love to roll your eyes, huh? “Is there any other?”

“Like the black and white movie. You’re sure? I just didn’t think it’d be your–”

But Eddie cuts right through that assumption that’s making an ass out of you and Robin, because he knows. He knows because you’ve made him sit through Double Indemnity at the Hawk, scolding him for putting his feet up (god forbid, right!) and you’ve even threatened to drag him to some Buster Keaton retrospective that’s playing there after the holidays. He keeps thinking, man, if Wayne Munson ever comes across this girl, he’s a goner, and then he remembers why that won’t be happening any time soon.

“She’s a freak.”

You regard him with a tight smile. Kind of a thanks, kind of a fuck you. Kind of your thing.

“I’ll watch it when these bozos pass out.”

—

Something’s gotten into Eddie.

You three are absolutely basking in the glory of your one night of freedom– see, Granny Ecker’s away on a weekend hotel stay in Indianapolis with one of her special friends from the Hawkins Senior Center. Which, on the one hand, gross, Eddie never ever wants to think about Granny Ecker getting lucky no matter how happy for her he is. But on the other, in the words of her beloved granddaughter–

“God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes!”

Eddie has stolen Granny’s usual spot, the kick-out recliner that seems to sag more with every movement. You and Ronnie are bunched onto the little two-seater together, with Ronnie shyly suggesting that you paint her nails (black, how totally hardcore)– now, Eddie knows this move. This is so she can distract herself from the bonafide creepiness of Black Christmas because while she tries to put on a brave face, Ronnie’s eyes for horror movies are way bigger than her stomach. She’s all nerves. It’s why she’s such a good drummer.

As you’d predicted, by the time the movie ends and you all clear the six pack that Eddie had procured, Ronnie’s nodding off– but Eddie is determined to stay wide awake. You make a move off the couch and she grumbles, having narrowly avoided propping her head on your shoulder. You move to arrange her in such a way that she’s sleeping Nosferatu style, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I spent an awful lot of time on that polish and I won’t see it ruined, not on your account,” you chide, real quiet. Ronnie’s not listening, she’s pretend honk-shooing. Eddie, on the other hand, is.

He likes you like this. You’re sweet to Ronnie, in your prickly little way– making her flustered with your misdirected flirting, bonding with her about things so far out of the realm of his male understanding. Being a girl with her. It’s occurred to him that Ronnie, in her testosterone-soaked world of current comrades, might actually need that. Like, she’s friendly enough with Jeannie and that Vickie girl from band, but they’re not people she’d go out of her way to make a case for so’s that Granny Ecker will let them stay for dinner.

Which she’s done for you. Once or twice now. Which you’ve nervously accepted and even ruined your manicure for, by insisting on washing up the dishes. Eddie dried, because of course he did, because the Ecker trailer is the only place close to home that the two of you can hang out.

You’re, like– friends.

Which is horrible.

Eddie tosses you a cold can of soda from the fridge. You catch it, hands basketing above your head.

“Power forward.”

“Cheerleader.”

You lean over to the TV to swap the tapes out, insistent on watching your dumb little black and white movie. As you do it, your skirt lifts a little bit and–

Eddie’s gotta break eye contact. Stare at the floor for a second. Cock jumping like the fucking mole from whack-a-mole.

He almost hits it.

You bitch, are you wearing thigh highs?

“You need to pull trig, Munson?” he hears you from the kitchenette, clicking the video player’s play button. “You only had two beers.”

God, maybe. Was the room spinning? “Smoked a lotta weed today.”

“Right. Lipton landing,” you smirk. Ronnie’s derisive little nickname for Reefer Rick’s place. “Are you gonna get over here and snore through my movie or not?”

I do not snore, or some muttering of a similar fashion comes out but he’s doing exactly what you tell him to do. He can’t help it. Brain function gone all freaky from that flash of flesh squeezed out the top of your– yeah.

Eddie lands on the floor next to you with a little groan. Your eyes flick between him and the now-empty recliner.

“What are you doing down here?”

Oh. Busted. “I’m a gentleman, Lacy. Take the damn seat.”

Your face screws up in that silly way it does whenever he talks sense to you but you don’t wanna hear it. Brat. “No. I like to sit right up near when it’s something I really want to watch.”

A shrug of your little shoulder as you wrap your arms around your knees like a kid. Face illuminated by the greyscale on the television. Skirt rucking back against the carpet. Fuck.

Eddie lets out an unsteady breath, crawling forward to lie on his tummy. Closer to you. “You’re gonna get square eyes if you keep doin’ that, dorko.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist…” but you say it in this half-hearted, distracted way, eyes on the screen.

“Y’know, if you–” Eddie starts, eyes on the lace top of your–yes indeedy–stockings.

“Shut up,” and you tap him on the shoulder. “I love this part.”

Your hand stays there as some fancily dressed chick totally eats shit in the bar of some hotel or something. Christmas presents flying everywhere as she falls.

Women and children first, boys.

Say, what is the score anyway?

Oh, so it’s you he was after.

Hello, sugar.

Your hand stays there as you’re totally mouthing every single word, you true-blue nerd. Eddie, completely at a loss of how to react to this other than gaze, gaze, gaze at you, snaps his teeth at your hand.

You, so completely embroiled in Nick and Nora’s white hot banter, gasp at the near-bite and swipe at his head. Eddie dodges the blow by rolling onto his back, hair fanning out on the Eckers’ rug. He grins up at you, and all of a sudden the rise and fall of his chest in that worn-out Alice Cooper shirt is very distracting.

Pretty girl.

Yeah, she’s a very nice type.

You got types?

Only you, darling–

“--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,” you say, beat-for-beat with William Powell.

“Talkin’ about me?” Eddie says, lips peeling back, eyebrows quirking.

“Not in your wettest, wildest dreams, Eddie Munson.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know what happens in those dreams. It’s filthy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s twisted. It’s disgusting.”

“I bet.”

His hand is absent-mindedly stroking his chest, shifting the hem of that t-shirt up a little bit. Brushstrokes. You remember that? Eddie Munson has a happy trail like–

“You’re so nice to me. It’s so fffffucking hot.”

“How wildly out-of-character,” you scoff, and he laughs, and you shift in your spot the teensiest bit. Eyes back on the screen, back to safety.

From here, where he’s lying, Eddie has a fully illustrated view of the flash of skin up your skirt. Now that you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at it. Swallowing back saliva. Ignoring Nick and Nora.

It’d be simple as pie to walk his fingertips along the rug and brush up against you there–oops–by accident or design. Feel how soft that skin is. Feel that heat radiating from your–

“It’s alright,” he hums, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Otherwise, all the blood’s gonna drain away from his head and he’s going to fucking die. “I know I’m not your type anyway.”

Your head lolls to your other shoulder, exposing a flash of your neck. It’s sorely missing a tongue running along it, he thinks, breath shuddering a touch.

“You wouldn’t know my type if it hit you with an eighteen wheeler.”

“Can Steve Harrington drive an eighteen wheeler?”

Lolling your head back in the most exaggerated form of exasperation, you groan. “God. The way you talk about Harrington, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have a crush on him.”

Eddie shrugs, hand resting on his sternum. You had your hand there once, you recall.

“I got prescribed one on the first day of freshman year, just like everybody else. But it wore off.”

“Sure about that?” Your eyes narrow.

“Sure as I am that I saw you makin’ googly eyes at him at the Family Video tonight.” Eddie crosses his own peepers for effect. Your attention darts back to the screen.

“I was not–”

“You can just say it, Lace.” His face is a twisty little smirk, if you’d care to look. “Regardless of how utterly pedestrian it might be.” That was a dig at you, by the way. That was an almost eerie impression of you.

“The things I felt in seventh grade don’t really have a lot of gravitational pull on me anymore,” you shrug, not giving. Because, when you think about it, you don’t have to give. It was a baseless kind of thrill, seeing Harrington tonight. One hit wonder. “He’s a cute boy. Reminded me I have a pulse. Nothing wrong with that.”

Eddie’s quiet for a few seconds, flicks his eyes up to watch the TV from upside down. Nick places an ice pack on a drunken Nora’s head.

Hmm… what hit me?

The last martini.

He smiles as you smile, and he wonders if you’re thinking of the same thing he’s thinking of.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Funny you mention seventh grade…” Eddie trails off, tugging at the rug underneath him.

“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?” Your voice is distant again.

“Little bit of both.”

“Why?”

Well, he thought you might be fucking with him, but– “... God, you really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” He sees your brow pinch, he’s getting to ya.

“Not a fucking clue.” No give, no glory, eyes on the peeling ceiling.

“Remember what?” You’ve snapped your neck and are looking down at him now, thirsty for him to fucking spill it already.

“Total–” he blows a raspberry, “--blackout before freshman year, right?”

“Eddie.”

His name makes him sit up. Pavlovian, sure, and he’s trying to deny the fact that he’ll do just about anything you say when you call him Eddie in that slightly-tinged sour way and not Munson like you’re writing him off. He’s trying to deny that. He swears.

“Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party.”

You two are shoulder to shoulder, him facing the couch, you facing the screen, his breath warming the bare skin of your off-the-shoulder top which is an insane thing to be wearing in the dead of fucking winter, but praise Jesus hallelujah you’re wearing it. Your expression is unimpressed.

“... yeah?”

“We played Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He lays that out a little too plain for your liking. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a thirteen year old’s birthday party is like the non-denominational Hora for pseudo-white bread Christian teenagers, at least in Hawkins. Everybody does that shit. But hold on.

“... you were there?”

“Fucking obviously, dimwit, that’s the setup to the whole story.” He sighs in a puff, and he’s very close to you. Chin almost on your shoulder like that night at the Quarry. “Tommy Hagan ripped into me for like, fifteen full minutes because my spin of the bottle landed on you.”

Confusion is a disease and you’re terminal. “That was… not you.”

Insistence is a disease and Eddie’s fatal. “Yes. It so was.”

“That was John Hudson-Wasserman.”

“That was not–,” Eddie full on splutters, like slapstick splutters, reeling his head away from you, “you’re gonna get me confused with John Hudson-Wasserman? The guy who was like, pathologically obsessed with the Kennedy assassination? The guy who moved to Des Moines like, two weeks after that party?”

Then you’re spluttering back all of a sudden. Everything you two are doing is contagious. “His parents named him after John F., can you blame him? –actually, I can totally blame him, that was bizarre.”

“Lacy.” Well, the way he says that straightens your spine. “Use that pretty little brain to think for a second, huh? There’s one unmistakeable detail I bet I can get to jog your memory.”

But you’re already there. Activated. Like a sleeper cell.

“Your hair was all buzzed off. You had that bandage on your head.”

“I did. And you asked me what was under it, and I said–”

A hole. They cut out a part of my brain so I’d be– The Wheeler’s linen closet was tiny and you were breathing in lavender detergent from all angles.

The boy in front of you, scrawny and angry, had an aura around him like a firework. You knew it was dangerous, but you wanted to look closer.

–less of a freak? you finished. Such was the accusation du jour for this kid.

Less of a danger to society, he said, chest puffed. They let me keep it in a jar. Just in case shit gets really real and I need to shove it back in.

You don’t quite know what to do with that. Like. He is so weird, and his hair is unevenly shaved and he’s got little cuts and scratches and scabs all over him. Like he’s been running through brambles. He looks like a kid someone found in the wild.

Did you name it? you ask, finger drawing circles on a nearby towel. Your jar brain.

Eddie Junior, he told you, crossing his arms.

Aren’t you already Junior? Shouldn’t it be Junior Junior?

His jaw hardened. No. I’m Eddie.

You nudged forward on your toes to get a better look at the bandage– he was taller than you. It lumped out of his head, unmissable. Nothing to be done about it.

He seemed to cringe away from you.

Don’t try anything, skank.

You bounce back onto your heels.

I wasn’t, asshole. We don’t have to do anything– just… like… did it hurt?

He paused for a full ten seconds (you counted) and swallowed real hard. Eyes wide as hubcaps, and dark, and frightened. He craned his neck toward you a little.

Then the door swung open, Tina Burton standing there hand-in-hand with an irritated-looking Steve Harrington. Time’s up, losers!

Al hadn’t asked if it hurt, when he beat the crap out of him for doing something so stupid. Wayne hadn’t even asked if it hurt, when Eddie came back from the hospital like a dog with its tail between its legs.

You were the first, and you were the last, and it was before everything. Before you were even Lacy.

“What happened, anyway?” you ask. Soft. Like that last time.

Now, in retrospect, Eddie sees the error of his ways.

“I lit all my hair on fire with a butane torch.”

“You what?!”

“It’s not– entirely my fault! I think I saw someone with hair on fire in an X-Men comic and I thought, y’know, that’s an achievable look.” That’s a severe understatement. It was Johnny Storm from The Fantastic Four and Eddie believed that he could be like Johnny Storm only more badass and maybe with like a sick motorbike. What, you’re telling me you didn’t go through a pre-teen-to-mid-teen phase where you were secretly convinced you had superpowers? Smarten up.

“And how high–”

“Yeah, okay, I was also hitting a Reddi-Wip can like crazy.” The nitrous oxide did not help these delusions.

“Why the big bandage?”

“Eh, I got some, like, bitsy little burn. Total overreaction.”

“Do you have a scar?” Before he can answer, you’re parting his hair, right near the place you remember that bandage being. Eddie freezes, your frigid fingertips searching his scalp. You are… very close.

“Uh– no, I don’t.” He gulps, avoiding looking at you directly in your bright, curious little face. “Can I tell you something truly fucking dumb?”

“Wouldn’t be out-of-character for you, that’s for sure.”

Deep, deep breath. Fucking shit fucking goddammit fuck. Balls. “I regret it.”

“The hair thing? Yeah, you’d think–”

“No. Not kissing you.”

“Oh.” Your hands drop from his skull but don’t exactly leave his hair. Just kind of wound in there, hovering, the way you feel like you’re hovering now.

“You asked me if it hurt, and then I was gonna– but then, fucking Tina–” Eddie says, eyes dashing to you in these minute little glances. Away, back, away, back.

“Fuckin’ Tina,” you breathe.

“--and Harrington.”

“Ah.” You shut your eyes. He didn’t notice you were wearing green eyeshadow until right now. “The square root of the problem.”

“Huh?” Barely heard it. Too busy looking at the glitter on your eyelids. The way your eyeballs shift around underneath.

“You’re totally lemon sour bitter with Harrington because you think he made you blow your shot with me.” You open your eyes with a squint.

“That is so not–” Break a spell, why dontcha! But then, Eddie takes a bite. “Actually, if you pop-psychology that, there might be somethin’ there, but… I regret it because I didn’t just–”

You cut in. “Go for it.”

“Shoot.” He confirms.

“Power. Forward.” You emphasize, lips curling.

“Cheer. Leader.” Eddie says, gravel in his voice.

Do you know that your hand is still in his hair? Like, are you physically aware of it? (Answer: no.)

Nick. Nicky?

What.

You asleep?

Yes.

Good. I wanna talk to you.

Your head swivels back from the screen. He watched you look away, dart your tongue out onto your lip, look back at him.

“Eddie.” There’s fizz in your voice.

“Yes, Lacy.” He wonders what flavor.

“I think…” and you finally extract your hand to lay it in your lap. Withdrawing, willing to be shot down, but you’re you and you know that you won’t be. “We could make a case for making up for lost time.”

Eddie’s mouth has become very dry. “... meaning that…”

“Eddie, I think that you should kiss me like a seventh grader– eighth grader? So weird, why did Wheeler have eight graders at her bir–”

“Lacy. Back on track, please,” which is another horrendously pin point perfect impression of you. And he needs to be sure that you just said what you just said and that isn’t the ghosts of Lipton landing talking.

“We should try it out. An honest-to-god, never-been-done-before Seven Minutes in Heaven kiss. I happen to think it’d fix something in you.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs.

“No, I’m serious!” And it is kind of fizzing out of you, and you might not be entirely just talking about him for this next part, “I think you’re holding onto a lot of pent up energy that may have just gotten even more pent since we became, y’know–”

“Zoo animals with parallel enclosures?” Eddie says with an arching eyebrow.

“Wow,” you swallow a breath. “That really sounded like me.”

“I’m afflicted with a Lacyism from time to time.”

“Is that like astigmatism? Because you should get that looked at.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist?”

“Eddie.” Your voice, coming from your face, which is all dappled in the unserene technicolor glow of the Eckers’ Christmas lights, highlighted by the blaze of the black and white on TV. You make it look like stained glass. He would walk into oncoming traffic– “You trust me, right?” He would go and play on the freeway if you asked him to.

Eddie, Christ, he’s got to gather himself. Like the sweat gathering on his palms, he thinks, great work ethic, I need some of that. He gets a bright idea, brighter than those twinkling lights. “I think I need full authenticity in order to make this experience worth it.”

“What?”

“We need to find a closet.”

It’s pretty much a hard no on whether or not the Eckers have a linen closet (you’re a long way from Maple Lane now, babe), so it’s agreed that you’ll give Granny Ecker’s wardrobe a shot. You follow Eddie in there with tentative steps, like you can almost feel her watching all the way from the Best Western in Indianapolis she’s no doubt staying in. Trespassing is bad, yadda yadda, but it’s also exciting.

It’s exciting, being in here with him.

He glances back at you, eyes a glimmer in the darkened bedroom. “After you,” and he flourishes a hand toward the open closet.

You two are so not seventh graders anymore– heads bang against hangers, you’re kind of melting into a lot of denim and fleece and you… you don’t have much breathing room. No lavender detergent, just the beer-and-old-weed-sweet smell of Eddie Munson pushed close to flush against your chest. The scent of that shampoo you both use caught somewhere in the middle.

Your breathing is so shallow, you feel like you might be having an asthma attack. You don’t have asthma.

“Tight,” he says, and knits his brows, “I mean–”

“Cozy,” you correct, unsure of where to put your hands.

“We’re not cozy people.”

“So let’s do this,” you attempt to smooth your face into something resembling nonchalance, “Kiss me like a seventh-or-eighth grader, Eddie Munson.”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. A smile keeps flicking and dying on his lips. Heart about to burst out of his chest because of how weird this is, because of how weird you are, because of how– how–

Eddie knits his fingers behind his back in an imitation of you, your girlish pose, and leans forward. About ninety percent, just in case you decide this was a stupid idea, or you don’t like the look of his face up close, or– or–

You close that perfect ten. Your lips feel like flower petals. Light. Baby-soft. Crushable.

It’s so chaste and it’s so innocent. It’s so the diametric opposite of the two of you, brash and harsh in your diverging, abstracting ways– waving only to meet in the middle. It’s pretty, like you are, and Thumper-from-Bambi-thumping-his-foot nervous like he gets around you.

You pull away a fraction, and Eddie swallows a sound. To save face, he is about to say something– I give it a six or that’s what I’ve been missing out on this whole time or you flap that mouth an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know how to use it, something equally goading. Something that would make this… normal.

Until you take his bottom lip between yours. And it’s wet there. And it’s warm. And your lips are so, so crushable–

Eddie’s fingers unweave and find your arms, find your waist. Slow, slow, he takes it slow because he could scare you and he doesn’t want to scare you. You’re curving into him, lips slicking against his, and then his tongue licking it’s way into your mouth which you just fucking open for him and it’s so good–

–and he tastes like salt and smoke and he holds you like he’s anchoring himself against you. Your hands wind on up, up, up his chest, catching on his t-shirt where his chest is (duh duh duh you fucking idiot), where his heart is thrumming under that smatter of a tattoo you got caught staring at that night in his trailer. It’s all you’ve got in you not to tug it up and off him, but Christ, no, because you need to keep kissing him. It’s so nice, it feels so nice, kissing him, when was the last time something felt as nice, that’s all you can think with sensation seeping through your body like a sugar rush. Hands move to either side of his neck and he makes a noise.

Your fingers, fishing hooks in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to you.

The heat. Of his body. Matched only by the heat gathering in the cherry pit that lives in your stomach.

And he needs, god, Eddie needs it fucking bad. It is a lot of things. It includes your tongue so far inside his mouth that you can taste the Tab on his uvula this time. It includes more of your tits pressed against him, so he can feel if your nipples have hardened under his touch. It includes this moment, just this moment, just kissing you as your body winds around him–

But then you pull back. Before he can whisper the little, “No…” that’s coming like a reflex, you cover his mouth with your hand. The mouth that’s all slick from kissing– you.

Jesus Christ. You had really done that. The stupid, idiot both of you.

“Guys?”

Eddie, dizzy and down-the-rabbit-hole tipsy Eddie, gets the impulse to lick your hand, to take your fingers in his mouth and just start sucking, but he doesn’t do it. Because he has now snapped to the fact that that’s Ronnie Ecker calling out for you.

The two of you, twisted around each other like snakes in her grandmother’s closet.

“Go,” you hiss– no, you breathe. He was just expecting you to hiss. But you’re breathy and unsure about the command you’re giving. Still, you jerk your head.

Well, Eddie’s pretty hard up about telling you this, but, “Can’t. Need a sec–” Like, can’t you feel that?

Eddie’s standing more than half to attention, pressing in between the both of you.

You let out a jagged breath that sounds like oh, fuck, and it’s not the kind of oh, fuck he was hoping to hear and his heartbeat stutters.

And then you’re gone.

Eddie stands there, hands held aloft around the ghost of you that was there, that was right there and kissing him. Like you meant it, like it wasn’t an experiment or a joke or a dare or anything other than what you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted him. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he breathes into his hands, dragging them down his face, his lips, the smell of you still lingering around him. “Oh… I am so fucked.”

Kentucky fried fucked.

You make your way back to the living room on trembly legs, reaching for every steadying surface, attempting to destroy the evidence of a swollen mouth and Munson-finger ruffled hair. You find Ronnie sitting upright on the couch. Nick and Nora have nearly solved the case. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a mask of your face that could easily lie to her.

“Munson had to pull trig,” you say, and it’s not steady enough for Ronnie to not call bullshit.

But she doesn’t. Not outright anyway.

“He okay?” she asks, nearly wary.

“I don’t know. Could be comin’ out of both ends, I don’t know,” you start scrambling around for your bag and your shoes and your coat and not your right mind because you left that back in the closet, somewhere between Eddie’s teeth and tongue. “Look, I hate to ditch on you, but my mom–”

“She’ll be on your ass,” Ronnie says, measured like a cup. “Sure. Go on. I’ll think about calling 911 if he chokes.”

Breathing out some piss-poor rendition of a thanks, you dip out of Ronnie’s and past his van and all the way back the lot towards home.

It’s freezing. You’re not. For once.

When Eddie finally reappears from the closet, Ronnie is sitting in the exact same position. Except this time she looks somewhat judgier– maybe because it’s easier to be judgier toward Eddie than it is toward you. Some kind of girl politico he doesn’t understand.

“You feel better?”

“Huh?” Eddie says. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Do you feel better. Lacy told me you had to barf.”

“I… I guess.” Eddie has already cashed in his once-in-a-lifetime lie convincingly to Ronnie Ecker voucher.

“She also told me you maybe shit yourself?”

Alright, well, that was unnecessary. “Alright, well, that was unnecessary.”

“I guess I was just hoping that…” she sighs, crossing her arms, “... that you weren’t puking and shitting yourself…” she sits back against the couch, “... when you were making out with her. In my… bathroom?”

He really does consider leaving out this detail. “Granny’s closet.”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“She’ll know. She’ll kill me.”

“Oh, she’ll kill ya,” Ronnie mutters, “And then I’ll go to work on ya.”

—

You two have got to stop fucking each other over like this.

Fucking each other over, conceptually, actually, is interesting. Because Eddie’s done a whole lot of fucking you over in his mind since that closet. Sliding your panties aside and fucking you with his tongue, polyester lace of your stockings creating static against his hair, sparks snapping off your inner thighs as you rub against his nose.

Following you back to your trailer and fucking you with his fingers against the cold, metal exterior, your nails digging into his neck and your voice stabbing his name into his eardrums.

Pulling you into his lap in the driver’s seat and tearing through the cotton of your underwear with sheer animalistic fervor, making you lean back against the steering wheel as he sucks your tightened nipples, cock safe and warm in the slick, deep wet of you.

Somethin’ like that. He didn’t sleep much this weekend.

Mind stuck on the one track, your lips smacking against his. Now in fabulous 3D!

In every single one of these fantasies, too, his idiot sap ass is whining your name fifty billion times more than you’re whining his– so much so that it breaks the fantasy barrier and he’s crying, “Fuck, Lacy-yy–,” into his limp pancake of a pillow, cum careening down a fist that should have nerve damage by now.

He is exhausted. And to make it worse, he hasn’t seen you.

He hasn’t even been avoiding you this time. So that’s all on you, you bitch.

“You bitch…” he mumbles, head resting against the cold brick of the newly-unisex senior bathroom, which has become a hellhole in no time. First period on a Monday is usually an okay time to get a bit of peace and fucking quiet, though, because everyone else is at least making an attempt at starting the week off on the right foot.

But not Eddie. Not worn out, prick-tired Eddie.

And not whoever is doing a horrible job of hyperventilating in the stall next to him.

“Excuse me?” a breathless voice says. He thinks he kinda recognizes it but–

Then, ew! Some gagging, some violent coughing, a little ugh, Jesus, please not again–

Eddie slides out of his stall and knocks on the next door– and it swings open with ease.

She’s crouched over the cistern–gross, fucking gross–and tears are streaming down her peachy cheeks, catching on her pointed chin.

“Christ, Wheeler. S’matter, you pregnant?”

Nancy Wheeler’s eyes flash in a flare of rage, a choked scoff spitting out of her. She’s about to fucking cuss Eddie out, it looks like, which he kind of wants to see, but then whatever straw that’s holding that together snaps and she lets out this wild sob of total incredulity.

Ohhh, as much as he would love to bolt out the door like it’s not his problem, Eddie realizes that this has now, somehow, somewhat become kind of his problem.

—

“I gotta talk to you.”

Ronnie Ecker appears like a lightning flash, knocking you clean out of your reverie of slowly crawling fingers and lips and teeth and guilt that had been plaguing you all weekend.

You had spent most of the last forty eight hours staring into the middle distance, ready to glue upright nails into your shoes and walk on them for penance. You fucking stupid slut. Kiss me like a seventh-eighth grader, Eddie Munson. You unbelievable fucking cowshit. See, because, okay, do you know what you’ve done?

You’ve taken the first real friendship you’ve possibly ever had in your life (save for Phoebe, God rest her soul that moved to Saskatoon) and completely entirely fucked it sideways, and sure, you’ve also spent a lot of the weekend thinking about other things getting fucked sideways, like you since you’re now cursed with the knowledge of the vague suggestion of the outline of Eddie Munson’s dick but moreso, foremostly and mainly you want to fucking take a swandive off the edge of Sattler’s Quarry.

Addendum– there’s too many quarries in this fucking county.

A ping-ponging of guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-slinking your way to first period the long way that’s only now broken by Ronnie Ecker coming down on you like an Acme anvil.

Meep meep.

She knows. Of course she knows.

“Ronnie,” you whisper, eyes following her as she lands herself into the aforementioned Munson’s seat behind you, “I can explain…”

“Don’t!” There is this vigor, this knife’s edge in Ronnie’s voice that is terrifying and kind of thrilling but mostly scary and having been in the presence of Granny Ecker even those few times, you knew she always had it in her.

You recoil. A little.

“If Eddie wants to be a fucking moron about you, please can we just let him, and not–” Ronnie’s mouth clamps closed like a Muppet’s might. Like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. “Look. I really like being your friend.”

Oh, Christ, your heart. “I r– I–”

“You’re dogshit with the emotional stuff, I get that, but I’ve been friends with that asshole so long that wearing my heart on my sleeve is like, second fucking nature so I’m not and I’m pissed off, frankly, that there’s a chance of him coming between, like… us.”

You and Ronnie. You, and your friend Ronnie. “Oh, it’s–”

“Because technically, by absolute technicality, I was your friend first, okay? We were lab partners first and I thought we had a vibe goin’ in Biology and I was the first person you wanted to talk to at the Hellfire table even if it was a thinly veiled ploy but you’re so good at ploys and you’re such a piece of work and you’re so funny and I wouldn’t know what Ponds cold cream actually does if it wasn’t for you. Fuck.”

“Granny’s a soap and water girl.” There’s a fluttering in your chest and a thickening in your throat. You swallow big, and you think you might actually start– “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna try fencing, Ron.”

“But it’s fucking cool, even if we do it with sticks.”

You take her in, baseball cap shoved over her coiled hair, darned-all-to-hell sweater sagging out under her overalls and you really feel like something is about to bust out of your chest. Your honest-to-god friend, Ronnie Ecker.

“Miss Ecker, last time I checked, that’s not your assigned seat.” God, Kaminsky’s such a relentless dickwad.

“I’m having a conversation,” Ronnie says, with the kind of as-yet-unheard volume from her that makes the rest of the class go ooooh!

Jesus fucking Christ, have you turned Ronnie Ecker into a bad girl?

“I don’t give a shit!” rumpled Kaminsky says, slapping that dusty chalkboard duster full of dust, “Have it in detention.”

“Hey! That’s–”

But if you can do one thing for Ronnie. “No can doozy, Mr K, Miss Ecker has a prior commitment.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, not you again,” he mumbles not-quite-under his breath. “And what is that? Lacy?”

Before you can even say the words peer tutoring, none other than Eddie Munson is barrelling through the door. He stops comically short at the top of the classroom, gesturing to Ronnie in his seat like what the fuck?

“Lacy!” he eventually says, and he’s breathless and flustered and just like you imagined him in–

“Munson, what in the name of the goddamn Father Almighty–”

“Weekly Streak–” and guy is just snapping his fingers, blinking wildly at you, “–thing!”

You stare on in a state of confusion until you spy Nancy Wheeler right in your eyeline, right through the open classroom door. Her little face streaked with tears, and god, she looks like shit, and she’s beckoning to you with a flutter and a fury.

“No, of course!” a little murmuring, uh, shit, and you hurry to the top of the classroom, slamming the homework that Kaminsky’s obviously going to ask for on his desk with a rattle.

“Kaminsk, my man, the future of print media is forever in your debt!” Eddie calls, ushering you out the door and into the echoey hallway.

“What is going on?”

Both Eddie and Nancy shuffle you down the hallway, avoiding the monitors (rat finks!), dipping under the east stairwell. A great stairwell. So much illicit shit has happened in this stairwell and you have an itemized list of it all, somewhere in your brain. The kind of person people tell things to.

Nancy’s just full tilt gulping like a fish out of water, and Eddie’s all, “Wait, shit, are you gonna barf again?” and you’re all, “Answers, please, tout suite!”

“I’m late.” Nancy’s voice doesn’t even tremble. She’s that scared.

“Fuck.”

“Very?”

“Extremely.”

“You’re sure?” you press, and suddenly you’re the kind of person that grabs Nancy Wheeler’s shoulders.

Her lip trembles. “I mean, I haven’t–”

“Well, we gotta. Right now.” And it occurs to you that Eddie is just standing there, a polite enough distance away that he’s involved but kind of not involved, but respecting the space that you two need. How does he know how to do that? How does he always know the right… “Eddie.”

He snaps to attention, mouth all serious and eyes all eager. You want to kiss him again, but this shit is not about you.

“We need a ride to the drugstore.”

The three of you pile into Eddie’s van, him insisting on doing the honors of opening the passenger door for you again, and Nancy quietly requesting that you share the passenger seat with her. You two are squished together, her spindly thighs overlapping yours. Denim versus dark suede. There is a very tense silence in place the entire van ride there, Nancy digging her nails into her palm and Eddie nervously thrumming against the steering wheel. The tape deck plays resumes mid-play– Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.

For your part, you experience a harsh zoom-out moment– Nancy, who you’ve learned is almost as strong-headed as you, just on a better moral track (lawful good versus chaotic neutral, you think Eddie once framed it), is stranded. She’s the eldest sibling to that little shitstain Michael and Holly, who’s a baby so to you has no discernible personality, and her mother is kind of an airhead and her father… you don’t know shit about, but it’s Hawkins, so dads. The responsibility of everything seems to fall on her all the time, and you can only be so resourceful as a teenage girl in a town like this. Especially when the other teenage girls seem to, at best, keep you at arm’s length, or at worst, ostracize you.

And Nancy had lost Barbara Holland. Who, when she mentions her, is talked about with such a glow that’s followed by such a wave of sadness that it nearly takes you under too.

She misses her so much. She misses her best friend so much.

Barb should be the one dealing with this. Not you. Which sounds like you’re shirking responsibility. But really, it’s because you don’t know if you fully deserve the privilege of helping Nancy.

Truth is, Nancy would probably be okay, handling this on her own. Sure, it’d be another inch of depth added to the chasm of loneliness building in that poor girl’s psyche, but she’d do it, because she’s Nancy and she handles things.

Just like you’re Lacy and you handle things.

But however Eddie Munson ended up as part of this situation… he brought her to you. Because he knew you’d know what to do. So she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Because Eddie doesn’t want people to do things alone.

You only really have that impulse if you know how terrible it feels.

And if you don’t see kindness as a weakness.

Which Nancy doesn’t. And Eddie doesn’t. And you… don’t want to, anymore.

You reach and peel Nancy’s fingernails from the grooves they’re digging into her flesh. You don’t even look at the half-moon marks they’ve made. You just glue her palm to your palm and web your fingers. And over the frizz of Nancy’s perm–the nice kind, salon kind, the kind that doesn’t stink of egg–you look at Eddie, just as he glances at you.

He smiles, small and unsure and wavering. You bite your lips between your teeth and try the same.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go in here.”

The van has skidded into an inconspicuous (but not entirely, because have you seen that fucking vehicle) place near the drugstore.

“Why?”

“People– the pharmacist knows my mom and everything,” Nancy shudders, “There’s no way that people won’t have something to– fucking say.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and you give him a look like, welcome to the Nancy Wheeler Actually Swears Club. Care for a canape?

And y’know, you could argue so what. So what if people have something to say. You’re young, mistakes happen, the world keeps turning. But one skip in a perfect twelve-inch record of reputation like Nancy’s can make her life a living hell. You know that.

Shit, she knows that– you weren’t not aware of that stroke of creative genius vandalism that went up on the Hawk marquee that one time.

And it would shatter Nancy’s mom’s heart. And while you don’t have the same time of day for her, Nancy really loves her mom.

Once you’ve ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely.

That moveable feast motherfucker was onto something.

Click, and Eddie’s glovebox pops open in a clatter of tapes and a one-hitter and other ephemera. You reach in, retrieving sunglasses you’d left in here a little bit ago.

“So let’s give ‘em something to talk about,” you say, sliding on the shades.

Nancy clutches your arm, eyes wide and searching. “Lacy.”

You shrug, like it’s nothing. Except nerves have started nibbling at you. “Spot me a ten. What am I, a goddamn Rockefeller?”

“Not anymore,” Eddie Munson grins at you. Sun breaking through the bleak midwinter. The nerves cease their nibbling.

—

The tension doesn’t exactly ease when you make a beeline for the drugstore (particularly because you’ve just accepted a goddamn miniature hero’s quest and he’s a little… well, he’s not not watching your ass as you walk away, let’s put it that way).

Eddie and Nancy Wheeler are still absolutely enormous universes apart. Not even the same species. He doesn’t mind keeping it that way. This right here is just, like… the right thing to do.

He moves to turn the radio down, figuring that the thrum of Fade to Black might be a little much for her right now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for–”

“No, it’s okay.” Wheeler smiles that flat, priss smile reserved for the barest of polite gestures.

Eddie nods, propping his elbow against the window, cupping his face in his hand. He keeps kind of sneaking sidelong glances toward Wheeler, because– well, had you told her anything? About… Seven Minutes in Heaven? Does she even remember that, from her birthday party all that time ago? He knew that you two weren’t exactly tight, but were well on your way to getting tight, but not as tight as you are with Ronnie and certainly not as tight as you are–or were–with him and Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got to find a synonym for the word tight.

“You… play Dungeons and Dragons, right?” Wheeler asks all of a sudden.

Eddie glances down– he is in fact wearing his Hellfire shirt. She’s a sharp one, that Nancy.

“I dabble,” he says, a derisive little chuckle that’s not all-the-way mean spirited.

Wheeler bobs her head. “My brother, Mike,” she says, and he sees now that it’s an effort to keep her nerves steady, “he loves it. Like, he’s totally obsessed. Him, and his friends, they’ve got their own little party going. Majorly long campaigns, very involved.”

“Campaigns, parties. Using terminology like that, I’d say you’re something of a dabbler, Wheeler.”

Nancy chuckles. “I– may have dressed up as an elf for one. Or two. When I was way, way younger, though.”

“Well, your brother– Mike?” Eddie checks and Nancy nods, “Once he gets to high school, why dontcha tell him to look up Hellfire. Could be the best-worst decision he’ll make for the next four years of his life.”

“Right, because you’ll be passing the torch,” she says, grinning.

“And possibly to a Wheeler. Oh my stars and garters,” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock-shock.

Wheeler laughs and, okay, maybe she’s not so bad.

“Shoot, we have movement.” And out you come, holding the Advance pregnancy test over your head, gleaming and victorious– but Eddie and Nancy flap their hands, willing you to put that fucking thing away! We’re being subtle!

Climbing back in the van, you announce, “Alright, so the good news– no doctoral interference, obviously. The wonders of modern medicine, everybody give thanks to Johnson and Johnson, et cetera. The bad news– who knows of somewhere we can steal–” you glance back at the box, “--thirty glorious uninterrupted minutes of time?”

“Lacy, I can just–” Nancy starts, but you stop her short with a tap to the head.

“And have you sitting in class all day with your guts churning because you don’t know what’s up or down that spout? I think the fuck not. We’re doing this now.” This is out of the goodness of your heart, you swear it is.

But there might be a fraction, just a generous sliver, that still loves the drama.

Like Steve Harrington, it’s not an immediate shed of the ego. It’s a slough.

“Well, my place is a no-go,” Nancy tells you, shrugging into herself. “My mom will definitely be home.”

“Ditto,” and your mother is the only person you know that loves gossip more than you do. Besides Eddie, of course.

After a beat or two of wondering silence, Eddie raises a hand. “I may… have someplace… we can go.”

—

How many cherry bombs does it take to make a boy’s bathroom look like the bombing of Dresden?

“So fuuun fact, turned out that some nerd swiped a hunk of sodium from the Chemistry lab and just blew this mother to shit,” Eddie brightly informs you and Nancy as the two of you pour over the instructions for the pregnancy test kit.

“While everyone was distracted by Heather Holloway’s implants, you mean?” you murmur, scanning over the small-sheet size booklet.

“Streets are saying she was an accomplice.”

Holy fuck, these instructions were involved. Nancy stands clutching the little rectangular tray that her pee is supposed to go in, nailing Eddie with a look beyond normal categorical nerves. “You’re sure no one’s gonna come in here?”

He shakes his head. There might as well be police tape all over the door of this bathroom, that’s how off limits it is. “It’s cold, it’s broken, it smells gross. Maybe some people are using this place to huff paint, but I can guarantee, Wheeler–” and he bends a little to meet her earnest eyes, “--I will bark like a fucking rabid dog to clear ‘em away if I need to.”

Nancy nods shortly. Jerk, jerk. She disappears into the least dilapidated stall with her pee rectangle.

“God, she is so scared,” Eddie murmurs to you, crossing his arms.

You’re still studying the instructions. This shit has droppers and test tubes and color changing strips, oh my. “Pissing shouldn’t be a problem, then.”

Wrong.

“Guys.”

“Yes?” “Yeah, Wheeler?”

“I’m a little, ahem–” Bladder shy. Perfect. Awesome. Not that you guys aren’t going to be shacked up here for thirty minutes anyway, but that’s only after Nancy Wheeler goes number one and you, like, mix up the pregnancy oracle potion.

Shit. “We’ve gotta do something to like, make her chill out–” Eddie half-mouths at you.

“Yeah, but she’s so high strung, that’s like–” a spark hits you. “Wait, have you got anything on you?”

“Fresh out. Waiting on a shipment from Lipton landing.”

You smack him, not even thinking, and he winces. “And all that shit you were smoking the other day, that was–” “That was market research, babe, and I told you that–”

Nancy clears her throat from inside the stall. “Please, don’t quit bickering on my account. I’m only trying to figure out whether or not I need to start rehearsing lullabies.”

Damn Nancy, Eddie mouths and you almost laugh. Wait.

“Nance, what’s your favorite song?”

“Huh?”

You shake your hands. “Like, the song you absolutely cannot go without hearing? The one that makes you feel, just–”

“Ticklish?” Eddie suggests, the paragon of knowledge, the pinnacle of your annoyance. You thump him again. “I need a safe word.”

“Um– uh…”

“C’mon, Wheeler, the song that makes you feel just… awesome and chill and on top of the fucking world, c’mon!” Eddie encourages, kicking detritus around the bathroom floor.

Nancy eventually, eventually mumbles something.

You pivoting around on your heel by the sink. “Louder, Wheeler, I wasn’t born with sonar.”

“It’s– it’s ‘Just What I Needed’.”

What? Eddie mouths to you, arms binding across his chest.

“What, like– The Cars, ‘Just What I Needed’?”

A pause from Nancy’s end. “... yeah.”

You know this song. You know that song, right, it’s like duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW… Shaking yourself out, you brace up like a boxer heading into the ring.

“Gimme a lead in, Nancy.” Holy fucking shit, you’re really doing this. Nancy hesitates, probably because she can’t believe any of you are really doing this.

A mumble… “I don’t mind you comin’ here…”

“--and wastin’ all my time!” you jump in, “”cause when you’re standin’ oh so near, I kinda lose my mind…”

Visions of a plush lilac bedroom, yours, and a mountain of clothes and makeup and drained wine cooler bottles on the floor. You, standing on your bed in your socks and shorts, vamping– Tina and Carol singing hairbrush backup, Nicole on air guitar and Cass smoking out the window. There were flashes of this, you know, when it wasn’t all boiling vitriol and subtle shivving and one-up-manship. When you and those girls that you wished you weren’t near but knew you needed actually felt like friends.

A memory like that makes you feel empty.

“It’s not the perfume that you wear,” oh my god, “It’s not the ribbons–in–your–hair,” is he really, “And I don’t mind you comin’ here– and wastin’ all my time!”

Why the fuck does Eddie Munson know this song?! Your jaw drops open, your eyes go wide and your feet stamp against the tile like a goddamn kid. Yes! Yes! Amazing! You’re both so fucking out of tune, like there is absolutely a reason he does not sing a single note in Corroded Coffin but by god alive, you’re giving it everything you got in that fucked up boy’s bathroom.

Eddie’s so much better at it than you are, pouring every bit of obnoxious showmanship into it that he possibly can– complete with pulling you in for a fully nonsensical dance number. You spin into him, crashing into his chest with a clumsiness you never thought possible, laughing so hysterically that you can barely get the words out. He’s holding the reins, and holding that falsetto so badly you think the mirrors will shatter.

Your skin is buzzing, your heart is hammering and Eddie is pressed against your back and you are both scream-singing to the door of Nancy’s cubicle– “I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed! I needed someone to feed– I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed I needed someone to–”

“Pee! Pee, you guys, I’m peeing!” Nancy’s voice, bright and high from actually laughing, rings from the busted toilet.

You and Eddie erupt into a triumphant yell, him shaking you like a rag doll against him. The laughter peels away and then it’s just kind of him, looking at you from over your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist. His lips, a little cracked. Breath a little labored. Lashes still so long. You nearly–

The door flings open and he jumps away from you first. Nancy heads toward the sink and you resume the position, helping her figure out the Chemistry play set that holds the answer to how the rest of her life pans out. Thirty whole minutes, they’ve got to wait.

Nancy notes the time on her watch.

She even suggests that you guys can go at one point, but Eddie reminds her that a) he’s keeping an eye out for paint huffers and b) “... y’know, maybe it’s not so great to…” “Do this on your own,” you finish for him. Nancy nods, silent and grateful and so fucking nervous.

At about the seventeen minute mark, when you and Eddie have smoked four cigarettes each and Nancy has tried a puff of one (“Nope,” she hacks, “still totally vile…”), Eddie tosses this stink bomb between you two. Nancy has excused herself to stand with her head against the cubicle door. Something about calming her nerves. Coming up with a plan. Something to tell Steve, no doubt.

So it’s just you and Eddie, you sitting on the edge of the sink and Eddie rhythmically kicking the wall.

“You ever wanna be a mom?”

“Jesus, what a time to land that one on me.” You almost make a joke like you haven’t even stuck it in me yet, but that’s in bad taste. And implies a yet.

Eddie smiles over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. Stupid. Stupid eyelashes. “Grounds of relevance.”

You pinch your lips between your teeth. “... fine. But, I fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”

He points to the cubicle and mutters, “Well, she’s seventeen.”

You, wide-eyed at his dumbassery, mouth I know!

“Okay. Sorry. Go.”

“Fuuuuuck no. No babies pour moi, merci, c’est bon, au revoir!”

Eddie turns to lean against the wall, propping one leg up. God, but he does lean great.

“Why?”

“Genetic fate.”

“Huh?”

A sigh flutters out of you, shoulders slumping forward. “A certain… how do you say, thread of assholery runs through my family, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Eddie nods sagely and you kind of want to punch him for it. “Daddy issues. Right.”

“Uh!” A hand flies up in your defense. “Let who among us here without them cast the first stone.”

From the cubicle, Nancy calls, “Not me.”

Surrendering, Eddie grumbles, “Yeah, not me either.”

“Glad we agree.”

There’s another tick and tock of silence, and you get the distinct feeling of something being pried open in the atmosphere.

“... whatever happened with your dad, anyway?”

Ah. The million dollar question. Whatever happened with your dad, so-called upstanding member of the Hawkins community, poor little poor boy done rich, scaling his way up the ladder of property management in this delightful little Midwestern enclave?

“Not a big fan of the news, are we, Munson?”

He seems to grimace at you tugging on his surname. “Print’s too small.”

“Taking offense to that,” Nancy chimes.

“It was the big ‘E’,” you say, kind of not into bantering about it.

“‘E’... ‘E’... ‘E’...” Eddie kicks the wall on each utterance. Possibly forgetting that he could also be the big ‘E’, if he wanted. You wonder if, just in terms of size…

“Embezzlement, Eddie,” you cut that thought off cold.

His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting under his shaggy bangs. “Shooooot.”

“Score.”

“What all did he, like… embezzle?”

The raising of the hackles is not entirely intentional. “Y’know who’d be able to answer that question, Eddie?”

But he sees it. He calms it. In unison, you both shrug, “Al Munson.”

Boom! Cubicle door flies open again. You’re starting to think that Nancy might just love making an entrance. Lot of flourishing happening here. Not entirely unlike Eddie in that way.

“It’s time.”

Each and every one of you beeline to where the test is set up on one of the sinks. Nancy gingerly plucks the offending strip from the test tube and Eddie, a man with money on his mind, asks another million dollar question. “So how do you know…”

You grab the instruction leaflet that you’d been tearing corners off of, making it look nearly moth-bitten. “Wait, it’s white, right?”

“It’s white,” Nancy whispers.

“It’s not, like… off blue, or…”

“No, that is white,” she’s trembling. “Is white– is that good, or– I can’t remember.”

“Nancy Wheeler…” you breathe, peeking over the paper, “Congratulations. You are nobody’s mother!”

She emits a shriek like nothing you’ve ever heard and barrels straight into you, near knocking you off your feet with a strength you didn’t know this little waif was capable of possessing. Her arms wrap boa constrictor tight around you, her words bubbling over like a shook up can of pop. “Jesus Christ, I’m so relieved, I just– I–!”

“You’re relieved?!” Eddie yells, ringed hands tearing down his face, “I’m way too young to be an uncle! Fuck! Thank god!”

Nancy chokes out a laugh through her tears, tears of relief, thank god and– and you don’t know if it’s selfish and you don’t know if it’s possible but you hope… you hope that’s helped close the chasm. Just a little bit. That she didn’t have to do this all alone in a shithouse bathroom that smells like sulfur and piss.

Breaking away from you (damn, you wish you knew how to hug), Nancy straightens herself up. Not that she needs to. She’s a pretty crier, that bitch.

“Just one more thing, you guys.”

“Anything,” you say before you even know you’ve said it.

“This is… between us, okay?” her eyes dart from you to Eddie, and you both take a step closer to her. Ceremoniously, Nancy holds out her two pinkie fingers. You link. Eddie links. His finger looks comically large compared to hers– and yours, when he reaches and hooks it around your unsuspecting baby finger.

“No one can know. No one needs to know.” There’s that headstrong Wheeler reserve you’d been missing.

“Cross my heart,” you proclaim.

“Hope to d– well, I don’t hope to die, that’s a little dramatic–”

“Eddie!” you both bark, varying degrees of amusement. Yours is on the lower end. “Swear on something real,” you push.

He hesitates a moment, then gives Nancy a look. “Alright. Swear on Hellfire.”

“Swear on Hellfire,” Nancy grins all tight, and kisses her right hand, hooked into Eddie’s finger. “Lacy?”

“Swear on Hellfire…” You mumble, rolling your eyes and kissing your Nancy’d hand. You need to swallow, first, before you tug your hand that’s hooked into Eddie’s toward your mouth.

And he does the worst thing. He leans down to meet your gaze, suckering you right in as his lips pout. They’re hungry. You’ve met those lips. “Swea-aar,” he sing-songs.

“--on Hellfire, okay,” you scoff, half-laughing into the little kiss.

“Ha!” Eddie barks, so fucking loud that it jumps off the walls. “Trick! You just made a deal with the devil, ladies, so I hope you enjoy eternal damnation at the hands of yours truly!”

Dumb as he is, Eddie might be right. If the way you’re looking at him is anything to go by.

author's notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS. WE GOT IT WE DID IT WE MADE THEM KISS WE MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHINGS NOT ALL THE THINGS SURELY BUT IT'S. IT'S SOMETHING. IT'S A START! on to the fun bits, like the jokes in the christmas crackers - absolutely obsessed with the mental image of eddie munson's bangs grown too long and he looking like this - cherry bombs down the john is a reference to the classic prank but mostly to american graffiti my beloved. later in the chapter, eddie says that some kid just threw some sodium down there which is something i read about on this reddit thread when researching cherry bombs. domestic terrorism at hawkins high! - p.t. barnum is that mfer that the greatest showman is based on. horrible man! not a fan! - heather holloway's jayne mansfield titties got me thinking about the jayne mansfield-sophia loren photo which has its own wikipedia page??? anyway, lacy coded! - black christmas is a stunning christmas horror film from 1974, which is loosely in part based on a bunch of murders that happened in the westmount neighborhood in montreal, quebec. fun fact, i just moved back from mtl after living there for a year. anyway black christmas kicks ASS - lipton landing is 100% a juno reference. big up my king elliot page - the thin man is one in a series of fantastic lil films from the 1930s all about nick and nora charles, a married couple that get drunk and SOLVE CRIMES. i'm not doing it justice by describing it that way but myrna loy and william powell are the royals of married banter and i model everything i write after their rhythm, more or less. - you're trying to tell me eddie munson didn't do whippets as a kid fucking wise up - one of my personal precious favourite recurring jokes in this series is 'who died and made you my x' and baby. i love a recurring joke - ronnie saying "oh she'll kill ya. then i'll go to work on ya," is a special reference because a) it's from my favourite film of all time, ocean's eleven and b) ayo edebiri, who i've fancast as ronnie ecker, has an ocean's eleven tattoo. we are sisters and also wives! - meep meep! - all i could think about when writing about how guilty lacy was - another metallica needle drop!!!! - pregnancy tests in the 80s really were that insane and involved! there's a great scene in glow (rest in fucking PEACE! gone but never forgotten) of alison brie's character using one, and here's more of the history - maybe the best needle drop of this whole series imo - finally peeped into those daddy issues. look forward to more of that and with that my hellcats, i wish you the merriest of holiday seasons wherever you find yourself and whatever you're doing. i will be back after the christmas break because i have to fully wreck my bank account and see every single person i have ever known and drink every espresso martini on dry land. sorry if there's typos in this, i have been labouring over it for... ever. reblogs, comments, likes and asks are always appreciated and i love you so much it's bordering on criminal! thank you!!!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #published by powder

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kayschariot · 2 months

Note

being like all bratty ( i think that’s the word) and all to Quackity and he ends up fucking the shit out of you?

I got youuu!!

Now whilst there could be no reason to why you had that type of attitude that day, you could just be moody. More of the problem was wanting to make Alex annoyed just to see how he’d be as you’ve never really annoyed him like that.

Maybe you’d decided having an attitude with him was a decent way(it wasn’t)

He’d come into the kitchen and you’d be leaning on the counter, on your phone or something and he’d probably hug you. You’d brush him off but somewhat feel bad. He’d be confused as hell and hug you again. you’d just let him hug you just standing there not hugging back. He’d kiss your cheek, “You mad or something?” He’d ask

“Fuck off.” You spoke and he’d frown as he waddled back away from you, “Did—did i do something? I can make up for it i promise..” He spoke and now you just felt terrible. “leave me alone..” I avoided eye contact and my eyes glued to the screen, “baby…” He whimpered.

he would stand next to you and place a hand on your ass, gently squeezing it. You’d whimper and he’d immediately smirk. “You know i can make you lose that attitude..” He whispered in my ear. “No shut up.” I looked away. “don’t tell me to shut up.” He spoke “Shut up, I hate you” i’d say but i didn’t mean it..

“Excuse me?” He’d speak and the guilt would eat me up. “sor-“ i got cut off by him grabbing the collar of my shirt making me drop my phone on the counter, “No, come on keep that same energy” He smirked and i’d look at him somewhat confused but he’d kiss me aggressively.

his tongue was practically down my throat at this point and i was having trouble breathing as he pinned me to the counter. He only broke it to slip my shirt off pressing our bodies together. I could feel his hard and it turned me on. “Take your fucking pants off.” He spoke and i nodded taking them off, You could see how wet i was from my panties. “Your gunna regret saying that shit.” He spoke fiddling with his belt to get it off. “In the fucking kitchen Alex.” I asked as he removed his clothes. “You basically made that decision..turn around.” He spoke and i did.

He unclipped my bra and slipped my panties down. He then aggressively bent me over, my wetness easily letting him slide in between my folds. Usually when we had sex it was always sweet but this time it was definitely more rough.

Makes enjoyed fucking me from the back as he got a good view of my ass. My boobs pressed up against the counter as he started pounding into me.

My moans were loud and i’d beg him to slow down.

“A-Alex! Stop—being so fucking rough..!!” I whined “You don’t get that fucking option since you wanna have that much fucking attitude, princess.” He spoke his hand slapping my ass hard enough to leave a red mark.

i’d gasp and whine as tears fell from my eyes. “Yeah? You fucking like that~? You fucking whore~?” he’d grunt fucking into my harder to a point i couldn’t speak, only moans where leaving my mouth.

“I-I’m-..Alex! I’m gunna..jesus christ..Cum..” I spoke nearing my climax. “I should really pull out right now, you really don’t deserve it..cause you hate me so much right? Hmm..” He said fucking me like an animal.

“Please! Please! Please!!” I whined as i reached my climax. Uncontrollably moaning and whimpering. “For hating me so much you sure are coming all over my cock, huh?” He’d speak coming inside of me as well. after a moment he’d slap my ass, slightly lighter this time and pull out, dripping everywhere.

“Such a pretty pussy..” He’d smiled as i’d stay their bent over for a moment my legs wobbling.. “Everything fucking hurts..” i’d whine.

“So do you still hate me?” He’d ask

“N-No-I-I was joking..” I’d pant.

#qsmp quacki #quackity #qsmp #mexican #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #smut #x reader #alex quackity #x y/n #x you smut

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hangmans-girl · 2 years

Text

Lover (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Wife!Reader

Summary: The one where you found the most perfect love in the shape of a man named Bradley Bradshaw.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff.

Words: 2,273

Author's Note: I've noticed I have been writing a lot for Bradley these days. I think I should begin with my Hangman fic as soon as I can.

The immaculate smell of cookies emanated through the walls of the house as you and your son, Nick were mixing another batch of cookies. "Am I doing it right, mommy?" Nick asks as his little arms struggled to pull the spatula around the thick cookie batter.

"Yeah, you are. Do you need mommy's help?" You asked. Little Nick shook his head as he tried harder to mix the batter.

"I think I'm good, mommy." He replies.

You nodded as you smiled, ruffling his hair in the process. You then continued to mold the batter into the cookie pan so you could put it in the oven when you suddenly heard a cute giggle from the living room

You craned your neck to get a better view of the living room from the kitchen. Bradley was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed as your 4-year-old daughter smudged some makeup on his eyelids.

"Daddy, you need to sit still."

"Oh okay," Bradley says as he tried his best not to move. His hand wandered around the floor as if he was looking for something. "You think you could give daddy some more of this red one? I feel like the other cheek's a bit lighter than the other, baby girl." He adds as he raises a round blush palette in front of your daughter.

"One second, daddy. I'm almost done with your eyeshadow."

You smiled at the very wholesome scene in front of you. You sat on the kitchen stool as you turned to look at Nick who was currently munching on some cookies while he held a cold glass of milk in his other hand.

In the middle of your trance, some flashbacks from where it all started came flooding in.

Growing up with Bradley meant three things: endless singing, clothes trying-on montage, and running around by the shore the whole day. This continued until both of you grew up and needless to say, this also meant growing feelings for him.

You've always had the hunch that he knew about what you felt about him and that he just chose to ignore it for the sake of your friendship. By the time he graduated from the academy and was subjected to being part of the TOP GUN Programme, he finally cracked.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me that you love me and you don't want me to leave? I mean, I'll be gone for 3 months."

Your mouth gaped in awe as you avoided his gaze. "W-What are you talking about, you idiot--"

He placed both of his hands on your shoulders as he leaned down to level his gaze upon you. "You're like an open book, sweets. You don't even try to close it."

He tapped your cheek gently as he grinned mischievously, making you scoff in embarrassment. "You knew? All this time?!"

"Yeah, since 10th grade." You couldn't believe it.

"Then why didn't you say anything?!"

He shrugged, "I didn't want to impose. I just thought maybe I was so attractive that you always looked at me in a certain way. But since you just admitted it, turns out I was wrong. You actually like me."

You gasped when you realized what he had just done, "You little-- Ugh! Damn you, Bradshaw!" You marched away from him as he ran to catch up with you.

"Come on now, you can't send me away like this," He whined, still laughing at your adorable reaction.

"Bradley, I swear to God I will punch you--"

"No thanks, but I'll take a kiss. It will last me three months, I think. But I'll let you know if I need more." He winked, making you frown in confusion.

"Bradley, just what are you on about?"

He rolled his eyes as he sighed dramatically. "Jesus, (Y/N). And here I thought I was the idiot one."

"Okay, Genius. You like me back. I get it."

He looked at you in confusion. "Do I?" You groaned as you punched his arm playfully. He chucked lightly before holding your wrists as he pulled you into a warm hug.

"I'm gonna miss you," He whispers on your neck.

You tightened your grip on his body as a response, earning you a soft kiss on your crown. "Now, where's my kiss?"

You giggled at the question. "Come back home in one piece, then maybe we'll talk."

He whined dramatically as he sighed. "Fine, I guess," He started to pick up his things as he looked over to the side where the airstair just opened. "Oh, there goes my ride." He pointed at the plane swiftly to catch your attention before he stole a quick peck on the lips as he ran towards the plane before you could even recover.

You were in complete awe as you stared at his grinning figure from afar, waving at you like a child before he went inside the plane.

After that, you came home smiling like an idiot.

3 months after, when you heard that he was graduating from TOP GUN, you immediately packed your things and flew to San Diego. As soon as he spotted you from a sea of pilots in white uniforms, he pushed his way out of the cramped space and gave you the tightest hug you have ever received from him.

"So, where's my kiss?"

"I believe you stole one 3 months ago."

"Aw, that's not fair. Can I have one as a graduation gift?"

You sighed in defeat. "Fine, just one. Then we'll talk, okay?" You tiptoed as you gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled lovingly at you as he nods, "Yes, ma'am."

When both of you finally had the time to talk, you tried to figure out what to do with your relationship. As per Bradley, both of you didn't need to figure it out since he had already absorbed the thought that you were his, and he was yours.

Bradley was the greatest boyfriend you could ever ask for. He'd bring you souvenirs that he claimed 'reminded him of you' while he was still away, give you massages out of nowhere, and braid or brush your hair for fun while listening to you rant about how the supermarket never restocked your favorite potato chip anymore.

When Bradley was young, he could clearly remember seeing his parents dancing around the living room as he sat there while clapping with joy. He could also remember his parents singing a song while he sat on top of the piano, trying his hardest to sing along to what they were singing.

His parents were the happiest with each other. As he grew up, he reflected on that thought and decided that he wanted that kind of relationship. A pure, happy, and passionate one.

A year after he graduated from TOP GUN, he decided to pop the question. He figured that he couldn't wait any longer and wanted to just take you home with him and be with you forever. Of course, you said yes.

Your marriage was pure bliss. Bradley was very consistent, and he proved himself to be better as the days went by. After a year of marriage, you found out you were pregnant.

Bradley found out about it through a little game you set up when he came home from a mission. You placed a bun inside of the oven and lead him to it as he stared at the oven for a good 10 minutes. "Babe, I think the bun's burning. Don't you think you should take it out already?"

You suppressed a smile as you shook your head. "Nah, it's not due to come out 'till September."

He frowned in confusion. "What? The bun will be spoiled by then---"

You rolled your eyes at his cluelessness. "Jesus, Bradley. I'm pregnant."

He blinked at you for a while, taking all the information in. "Oh." He breathes out. His eyes widened as he suddenly pointed at the oven. "A bun in the oven--Oh my god! You're pregnant! I'm gonna be a dad!"

He lifted you up carefully as you laughed at his reaction. "And here I thought you were so smart, you couldn't even figure that out."

"I'm sorry, babe. I think it's the post-flight brain fog." He grinned before hugging you lovingly as both of you ended up cuddling on the couch for the whole day.

All throughout your pregnancy, Bradley was very hands-on and protective. In your fifth month, he already bought some things to use for babyproofing around the house. When he found out that both of you were having a boy, he passed out.

When Bradley found out that your water broke, he immediately filed for an emergency leave for a week just to be there for you during your labor. But the moment he got to the hospital, you were already holding your baby boy in your arms.

You could tell that he was mesmerized by his newborn with the way he looked at him. He cried for 2 minutes while he hugged the little boy close to his chest as he carried him away from you to get some alone time with him.

When Maverick and Penny came to visit, Bradley refused to let his newborn go. Bradley wanted to hold him for as long as he could, even if his arms went sore. He sat by the corner of the room as he cooed at the little boy in his arms

"Let me hold him, Brad." Maverick says as he earns a groan from Bradley.

"Not today, Mav. I'm having my moment here."

Needless to say, he remained like that for hours.

When Bradley was a good husband, he was also a good father. Unlike any other dad, he loved doing the dirty work. You never knew why he was always so excited about changing the diapers, bathing the baby, and feeding them even if it was messy to deal with. When you saw how happy he was with it, you figured it was just him being a doting father to his firstborn.

When Nick was about 2 years old, there came baby number 2. You cried yourself to sleep after you found out that you were pregnant again and Bradley couldn't be there for you because he was stationed for a year in a different country.

You called him and told him everything. He assured you that everything was going to be fine as he promised to be home as soon as he possibly could.

After a year of being away, Bradley finally came home to a reading little boy and a crawling baby girl.

That night, he cuddled both children to sleep after reading them a bedtime story. You were left to sleep alone in your shared bedroom, but it didn't matter. You just didn't want any of this happiness to end.

In the middle of the night, you felt an arm wrap around your waist as Bradley buries his face on your neck from behind. "I'm sorry for not being able to be there for you when you were carrying our little girl. I promise to do the best I can to make up for the lost time." He whispered.

You used to think that perfect love didn't exist. Little did you know that that kind of love took a human form in a man such as your husband.

"Hey, hun. You okay?" You heard Bradley ask you as you snapped out of your thoughts.

"Yeah," You replied as you turned to look at him and laughed. "Wow, honey. You look...good."

"Yeah, I know, right? I feel like a walking butterfly clip," He says as he poses in front of the mirror, combing the wig with his hand to straighten it up. "Man, I look hot. Our daughter should be a makeup artist when she grows up."

You laughed as you took a minute to absorb his little ensemble. His blonde wig was out of place, he had colorful hair clips around it, and he was wearing a pink, frilly apron from the little tea party your daughter set up a while ago before she decided to mess with her dad's face.

You made your way towards him as you hugged his waist. "I love you so much, Brad."

He hugs you back as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I just hope you didn't do something bad, but I love you more." You slapped his chest gently as you chuckled.

"Daddy, you forgot your earrings!" You and Bradley looked down to see your adorable daughter handing her dad some plastic clip-on earrings. Bradley gladly takes them from her little hands as he clips them on his ears.

"I think this calls for a family picture," Bradley says as he reaches for the camera, pulling the children towards the living room. Nick sat with his plane next to Penelope with her doll as Bradley set up the camera. You sat next to the kids as Bradley ran to sit beside you before the camera flashed. As soon as it ended, Bradley and the kids looked at the photos.

"Mommy's got a third eye."Nick laughs as he looks at the photo before pointing at your forehead. You frowned in confusion as you immediately looked for a mirror, and there you saw a lipstick mark on your forehead. Bradley.

You looked at him as he grinned. "I love you." He mouths at you before looking at more pictures with the kids.

Life couldn't get any better than this.

#bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x wife #bradley bradshaw headcanon #rooster top gun #top gun rooster

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prettyboyeddiemunson · 2 years

Note

Tell us about more size kink and Eddie pls 👀😁

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE AKSKDKDKD

okay so i really think his size kink is just with the size of his dick. i know some size kinks can be focused on height and all that in your partner, but p**n star!eddie’s is solely on his cock. i’m literally not even joking when i say that this man is fucking huge. even when you’re at your wettest, it’s gonna hurt at least a little every time he fucks you. the good thing, though, is that he knows how to use it well—he can figure out what depth you’re most comfortable with, what speed brings the least amount of discomfort, what positions work best for you, etc. if you don’t mind pain (a little or a lot), then good news! you don’t have to worry about any of that stuff, and shit is gonna get fucking wild during sex.

but back to the topic at hand. oh man, does he fucking love comparing his dick to the size of your pussy. he’s an adult film star, so obviously he’s seen a tremendous amount of it. he’s fucked them all—tightest, wettest, deep, shallow, you name it. and there’s a reason why his films with the tightest pussies sell the best, because he’s out here bringing the size kink into it. he has a stomach bulge kink to go along with it as well, meaning he loves it when he can see the tip of his dick inside of the woman’s lower stomach. the size kink, the stomach bulge, and the throat bulge from deep throating are some of his best moneymakers, with some of the others being the gay p**n he does, threesome stuff, bdsm (his heaviest bdsm films do better than his lighter ones), and there was even a film he did of him masturbating to a fantasy he had of a really hot woman that sold insanely well. i’m sure you can take a great guess as to why, with everything you know about ps!eddie.

and even in all of those, size kink was often brought up at least once. he would ask if it hurt having such a huge cock inside of them, if their throat hurt from how deep his massive dick was shoved into it, he would slap it against their lower belly and say he couldn’t wait to get into their guts with that thing, that he was excited to see his tip in their belly, the works. i’m sure he’s also going to mention the fact that he gets so swelled up over the fact that such a tiny pussy can hold such a big cock, too. but hell, even that doesn’t compare to the filthy shit he says to you when you guys start having sex.

let me just list a few examples of the shit he would say to you:

“i can see my dick inside of your throat, baby. fuck, i want you to swallow around me. i want to feel just how goddamn full you are.”

“your gorgeous little cunt is taking all of me so well. fucking christ, can you hear how wet she is right now? how goddamn filthy it sounds as i push inside of her, getting her nice and full?”

“your pussy’s hugging me tight as fuck, baby. i don’t think she’s used to having such a big dick, is she?”

“your hand looks so small wrapped around my cock. think you can fit it all in that pretty mouth of yours?”

“look at that bulge in your belly, princess. i’m so fucking deep inside of you right now that i can see it.”

he’s also going to hold his cock up to your pussy to compare the sizes. he’ll slap it against your cunt, reveling in how much you squirm & moan because of how heavy it feels. he’s going to enjoy anal with you, too (if that’s your thing; if not, he won’t pressure or force you to do it! he’s a respectful king, always & forever). but he’s very careful when it comes to that, and doesn’t go too deep because jesus, he doesn’t want to kill you or hurt you badly.

he will also get off so hard on super hardcore blowjobs, because of that damn size kink. he’s so thick that it’s hard for your mouth to accommodate him, so you’re drooling all over the damn place and making a mess that way. he’s fucking into your throat and feeling how tight it is, and will make comments on it the whole time, probably. he will love cumming in your mouth and down your throat, watching you choke on that & on his dick. he loves seeing the spit & his cum dribbling down your chin, some of it forming a thick bridge of saliva from your mouth to the tip of his erection when you pull off. fuck, does he love that sight: you on your knees, covered in so much spit and his cum, your lips shining with all of it, eyes gleaming with lust, desperation written all over your face. all because of his cock roughly fucking your pretty little throat.

and don’t get me started on titty fucking with that thing, either. the smaller your tits in that situation, the more he’s gonna be turned on by it. and if your boobs are too small to fuck, well, you’ve got nipples, right? he’s gonna rub that big dick of his all over them, loving how they harden underneath it. he’s gonna love it so much regardless, because even ps!eddie is one million percent a boob dude—of all shapes and sizes.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 11 months

Text

Ease

AN: Yes, I caved. I was tempted to write about Seonghwa instead, but I realised I haven't written anything for San yet, so here we are. What can I say, I am a weakling for men with children. Shoutout to Troye Sivan for the title.

Synopsis: After a particularly rough day with months of working on your latest book finally coming to an end, your husband reminds you that's he'll always be there for you. In every way he can be.

General tags: Choi San x Fem! Reader, Reader and San are married with a daughter, Writer! Reader, Househusband! San, hurt and comfort elements, fluff and mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption.

Smut tags: Switchy tendencies from both Reader and San, nipple play (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex, elements of objectification (m. receiving), not a breeding kink but, San gets off (like a lot) cumming inside of Reader and creampie.

Word count: 5738

I will block you if you are a minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Your apartment is silent for the most part when you slip in. You can faintly hear San in the kitchen, but there's no signs of your daughter's signature laugh and nonstop rambling filling the space of your home. The quiet reminds of you of a time that seems as though it was a lifetime ago when it was just San and you. The nostalgia causes a smile to rise to your lips as you place your bag down on the couch and journey your way into the kitchen.

Affection bubbles inside of you as San hums a tune you don't recognise while he cooks. You have no idea what he's making but, the scent invades your nostrils and your stomach growls. Not loud enough to alert him but, loud enough that you remember that the last thing you consumed was an iced coffee during lunch with your editor. Your nerves too fried to even think about eating. The meeting why you've come home so late that your daughter isn't even up to welcome you home.

You try your best to ignore the way that twists your stomach.

Perhaps it's the sheer exhaustion of the day, or the guilt, or just that you simply love your husband that prompts you to walk towards him and wrap your arms around his waist. You laugh into his shoulder when he jumps slightly, nearly dropping the pepper in his shock.

"Jesus, you scared me," he huffs, but there's no real bite in his voice. One of his hands reaching down to give your own a squeeze.

"You were too focused on your cooking I guess," you respond, feeling lighter than you have in months.

"In my defence, this is a great pasta," he retorts, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He lowers the heat before turning in your embrace. You don't know if you'll ever grow indifferent to just how stunning your husband. His dimples poking through as he smiles at you and his arms wrap around your waist.

"How'd it go?" He asks, giving you his undivided attention, and you'll never quite understand how you convinced this man to fall in love with you, marry you, and have a child with you.

You groan a little dramatically, resting your head against his shoulder. His chest vibrates with his soft chuckles, but he waits for you to respond nonetheless, "A lot better than I was expecting. Hongjoong said he was impressed with the first draft and he probably won't have to edit much. Which is great news but, fuck me that was one of the most tense meetings of my life."

"Why's that baby?" He asks, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"I don't think I've poured this much of myself into a book ever, Sannie. God, I'm sure you know that better than anyone. I honestly don't know how I would've reacted if he didn't like it. I think I would've just broken down," you half joke.

He hums, choosing his words carefully before speaking, "I think sometimes it's easy to forget how talented you are because no one reads your work more than you. Even Hongjoong," he says with an uptick of his lips, "You're right that no one knows how much you worked on this draft more than me. Which is why I was confident it'd be received well," he says, leaning his forehead against yours.

"I'm so proud of you. I always will be."

Tears spring to your eyes completely unbidden. You clutch onto him tighter, your body seemingly determined to meld itself as close to his as possible. San, for his part, doesn't seem to mind. Holding you to his solid form just as closely.

"I love you," you whisper into him. Honestly, you don't expect him to hear you so his, "I love you too," and kiss to your forehead catch you off-guard. Fortunately his next frantic mutter of 'shit' helps to diffuse the tension. Before you can ask what's wrong, he turns away from you once more to stir the pasta. Tension leaving his shoulders when it appears to not have burned.

You take that opportunity to lift yourself up onto the counter and observe his broad back once more. "I'm surprised our little energiser bunny isn't here," you start. You know you're home later than usual but, she's typically still up by now.

He laughs at that, the sound filling the kitchen wonderfully and setting butterflies alight in your stomach, "She's come down with a bit of a cold," the news makes you frown, your grip on the counter growing harsher, "It's nothing too bad but, she has been sleeping earlier over the past few days."

God, how could you miss that? Sometimes, it still leaves you stunned that she's already two. How much more of her life are you going to miss?

"Don't do that."

Your eyes fly up to meet the back of San's head. He seems satisfied with the dish, turning off the stove and setting the pot on one of the cool plates.

"I can hear you beating yourself up from here," he says, turning to you, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort not to shy away from the knowing look on his face. "You're a great mother. I know that, and so does she. Just because you didn't catch that she caught a cold like what, three days ago? Doesn't mean anything."

The guilt still remains but, it's significantly less than it was moments ago. You'll never understand how he does that.

"Now come on, I made this kick ass pasta, and I know you're really hungry right now," he says with a smile. "Grab one of your favourite bottles. I think we've earned it."

San was right. His pasta is delicious. Which shouldn't surprise you, but when you take your first forkful, you're still left stunned. You don't remember the last time you drank something that wasn't water, coffee, or an energy drink, so the wine is a welcome change of pace. The liquid warming your blood and your face and helping you feel more relaxed than you have in ages.

San being the main reason you feel so at ease. It really has been longer than you care to think about since the two of you have had the time to just be with one another. No looming thoughts of work or cleaning or nap times. Just the two of you basking in one another's presence.

"I think I'm going to take a bath before bed," you say once the two of you start clearing your plates and glasses, the wine still lingering pleasantly in your system, "Do you want to join me?"

The look he gives you sends lightning down your spine, straight to the apex of your thighs, "Is this your way of coming onto me?" He even has the nerve to shoot you a lopsided grin over one of his stupidly broad shoulders.

"I'm not not coming onto you but, I was just offering, if you want to."

He laughs at that, "Fair enough. I think I'm going to finish cleaning up here. Feel free to go on ahead, you've more than earned it."

"I can help you, if you'd like."

San waves you off, "I've got this. Now shoo. Go soak to your heart's content with all of your fancy soaps and fragrances."

You hesitate momentarily but, San shoots you a look that leaves little room for argument. With that you, you trudge your way down the hall towards your bedroom. However, you pass your daughter's room on the way there and are unable to push down that suddenly visceral urge to see her. So, ever so slightly and as quietly as humanly possible, you take a peak.

San was right, she's out like a light. Her soft inhales and exhales and little snores filling the space of her bedroom while she clutches onto her favourite blanket. You can hear the nasally quality to her breathing, and that makes you frown, but she's resting now, and that's all you can really ask for at the moment. Just as silently, you shut her door once more. The lightness that comes with just seeing her washing over you.

With that, you continue on your way to your bedroom, smiling at your neatly made bed before stripping out of your 'work clothes.' Which feels absurd to say since your typical work attire consisted of a hoodie and sweats but, you did have an array of more official attire specifically for meetings with Hongjoong, new releases and book signings. A quiet laugh leaves you when you remember that San confessed he thinks you look hot in them once. If you didn't feel little better than a log right now, you'd fuck him while wearing them again.

Shaking those memories from your mind, you drop your clothes into the laundry hamper. You yawn a little as you walk towards the bathroom. Honestly, a warm bath before crawling into your sheets and coiling yourself around San sounds like a dream right now. Despite his dramatics, you opt for a much simpler vanilla scented bath bomb to dissolve into your water this time around. Your eyes fluttering shut, and a moan echoing throughout the bathroom when you sink into the water. The warm temperature practically making you melt as you sink lower and lower.

You might just fall asleep right here.

However, the grime of your day is still on your skin, so you grab your washcloth and begin scrubbing it away. Humming a tone you're not quite sure where you heard as you go. You're too engrossed, and your mind is a little too hazy to notice San slip into the bathroom. He simply watches you for a few moments. Taking in the way the droplets of water run down your shoulders and your melodic voice caresses his ears.

"Need any help with that?"

Embarrassment causes your face to prickle with warmth when the water around you splashes at your startled jump. San at least has the decency to stifle his laughter as he walks over to you. Look far too amused for your liking.

"Jesus San, you scared me. Give a woman a warning," you say, melting into his touch when his strong hands ease themselves onto your shoulders.

"I'm sorry, baby," he doesn't sound all that sorry, and the laughter in his voice is yet to dissipate. Any complaints you have die on your tongue when he begins to knead the stiff muscles of your shoulder. Your eyes fluttering shut and soft moans of appreciation filling the bathroom as he works every knot and ache he can get his hands on.

Stupid hot man with his pretty hands that know how to turn you into a puddle.

"I already washed up earlier but, I thought you'd appreciate a massage," he mutters quietly, drinking in the way you dissolve under his hands. All your brain can manage is a hum in appreciation and acknowledgement of his words. He smiles at that at least he knows he's doing a good job.

You're not sure how much time passes before you're blinking your eyes awake. Your fingers have turned pruney, and your upper back feels tender and looser than it has in months. It's past time to get out of the bath, you think.

"Sannie, I think I'm ready to get out now. Thank you for the massage," you mutter, grabbing his hand and kissing his palm before draining the bathtub and stepping out.

"You're welcome," San responds a little dazed and, acting as though he hasn't seen you in the nude thousands of times at this point. It does wonders for your self-esteem, however.

You suppress a laugh as you wrap your towel around your body, and the trance he was in comes to an end.

"Let's go to bed."

You opt for one of San's older, majorly oversized shirts as your choice of sleepwear for the night. It brings you back to the earlier months of your relationship when he first shyly said you could keep it. He still wore it on occasion, so his scent still lingers on it just the way you love.

For all your teasing at his expense in the bathroom, you find yourself with your tongue tied when your eyes land on his bare torso. His bottom half is not much better since he's wearing boxers that cling to his thighs in a way that causes you to swallow. Hard.

If this is his way of attempting to seduce you, it's working. Maybe a little too well.

Magically, your legs remember how to work, and you manage to walk to your bed without tripping over yourself. If San notices your odd behaviour, he doesn't say much, choosing instead wrap you up in his arms as soon as you're within reach.

Your skin burns everywhere he touches. His fingers drawing nonsensical patterns over your thigh that he's strawn over himself. Your arm naturally drapping over his broad chest. You're surrounded by him and, suddenly you wonder why sleep was on your mind in the slightest.

"It was nice getting to spend some one on one time with you," he says, his eyes swallowing you whole when he sets them on you. You'll never understand how he manages to lace the most mundane comments with so much intensity.

"Mmm, I've missed it too," you confess, and it's true. Between the chaotic nature of both of your jobs and a child to raise, you two rarely have nights such as tonight for yourselves. Perhaps it's fondness or a simple want to that drives you to press a delicate kiss to his jaw.

Your insides twist themselves into knots when San's eyes turn heavy, he searches your face for something before speaking, "Are you tired?"

His intent couldn't be more clear if he literally spelled it out for you.

"No."

His hand drifts from your thigh to cup your face. His thumb dragging itself along your bottom lip and the temptation to take it into your mouth is visceral. However, you choose to see what he does instead with baited breath. His eyes follow the trail of his thumb as though it's the most significant sight in the world. You may just lose your mind if he doesn't just kiss you.

Fortunately for you, San doesn't keep you waiting for long. He kisses you slowly, a far cry from the months of hurried, frenzied kisses before either of you have to start your day or your daughter wakes up from one of her naps. Hands snaking between thighs to make sure you're wet and he's hard enough because quickies are the majority of what you've had the time and energy for.

Tonight, however, San kisses you as though you two have all of the time in the world. His thumb tracing your jaw as his tongue licks its way into your mouth. He even has the audacity to laugh when you whimper into him because of the intrusion. His laughter doesn't last, however, a strangled groan leaving him when you lightly nip his bottom lip.

A startled gasp flies from you when he rolls you on your back. His eyes are lidded and dark with barely restrained want as he looks down at you. This time, the way he kisses you is decidedly less tender. He doesn't hesitate to practically shove his tongue down your throat.

His muscular arms cage you in and, it's difficult to tell who moans louder when his half hard cock presses against your bare pussy. "You're not wearing anything?" He mutters against your jaw, sloppily kissing any skin he can as he slowly grinds against you. It's not easy to find your words with how all encompassing he is. Your nails biting into his shoulders. God, when did he get so jacked?

"No," you moan out finally when his teeth trace your pulse point and he brushes your clit, "I'm not." Some kissing and grinding and, you can already feel yourself getting wet. It really has been longer than you care to think about.

"Oh, you wanted this then," he breathes, one of his hands dragging up your body. His hand cups one of your breasts over his shirt, his thumb dragging circles over your nipple that pokes through the fabric, and that prompts your hips to jolt up into him. A drawn out whimper of his name ringing out through your bedroom, "You could've just said so, baby. I'd happily fuck you."

Between his ministrations, words and the petname, your walls clench hard around nothing. "San," is all your brain can supply at the moment. Your back arching when he playfully pinches your nipple between his fingers.

"Poor baby," he coos into your throat between licks and kisses, "Already so worked up. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." You don't have the presence of mind to bite back a whine when he separates himself from you. The amused smirk that spreads on his face twists the knife of arousal deeply embedded in your gut. He doesn't stay away from you for long. His hands impatiently tugging your sleeping shirt over your head and, tossing it somewhere on your bedroom floor.

You rarely feel shy with San. You've never had a reason to but, sometimes, when his face softens and he looks at you like he can't quite believe you're real and naked in front of him like he is now, the urge to cover your face does crop up.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers so quietly that you almost think he didn't mean to verbalise that particular thought. His kisses along your collarbone are featherlight, barely there as he trails his way down to your breasts. Your fingers weave themselves in his hair, and your breathing grows increasingly laboured when he kisses the tops of them. His eyes find yours through the locks of his hair when he licks at your nipple slowly.

Yours nearly flutter shut. Your body instinctively pressing into him to feel more. To feel as much as you possibly can. You tug on his hair harsher than you intend to when he finally envelopes it in his warm, wet mouth. His appreciative groan going straight to your clit. No matter how many times you've been with each other, San is ever the starved man. He sucks and licks and fondled as though he might die if he doesn't have as much of you as he can. For your part, all you can do is squirm and writhe, ever tug adding to the slick smearing your inner thighs.

He leaves your breast with a pop that is louder than strictly necessary. His eyes almost appear black when the search for yours again. The glazed quality to them makes you want to rub your thighs together but, he's firmly slotted between them. He holds your gaze as he kisses down your torso. Your breath hitching when he kisses just above your swollen clit.

"You smell so good," he moans and, you finally noticing him rutting against the mattress. God, if you weren't already beyond worked up. That thought is swiftly knocked out of your when when he does take his first lick of you. It's slow and drawn out. Starting from your dribbling entrance and ending at your clit. You never stood a chance.

Something broken and animalistic bubbles out of San's chest then. His hold on your thighs firm. Keeping you exactly where and how he wants you so you can't squirm away from him. A pitchy keen echoes throughout your bedroom when he fully wraps his lips around your clit. Years of experience making him an expert at pushing you to the the edge of your sanity in a matter of mintures. You're not quite sure what to do with your hands. They're restless. Not sure whether you want to claw at the sheets or play with your breasts but, you eventually settle on familiar territory. Electing to wind them in his dark locks once again.

They tug especially hard when his fingers toy with your weeping entrance. Collecting your arousal in his fingertips and swallowly thrusting into you. You both know that's not nearly enough for you and you whine brokenly, tugging on his hair harder. Prompting a moan from him and the vibrations sending shudders from the top of your spine to your extremities.

"San please," you finally cry out, bucking your hips into his face, "Your fingers. Please, please-"

You nearly choke on your spit when he complies. Pushing two fingers into gradually until he's knuckles deep inside of you. You're beyond wet so the stretch is minimal, but there's still enough of one to prompt some whimpers from you. He distracts with that stupidly skillful mouth of his. Drawing patterns on your clit with his tongue he knows will render you devoid of thought.

Your body jerks harshly when he moves his fingers. The first curls of them inside of you are so, so good. However, when San finds the part of your walls that makes it feel as though your vision goes white for a second, that's when it's truly all over for you. He's ruthless. Rubbing against over and over and over again as his mouth does not relent in the slightest on your poor clit. Licking and sucking with one clear-cut goal in mind. If you somehow had the strength to keep your eyes open, you'd notice his eyes watching you intently. Drinking in every pinch of your brows and the way your pretty mouth is stuck in a permanent O. The ache in his jaw is nothing compared to any of that.

San is rewarded for his unrelenting consistently when your grip in his hair grows even harsher, to the point where it starts to sting but, he couldn't care less because you're cumming on his face and around his fingers. One of his hands shoots up to, unfortunately, cover your mouth because you were getting loud. He doesn't want to risk waking up your daughter, but he continues to lap at you and finger you through your release, albeit less intensely.

"San," you whine weakly against his hand when your consciousness trickles back into your body. Lightly tugging his face away from him. He whines but, otherwise doesn't put up much of a fight. Removing his hand from your mouth, he gradually removing his fingers from your walls and parting from your pussy with one final kiss.

Sometimes, in the private parts of your mind, you wonder if he'd ever let you take a picture of him like this. Eyes completely glassy with your wetness smeared across his nose, lips and chin, and a pretty flush colouring his tan skin. Without much of a second thought, you tug him towards you. The taste of yourself on his lips is a little salty, but it's not unpleasant. Maybe it's a little narcissistic to admit, but it kind of adds fuel to the fire in your core. San kisses you back fiercely as though his jaw hadn't been working for who knows how long. His erection is scorching and heavy against your thigh as he grinds against you shallowly.

Considering how distracted he is, it's easy to roll him onto his back. He blinks up at you in surprise and he just looks so cute you have to kiss him. So you do. Pressing kisses along his jaw as your fingernails drag along his muscular torso. You really don't know when he got this muscular or, how he even had the time to but, you're not complaining.

"You're so beautiful, Sannie," you whisper in his ear. Biting back a giggle when he flushes a deeper shade of pink and squirms underneath you, "Thank you," he mutters, but it's barely loud enough for you to hear. You manage somehow anyway.

The muscles in his abdomen jump when your fingers ghost over them. Now it's your turn to toy with him. Snapping the waistband of his boxers and delighting in the way it makes him grow more and more restless.

"Please touch me," he begs, and when he looks at you with his pretty, brown eyes and the pout he knows you're a weakling against, how could you ever say no?

You shuffle lower and drag his boxers off of him, he lifts his hips to help you along the way and his cock smacks against toned abdomen. Your walls instinctively clench hard at the sight of his cock, glistening with pre-cum that's streaked his stomach, before you even unceremoniously dispose of his boxers.

You straddle him. Leaning down to press a kiss to his lips again which he readily accepts, his hands gripping your hips hard enough that you wouldn't be surprised if his fingerprints were burned into your skin. The moan he let's out against your lips when your wet slit glides along his cock worsens the emptiness you feel but, it's always so enjoyable watching him lose his composure. Your nails dig into his shoulders with ever brush and bump against your clit, your hips picking their pace as you chase your own pleasure.

"Fuck," he groans out gutturally, "Stop teasing please."

"Well, what do you want, baby?" You ask with a faux confused tilt of your head, dragging your teeth along his neck as you continue to cover him in your arousal. You know you're probably going to pay for this later but, you'll have your fun for now.

"Fuck me, please" Well, when he asks so cutely, how could you ever deny him?

You pull away from him and grip him in your hand. He's even hotter in your palm, and his weight makes saliva pool in your mouth, but that can wait for another time. He's already more than slick enough for you so you decide to end both of your respective miseries and slowly sink down onto him.

It's been a week, maybe, since the last time you felt him inside of you, so the stretch this time does take you some adjusting. He's so thick, and even after so long, sometimes you need to take a second. San is patient as ever, even though his cock twitches with ever centimetre you manage to sink down on. That and the way his hold on your grows more desperate are the only indicators of his restraint, but he watches your face and body like a hawk. Making sure it's not too much for you.

You unintentionally claw at his abs when your ass final comes to rest on his firm thighs. Honestly, your body is still reeling from your orgasm and your thighs feel closer to jello, but you want to ride him for as long as you can. You crack your eyes open when the overwhelming sensation of him being sheathed inside of you mostly subsides, and the sight San creates reminds you why you wanted to do this in this first place.

His eyes already look so fucked out, he's barely keeping them open. However, they're open nonetheless, and his gaze is laser focused between your thighs. Utterly enraptured with watching himself completely inside of you. And his face contorts beautifully when you rise up before slowly sinking back down onto him.

His hands drift from your hips to hold onto your thighs when you find your rhythm. You can already feel the fatigue beginning to settle into your thighs with every bounce on his cock but, watching the way his brows pinch in pleasure and his moans caress your ears is enough to motivate you to keep going.

His can't seem to decide where to focus. They alternate between watching your face and the mirade of expressions that flit across it, watching the way your breasts bounce in time with your rhythm on him and watching the way his cock splits you open over and over again. Glistening with your wetness that trickles down him onto the sheets beneath the two of you.

Despite the tiredness creeping up on you, San feels good. Great, even, like he always does. One of the best parts of riding him is that you've mastered angling yourself just right that every brush of his cock sends your nerves alight. You thought maybe it would be too soon but, one of your hands leaves his abs to rub frantic circles into your clit. It's so difficult to focus on maintaining the pace you set, but you try. Despite your mind being hazy and desperate for the chance to cum again. Cum around him this time.

San doesn't complain in the slightest. In fact, based on the whines that hit your eardrums, the way his hands help you continue bouncing on him as best as you can and his cock twitches incessantly, he's happy to watch you and let you use him to cum again.

"Are you going to cum again for me, baby?" He breathes, focusing his attention fully on the apex of your thighs this time around. Shallowly thrusting up into you and taking in the way your fingers frantically rub your clit to bring yourself over the edge. He steadies himself when all you can respond with are nods and whimpers. Your eyes shut tightly as you focus on nothing but, your release.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, "Using me to get yourself off. Please cum for me, baby. I want to watch you."

His words slam into you like a runaway train, and so does your oragsm. You couldn't maintain your pace on him even if you tried. Your thighs shake violently around him and the shudders spread throughout your entire body, your extremities curling into themselves. You try your best not to dig your nails into his skin too harshly but, your mind isn't all that there with you right now. Your walls clamping down like a vice around him so tightly that he can't thrust into you all that much.

Typically, San would happily let you ride out your climax. Waiting patiently, well as patiently as he can manage, for you to gather some semblance of your bearings. However, a man can only handle so much. He's just as worn thin by your lack of intimacy as you are. He knows it's no one's fault, the responsibilities of being adults and parents have just taken priority but, it hasn't been easy for him either. Feeling and drinking in the sight of you cumming for him drives him to roll you onto your back. Your hazy eyes blink up at him as you attempt to piece together what's happening.

"Do you need a minute?" He asks, well, more like pants, into your ear. He's still slotted firmly inside of and his body practically shakes with how much he's holding himself back from pumping you full of his cum right now. Your higher order functions gradually come back to you, and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer to you before responding, "Hm, no. I'm okay."

That's seemingly all San needs because he hooks your legs over his elbows and starts to move. Given how long he's been holding out for, it's no surprise that his thrusts are merciless from the offset. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and his heavy balls smacking your ass and, your intertwined moans ring out through your bedroom once again.

He looks so gorgeous with the way his hair sticks to his sweat forehead and his face is blissed out beyond belief. The slight burn in your thighs from the way he has you folded is worth it both because of how much he's enjoying himself and how deeply it pushes him. You doubt you can cum again so soon but, your weakly spasming walls still milk him for everything he's worth.

Based on the way his breathing increases and his grip on you is well beyond bruising coupled with his increasing moans and his precise thrusts morph into sloppy ones, he's close. The thought forces a whimper from you and your pussy clenches around him harder, "Are you going to cum for me, Sannie?" You moan directly into his ear. Your hands caressing his firm pecs and admiring them momentarily before circling his nipples. If your pussy wasn't being abused by him you'd giggle at the way he jolts, his hips jerking into you with every brush. A keen greeting your ears when you tug on them a little harder.

"I- I'm-" his words, or lack thereof, come out in a jumbled, throaty mess.

"Please? I want it so badly, baby," which isn't untrue, but you know the effect these words have on you like no other, "You're going to cum inside me, right?"

In the mess of words that you're able to register you can make out some mixture of your name, 'fuck', 'please' and 'yes' but, everything else is swallowed by his noises of pleasure as his cock throbs inside of you and ropes of his cum paint your waiting walls white. You don't think you'll ever tire of that feeling. Him pressed so close to and his lips brushing against your skin with every desperate noise that leaves his mouth while he rides out his release.

"San," you wheeze out, "San, baby, as much as I love you my thighs hurt."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," he says, unhooking your legs from his arms, and your muscles feel significantly less strained. You know the two of you need to start cleaning up, his cum is already starting to trickle out of you, and you definitely need to pee at some point, but you're far too comfortable and relaxed to find the desire to move a millimetre right now.

"I missed this," he mutters into your shoulder, pressing sporadic kisses to whatever skin he has access to.

"I missed this too," you whisper in response, if you speak any louder part of you is worried this'll be ruined. You pull him a little tighter to you, toying with the ends of his hair.

"If I'm being honest, I'm glad you're finished with your book for many reasons," you can hear the mischievous grin in his voice clear as day, "one of them being that I can now properly fuck my wife."

"You're so ridiculous," you laugh, but you don't disagree with his sentiment.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

#choi san smut #san smut #ateez smut

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2frosty4you · 1 year

Note

Fem reader accidentally flustering the mercs by something she did or said and not understanding why (merc) is so flushed and stumbling over his words? :3

Flustering the mercs [Drabbles]

Fem Reader flustering the mercs :3

| Masterlist | ask/request box | Words: 1090 |

i had to stop myself from just continuing some of these 😭😭😭

Also using tumblr on mobile 😭😭😭

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Scout:

You grab his arm and pull him back to cover as a bullet remains where his head was.

“Jesus christ scout at least be careful”

“i - “

He’s speechless, your hand still gripped around his wrist. You look angry with him, but the feeling of your touch on his wrist makes him red, you drop his hand.

“You aight there?”

“Yes! yeah i- i could’ve totally avoided that without ya y’know aha”

He would quickly spit out, messing up words as you raise an eyebrow as he stumbles and runs around the corner. Heart beating fast and his face red.

Soldier:

Im sorry but soldier does NOT get flustered, but you make his heart beat widely when you talk with his racoons in a baby voice,

“Awww aint ya cuties, whats your names huh”

“Sergeant Smith, the one with the medal is lieutenant bites

“what cuties they all are”

He says with speed as you nuzzle the raccoon and baby talk it while laughing, he’s staring for a while before you look up to him.

“You okay solly?”

“Affirmative!”

His heart is widely beating as you treat his pets like your own, giving them food while you think he isn’t looking and always happy to see them when he takes them into base. (even if medic hates them)

Pyro:

They laugh and clap as you flick open a lighter to show them the hello kitty lighter you had bought.

“See! its a pink flame, isn’t that cool!?”

“mpHmH!”

“Anyway this is for you anyway, gotta go see medic; dont burn the place down!”

You toss them the lighter, and wave.

Pyro sits there, holding the lighter in their hands as their face is a bright red under their mask. Laughing as their body buzzed and felt her hands move to flicker the lighter

Happy knowing it came from you.

Demoman:

“Yeah, an she carried your drunk ass to bed; what a sight HA”

Scout teased, demoman’s face flushed red as you walk in. Waving.

“Hey you three, what's up?”

“Tellin ol’ demo here how he ended up back in his bed”

“Yeah! an look at the drunkard”

His face was a dark red, a. hot feeling radiating as he grummbled and burried his head in his arms.

“Hm? oh yeah did you drink the water i left you?”

“y-yah”

He mutters, you raise an eyebrow but the other two men laugh to themselves as demo grumbles into his arms.

Heavy:

A bowl of hot soup laid before heavy, you standing with a white apron tied around you with a smile.

“What are you waiting for? taste it”

He takes the spoon, blows on the soup and takes a sip. His eyes widen as he feels the taste of his mothers soup on his tongue.

“Does it taste right? not sure if i got it all correct, russian is hard for me to read”

You smile, he coughs softy. Nodding, face a soft pink as you stand like a sun in the kitchen.

“Da, its like how my mother used to cook”

He stumbles over a few words, yet you look at him with a tiled head and a bowl of your own.

Engineer:

Engi had been tinkering on his sentry all night, large bags under his eyes as you place down a place of cut red apples with a bottle of juice.

“Engi, eat something”

“I- oh thanks darlin”

He would say with a smile, face red as he ate. You standing there with crossed arms.

“Take a break soon, we need you tomorrow”

Your small act of affection causes him to stutter and laugh softly, scratching the back of his neck slowly sipping the juice you gave him. Looking over his blueprints, just waiting there for him to finish and take a break.

Medic:

It was a hectic battle so far, medic was tired healing the scout and not noticing the enemy demoman behind him he dropped his gun and readied for the impact of sword against his neck, when it didn’t come and the sound of a body dropping make him look up.

You turn back to him with blood dripping from your face and body.

“You okay doc? He didn’t hurt ya did he?”

“i- nien- nien he didnt”

He’s red, standing there staring at you as you look feral with the demoman’s blood soaking into your clothes and skin,

“Doc? ya there?”

He stumbles over his words as he holds his medigun close, waving to you as he speeds away to go heal heavy who was yelling for him. Almost tripping over his feet as he couldn't remove the image of you from his mind.

Sniper:

Sniper grunts, holding the wound on his arm. The blood bleeding through his fingers as you come around the corner, head perking as you walk back.

“Snipes?? what happened jesus,”

“nothin nothin”

He bites back a groan of pain as he went to grab the med back, you kneel before him.

“Snipes move your hand, jesus what even happened”

“its foin, its nothIN-“

He takes a sharp breath in, and with a delicate touch you move it, which feels like electricity through his body you take the hand holding the wound and place it down.

His face was growing a thick red, heat radiating from his cheeks as he looks away from you, treating his wound like glass even if both of you were war criminals.

Making quick work of the bullet wound, you wipe your hands on your pants and look at his red face.

“Aight, should be good. I’ll get medic to heal ya if we come through”

“tha, thanks mate”

“Try not to get hit again”

Spy:

It takes a lot to fluster the spy, but with you?

You grabbed the spy's arm, pulling him down as a soldier walked past you two. The two of you cramped against each other behind the crate, him in for lap with his two lanky legs just strewn around you two.

His face is red under his mask, breath quicking as he faces away from you.

You look up, and then push him up.

“Be careful, next time i ain't saving you”

“oui, merci,”

His words slip into french as his feet stumble and you catch him before falling.

“What, are you sick? Is that why your head is out of the game?”

“no, non, its nothing ami, merci for hiding me”

He cloaks and quickly leaves as his face was red and his head was clouded with you. As you stood there, a confused look on your face as you kill the other spy.

╚═════════════════╝

250 notes · View notes

labrxnth · 8 months

Text

Prison Break- Part 7 (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,

CW: Slight Body Horror, Death, Suicide, Death Island Spoilers (obv)

WC: 5718 (oooo baby)

Summary: You and Rebecca Chambers reunite with the rest of the group to end this thing once and for all.

A/N: This is the end of the Death Island content. I have a few more chapters in mind to end this fic so buckle up :^). also the final battle might be a shit show and chaotic to read, but I literally sat down and wrote it as I rewatched it, so it's pretty much 1:1. Sorry if its a jumbled mess I tried my best.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

The hallways were cold and isolating, a memory of the past creeping up to you as you and Rebecca ran down the hallway. Blue fluorescent lights blinked above the two of you and the concrete flooring did nothing but echo footsteps as the two of you proceeded deeper into the jail.

According to Rebecca, you and her were going to meet up with Chris, Claire, and hopefully Jill. Leon was off on his own, doing God knows what. You had an inkling that he went after Maria, and you were wise enough to stay out of that fight.

When Leon went off on his own for a fight, he meant business; punches weren’t held when it was a one-on-one fight. Maria signed a death waiver the second she ran off and had Leon trailing her.

Seeing as though Dr. Antonio Taylor was dead, the two of you needed a win on this mission. You were filled in on everything that happened while you were out of it, Taylor died while Claire tried to keep him from bleeding out. He was helpful enough to give her a thumb stick with something on it.

You hoped that the six of you would be lucky and it was a vaccine or something along those lines. But you were seldom lucky in this job.

“So, you and Leon,” Rebecca trailed off.

“Is running with me through an abandoned prison that boring?” You asked and chuckled.

“Kinda,” Rebecca replied with a giggle.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything. It’s new. As in, tonight new I guess,” You replied as the two of you made your way through another hallway. “For a prison, this place is a fucking workout to get through, Jesus Christ.”

“We should be almost there. We’re headed to the shipment dock,” Rebecca said, sending you a soft smile and a thumbs up.

The woman always knew how to make a room lighter with her smile and you missed that about her. Over the past year, the two of you had connected a bit, but not as much as her, Chris, and Leon. You didn’t want to intrude on their time together as friends, so you always made up an excuse to not go when you were invited.

It wasn’t that you never wanted to go, it was genuinely because you thought you would be an intrusion on a private party.

Their whole friend group intrigued you. Chris always seemed like a meat head to you, a meat head that knew his shit. He was always on and after being around Leon and going through a few missions, you knew why. It was hard to feel like you could relax in this job field.

Claire seemed like someone that you would be friends with in elementary school, then stick together forever. She always amazed you with how she wasn’t afraid to get straight to the point no matter what or who was in her way. Leon had told you that she was 19 during Raccoon City and your jaw was on the floor. You had a lot of respect for Claire Redfield and she wanted you to feel included in everything the friend group did.

Rebecca deserved so much more than she was recognized for. She’s done almost everything under the sun at the age she is. It honestly boggled your mind how her’s worked. On top of everything, she was just a sweetheart, humble and friendly.

Jill Valentine was still an enigma to you. Granted, Leon also just met her tonight so you had assumed that she wasn’t a party person. Given everything she’s gone through, you don’t blame her. You still technically hadn’t met her, being almost unconscious while she was in the same room as you. But maybe you would get to meet the enigma tonight.

All in all, their friend group was impressive and heavily relied on each other to shoulder the experiences that they had gone through. The few times you had gone to their get togethers, you appreciated how present everyone was and how warm and welcoming they were. It felt like a family.

Maybe after this mission, you would make it a point to go to more get togethers.

“So, catch me up on what’s going on. I still have no fucking clue,” You said. It feels like everything happened while you were out. If you were feeling like this, you bet the Redfields were just as lost, being infected longer than you were.

“We’re after Dylan Blake. He used Dr. Taylor’s findings to make a nanobot version of the

T-virus,” Rebecca explained.

“World ending again? Sounds like our kind of mission,” You grumbled. “We have to stop meeting like this, Rebecca,” You added, chuckling.

The soles of your boots hit the floor over and over again, echoing through the cold hallways.

“Agreed,” She replied. The two of you got to the end of the hallway and found a bolt head door. You put your muscle to use and got it open, holding it open for Rebecca as she ran through and closing it behind you.

Looking around, it seemed like a warehouse, almost like it didn’t belong in the prison. There were shipment boxes strewn around, forklifts, and other construction equipment. Your eyes darted to a catwalk where Jill and a man you hadn’t seen before, but could guess was Dylan Blake, were standing.

Jill’s gun pointed at Dylan and they were talking, their conversation inaudible from your distance. Closer to you were the Redfields trying to get up to Jill. As you and Rebecca ran to catch up, you heard a vent get kicked out and looked up to see Leon running on the catwalks.

He was running with the determination and confidence of someone that just won a battle; which you could assume he did considering Maria was nowhere to be found. His eyes locked with yours and he jumped down, scaling shipment boxes and he ran over to you.

As he got closer, you could see a black eye and a bruise forming on a very broken nose. Red tainted his lips, blood pouring from said broken nose. His hands found your forearms as his eyes locked with yours.

“Are you okay? How are you feeling?” He asked.

You scoffed a bit. “How am I feeling? You look like someone took a bat to your face. What happened?” You asked, your hands meeting his face.

As the two of you talked, you missed Dylan bringing his revolver up to his temple and pulling the trigger. His body staggered back, tripping and falling over the railing behind him and plummeting about 30 feet into the water below.

All you two heard was the splash of his body hitting the water and your head whipped to where the sound came from.

“We should…” Leon trailed off.

“Talk later,” You finished for him. He nodded and ran with you towards the rest of the group.

Jill was looking over the railing, searching for his body in case it popped back up. When she turned to talk to the group, your heart dropped. Looking between Leon and her, your brain was confused. Jill looked like her and Leon could be related, which did not help your eager heart.

You didn’t know what you were expecting from hearing the stories of Jill Valentine, but it was not the woman who was in front of you. She had a bobbed side part, brown and a little darker than Leon’s. It was easy to tell that Leon’s hair was just a matured blonde that had faded to brown, but Jill’s was more a darker ashy brown. Her eyes were blue, a softer, yet piercing blue, like Leon’s.

You would swear up and down that you didn’t have a type, but looking at Leon and Jill, you definitely did. Her whole demeanor read of a person much older than she looked; you made a mental note to ask her about her skin care regime later. She looked like she meant business and you had to remember that you were on a mission, not a meetup.

You could talk later, hopefully.

Jill’s mouth opened to say something, but the whole platform the six of you were on shook. A giant hand grabbed the railing and a monster rose from the water, giving all of you a good look at it.

It would be hard to try and describe what it was, other than a man and nature made horror beyond all belief. Leon had shared stories with you about some of the things he fought before and he had a hard time explaining some things. His stories usually ended with him saying something like “You had to be there, I don’t know how to describe it” in reference to a mutated dinosaur or alligator.

This world was fucked up and it fucked up your head some times.

Though you would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of him fighting a dinosaur.

Now, you knew exactly what Leon meant when he said those things because the creature in front of you was beyond any means of description. It was like if a whale sprouted legs like Kamajī from Spirited Away. It had a face almost like a doll, but also nothing like a doll because it was a melted skull.

Again, it was hard for your brain to process how to describe it.

The creatures roared, it’s ugly face opening and saliva going everywhere.

“Dylan used the virus to fuse with a bioweapon,” Jill said, her eyes never leaving the thing.

“Looks like we’re dealing with this first,” Chris huffed.

“Let’s do it,” Leon said, reloading his gun.

It wasn’t hard for your brain to process the arm sweeping the platform. Jill and Chris cleared it with a jump, Leon used the railing behind you to use as a step launch, you and Rebecca dove under the arm, and Claire being her somehow jumped and spun over it.

All of you easily cleared the arm, but scattered when it slammed down on the platform, causing the metal under your feet to crumble.

Jill and Chris got flung onto one side, Claire and Rebecca flung to another, sliding off the platform. You blacked out for a second, only to come to feeling someone’s hand around your wrist, holding you up. Your eyes looked up to see Leon holding onto a support beam from under the platform, holding the two of you dangling in the air.

Your head whipped to where the monster was and saw a crane next to it. Putting two and two together, your free arm raised up with your handgun, shooting the heavy metal hook off of the crane. It swung in the air, slamming into the monster and making it roar in pain. The metal hook got stuck in what would be the skull’s eye socket, blood spurting from the creature.

The monster whipped its head back and forth, trying to get free of the hook. Metallic creaking filled the air as the crane started to fall towards Jill and Chris on the ground.

Explosions went off on the right side of the monster and your eyes could make out Rebecca and Claire with rocket launchers on the ground.

Looking up, you could see that Leon was straining, trying to keep the two of you up.

“Drop me, I’ll land on the floor,” You said. His eyes met yours and you could tell he wasn’t mentally present. For some reason, he had the same look in his eyes when he remembered something from his past. Leon looked haunted, like he was reliving something from years ago.

“Leon, it’s okay, it’s a 10 foot drop,” You said.

His grip on your wrist tightened, his face scrunched up like he was fighting the memories from whatever he was going through.

“Hey, Leon!” You said louder, your voice snapping him out of whatever trance he was just in. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, dropping you to the ground.

As the two of you were getting down from the support beam, grenades were getting launched into the creature, its side erupting in flames on the impact.

You rolled on impact, lessening the hurt to your ankles as the two of you landed. Leon stood up, helping you up and he ran his hand through his hair. Something he always did when he was stressed out a little too much without an outlet for it.

“Sorry, just…” He trailed off.

“Memories, I got it. Don’t worry about it,” You replied and patted his bicep supportingly. “We gotta keep our heads in the game though,”

Leon nodded and looked around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an army truck with a gas tankard on the back of it. “That could put a dent in it,” He said and pointed to it.

Your eyes followed his and you nodded. “Good eye, let’s get that thing running,” You replied. The two of you took off running as you could hear chaos behind you. Multiple guns, grenade launchers, and rocket launchers all going off and hitting the monster, only to fail.

Leon beat you to the driver’s seat, and instead of wasting time arguing, you sucked it up and got in the passenger seat.

“If you're driving, I get a gun, fork it over, Pretty Boy,” You said and held out your hand to him.

“You sure know how to treat me like a princess,” He grumbled and reached into his holster, handing you a lightning hawk magnum caliber handgun.

“Where the shit did you find this?” You asked as he started up the jeep.

“In the sewers. I was doing our job while you were asleep,” Leon said with a smirk.

Your hand turned over the gun in admiration, checking the chamber to make sure it was fully loaded. When you process his words you scoffed.

“I sure had a relaxing nap,” You replied sarcastically.

Leon drove the truck forward a bit, then hit the breaks. Claire and Rebecca had run behind a concrete support bar and were catching their breath, evading an explosion. Leon parked the jeep and stood up.

“Claire!” He yelled to get her attention.

“What?” Claire responded, her and Rebecca’s eyes finding the two of you through the smoke and gunpowder.

“You still have that password Taylor gave you?” He asked.

Claire pat the pocket of her jacket. “Yeah, right here.”

“Take Rebecca and stop those drones, we’ll keep him busy!” Leon said.

Claire and Rebecca were on their feet, nodding in agreement. As soon as the two of them took off, Rebecca turned back around to face the two of you.

“Don’t die!” She said, then turned back around.

It was unfortunate that the people in your life had to say that to you on a fairly regular basis.

Leon got back in the tuck and put it into drive, driving past the two girls and towards the monster.

“So uh, what’s the plan?” You asked.

“Jump when I tell you to,” Leon replied, smirking a bit.

“This is the last fucking time I get in a vehicle with you driving,” You sighed, watching the monster get closer and closer to the truck.

About 30 feet before the truck collided with the creature, Leon nodded at you. “Now!” He barked. The two of you swung onto the roof and ran along the truck towards the back. Your ears picked up the sound of a grenade pin dropping and you turned to see a grenade in Leon’s hand. His spare hand grabbed your wrist and the two of you jumped when you reached the end of the truck. Leon threw the grenade behind the two of you and pulled you into his chest. He rolled so that he took the brunt of the impact of the concrete floor as the two of you hit it.

Rolling a few times, the two of you ended up sprawled out on the floor. Leon still holding you close to his chest and you nestled between his body and the ground. The explosion came soon after, Leon’s shoulders hunching over as he flinched and the heat of the flames being felt by your legs.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Leon groaned.

“I didn’t ask you to be my landing pad,” You chuckled back as the two of you recovered, getting to your feet.

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Leon said, dusting the soot off of his shirt. Your hands helped him, patting off the dust and debris.

“Thank you,” You said in a dramatic sing-songy tone. “My hero.”

Leon chuckled and looked to your left, seeing a crate. “Let’s see if we can find any goodies,” He said and ran over, you following close behind him.

The tankard did nothing but stall the creature for a few seconds, only making it angrier.

“Tell me,” You said. “The missions you had before I joined the D.S.O., were they always like this?” You asked, looting the various crates with Leon. Your eyes searched for ammo or any new guns, the Lightning Hawk being lost in the tankard explosion.

“Actually, yeah. The Arias thing was actually pretty straightforward, more than I’mused to,” He replied as his fingers unlatched a crate.

“You call almost getting squeezed to death ‘straightforward’? What is your life?” You asked.

Leon smiled a bit, exhaling a laugh. He found an automatic rifle with a drum in one of the crates and started pocketing any ammo for it. Finding a rifle of your own, you followed him towards the monster, climbing over various storage crates and shipping boxes.

The monster must’ve noticed the two of you and been angry about the tankard, because before you could even load rounds into it, a foot came crashing down onto the shipping container the two of you were on.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Leon get launched into the air as you fell towards the ground.

Taking the blunt impact, you coughed out a groan and got to your feet. Maybe Leon was right about being too old for this shit, you certainly felt like you were getting too old for this shit.

“Chris, Leon!” You heard Jill yell. Looking around, you couldn’t find Leon, until you looked up and saw him hanging from the rafters. You wondered how the fuck he got up there, then starting running towards Jill and Chris.

“What’s that?” Chris asked, looking up at where Jill was.

She was holding a big rail gun looking weapon on top of various shipping containers. “A plasma rifle,” She replied nonchalantly. “It heats up to 20,000 degrees, but it’s short range,” She added, struggling against the weight of the weapon, then kneeling down to get into a better position.

As she knelt down, she lined up the plasma rifle, then looked over at Chris and you. “Can you get that thing any closer?” She asked.

Chris scoffed and went to turn around. As he ran past you, you heard him mutter, “‘Can we get it closer’ she says.”

You ran up to Jill, jumping on top of the crates, and snagging another rifle as you made your way. Looking up to where Leon was, you saw him safely drop and slide down a broken catwalk, leading to an army jeep.

Thanking whatever sick and twisted deity was watching over you, you were elated that you weren’t getting into another death trap with the man you loved.

Jumping across more shipping containers, almost to Jill, your brain stopped working as it thought about the words you just used.

Loved.

The man you love.

Shaking your head, willing yourself to stay in the present, you made your way over to Jill who was charging up the plasma gun. She nodded in acknowledgement to you.

“I’m (Y/n), we haven’t met yet. I’m Leon’s field partner,” You said, aiming down your rifle’s sights and taking shots at the melted skull on the creature.

“Jill,” She replied, staring at the plasma rifle’s meter.

“Hell of a first introduction,” You added and smiled.

“It’s always a fucking shitshow, isn’t it?” Jill replied, chuckling.

Looking towards the floor, you could see Leon haphazardly driving the army jeep and Chris stationed on the back of it at the artillery gun. The two were trying to lure the creature closer to you and Jill, guns blazing in the process.

“Jesus Christ, you could not pay me enough to be in that Jeep,” You heard Jill mutter.

“Agreed,” You replied, continuing to take shots at the monster, trying to focus on the same spots Chris was.

Your ear picked up the sound of something charging and out of the corner of your eye, you could see electrical currents running through the gun. The monster had fallen right into the trap, surging towards you and Jill.

“Time to light you up,” Jill said and smirked, aiming the plasma rifle at the monster.

With the pull of the trigger, a white hot beam shot out from the gun, the force throwing both Jill and you back a few feet, your back hitting another shipping container. The creature roared and fell to the ground, its arm hitting the jeep Chris and Leon were in, sending the jeep flying. Chris and Leon went over the windshield and hit the ground as it flew in the air and hit the wall, crumpling.

Through the sound of metal crashing and explosions dying, you could hear Leon’s voice.

“Is that it?” He asked, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “Did we kill it?”

As the smoke and dust settled, you all could see the monster laying on the floor, seemingly defeated. As you went to help Jill up, you heard a splotching sound; the monster was back up again.

Jill scurried back to the plasma rifle as the monster recovered slowly, its eye set on the two of you. In that moment, if you could’ve traded places with anyone else in the whole world you would’ve.

“One… more… to finish ‘ya,” Jill said as she lugged the plasma rifle back into position. You helped her pull the rifle, lining it up to the creature, it being harder this time around with how exhausted and beat up the two of you were.

The plasma rifle started charging up again, starting from 0%. The monster was 20 feet in front of you two, slowly closing in.

“God damn it,” Jill said under her breath. You looked around, trying to see if you could see the rifle you had earlier, but it was lost in the various rubble and debris. “Come on, come on!” Jill said as the plasma rifle kept charging. The monster was about 10 feet from the two of you, it’s ugly face tracking you and Jill.

“Jill…” You said, your hand on her shoulder. Electricity surged through the plasma rifle as it was nearing close to being fully charged.

“Fuck!” Jill yelled as a giant foot crashed down on the shipping container, sending you and Jill flying through the air.

Upon impact, you did what you knew to do and rolled, but you felt two familiar hands stop your inertia. Getting your bearings, you could see Leon at your side, helping you up as he simultaneously pulled a handgun from his vest. “You okay?” He asked urgently.

“Couldn’t be better,” You replied, getting on your feet. Off to your side, you could see Chris helping Jill up, the monster making its way towards them.

Leon ran over to them and fired shots into the creature’s skull, only for the bullets to appear to be doing nothing to it, just like before.

Your eyes scanned the ground, for even the smallest handgun, only to remain unvictorious.

The monster’s head got close to Jill, Chris, and Leon, only for it to stop in its tracks and turn around, seemingly uninterested in the three of them.

Leon’s shoulders relaxed, bringing his gun down. “Huh?” He exhaled. Jill and Chris stared at the creature, ready for it to turn back around and decide that they were its dinner any second.

The four of you watched it pull itself along the floor, headed towards the water. With squishing sounds, it left a trail of blood and what could be only described as snail juice behind it.

Chris and Leon nodded at each other and made their way back to the jeep. Leon gently grabbed your bicep and dragged you with him, you relenting and getting in the passenger seat. Leon hopped in the driver’s seat and Chris manned the gun, just like minutes previous.

“It’s headed for open water,” Leon said, starting up the jeep again.

“Like hell it is," Chris said, reloading the artillery gun.

The jeep took off on the opposite side of the docks from where the monster, and unfortunately enough, Jill were. Your eyes caught that she was running with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, set on something. She managed to get in front of the monster, dodging its legs in the process.

With a loud metal clanking sound, you also noticed that the gate was closing, no doubt thanks to Clarie and Rebecca.

“What’s the plan?” You asked anxiously, eyes locked on the monster.

“That’s for you to decide,” Leon said.

“Me? You’re the one driving!” You replied, eyes widening at Leon.

“Exactly! I’m the driver, you’re the planner,”

“The driver should know where the hell they’re going and what the hell they’re doing!”

“I know where we’re going,” Leon replied, a tinge defensively.

“Well there’s only one way to go! Forward!” You rolled your eyes.

“Could you two stop bickering like an elderly couple? There’s a case back here with a rocket launcher, military grade,” Chris cut in.

You and Leon stared at each other, then back at Chris. “That sounds like a great plan,” You said, smirking.

Leon parked the jeep, then jumped out of it, and ran around to the back to take the case from Chris.

Jill was still on the other side of the docks with the creature, now with a flare in her hand, yelling insults and exploits at the monster. You looked at her in awe, wondering and hoping you looked even half as badass as she did right now.

Chris stood above Leon, watching him try to figure out how the rocket launcher worked, making your confidence in them waver slightly.

“You know how to use this?” Chris asked. Your confidence halved.

“It’s got a trigger doesn’t it?” Leon shrugged. Your confidence was abysmal. Leon instructed Chris to put the two halves of the rocket launcher together and started to line it up.

“Hey, (y/n), help us line this thing up,” Chris said. The military level rocket launcher needed two people to man it, one facing forward, Leon, and one facing away, Chris. The person facing forward had the barrel obstructing their entire eyesight.

You rushed over to the two men, standing right next to Leon. “Do you just need eyes, or help lifting the damn thing?” You asked.

“Just eyes,” Leon and Chris both said at the same time.

“Tell us where the bastard is,” Chris said.

Your eyes panned over to the monster, then to the gate, seeing it lowering way slower than it should've been. An idea formed in your mind as you watched Jill dive into the water, the monster trailing after her.

It was a long shot, and had to be timed perfectly, but you could see Jill and the creature underwater, making their way towards the gate.

“Better idea, aim at the gate belt,” You said. “Leon-”

“Got it,” Leon said and got on his knees, his mind matching yours and your idea. Chris followed suit, the launcher resting on their shoulders.

Telling them to aim a little higher, and having Leon lift it even higher than Chris, you lined them up to the best of your abilities. Your eyes went back underwater to track Jill as you directed the launcher to the right slightly.

“Leon, I need you to fire as soon as I say it, not a second later,” You said.

You watched as Jill got dragged by the creature underwater a few yards, then cut herself free. The monster didn’t care about her anymore, only seeking the open water.

“Got it,” He replied, his voice strained from lifting the rocket launcher.

The monster jumped out of the water, surging forward towards the gate.

“Now!” You said.

“Fire!” Leon said and pulled the trigger. Him and Chris got jolsted back at the recoil, then put the launcher down, watching the rocket hit the gate belt. With an explosion,the gate came crashing down, cutting the monster in half.

“And that’s that,” Leon said, sighing. Chris stood up, rolling his shoulder blade and stretching.

Jill resurfaced and swam over to the three of you, pulling herself up onto the concrete floor. Chris rushed over to help her up as she coughed up water and got her bearings.

You heard footsteps approaching you and felt an elbow rest on your shoulder. You didn't even have to look to know who it was.

“I’ve only been doing this for a few years, I don’t know how you all have done it for decades,” You sighed.

“Honestly, I don’t know either,” Leon said, his exhaustion evident in his voice. “It helps that we’re all together. Saving the world sucks less ass when you have friends to do it with,” he added and chuckled.

You looked up at him and noticed how bruised his nose was getting. “Did you reset that yet?” You asked and gestured to his nose.

“No, why? Does it look that bad?” He asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah, it looks like you got hit with a metal pipe,” You said, your hand gently grabbing under his chin and turning his face over, checking for other wounds.

“That’s actually not that far from the truth,” Leon replied and chuckled.

“Maria got you good huh?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face.

“Slammed my head into a railing three times, hurt like a bitch,” He said.

Your eyebrows raised, surprised that someone was actually able to get a hit on Leon. Over the past few years, you learned that while it wasn’t rare for him to catch a fist, it was rare for it to happen more than once in succession.

“She’s dead though, so it doesn’t really matter anymore,” Leon added and shrugged.

You let go of his face, wanting to feel the stubble again as soon as you let go. “Sounds like she deserved it,” You replied and chuckled.

“You’re such a people person,” Leon replied, chuckling as well.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

The six of you loaded onto the B.S.A.A. helicopter, courtesy of Chris and Jill, and buckled up, ready to go home. You and Leon had managed to get into contact with Hunnigan who was, understandably, distraught at losing contact with you two then Rebecca.

Talking to her, you found out that Hunnigan actually helped Rebbecca with the vaccine and locating exactly where you all went missing. It was times like this that you remembered how cool and amazing your F.O.S. operator was.

Looking out the window, you almost didn’t notice Leon taking the seat next to you. He sat down and looked at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before speaking.

“We need to talk when we get back,” He said quietly, so only the two of you could hear.

Your eyes met his and you nodded, knowing exactly what conversation the two of you needed to have. The exact conversation that you had been putting off for years.

“Yeah, we do,” You agreed.

“We have a while before the helicopter reaches San Francisco, get some rest,” Leon said.

“You too,” You replied, a hint of accusation in your voice.

“I’ll sleep as soon as you do,” Leon chuckled, his hands up in surrender.

The engine of the helicopter started up and the blades started turning. The six of you put on your headphones, the blades and the engine making it too loud to hear anyone else. As the helicopter took off, your eyes remained out the window, watching alcatraz slowly disappear.

Your head leaned on Leon’s shoulder, you finding it to be the most comfortable pillow you had at the time.

“Reminds me of New York City last year,” Rebecca said, her voice being picked up by all the headphones.

You, Chris, and Leon slightly smiled, remembering the mission to stop Arias.

While waiting for the helicopter, you and Leon had gotten caught up to speed, being informed how Dylan Blake took over Arias’s crime syndicate and teamed up with Maria. He promised her revenge for Leon killing her father and they used Dr. Taylor’s research to engineer the nanobots responsible for spreading the strand of the T-virus that Dylan had.

“If I hear Glen Arias’s name come out of someone new again, I’m slamming my head against the concrete,” You mumbled.

“You’re getting grumpy, you need to sleep,” Leon said.

“Im 33, not a child,” You said, a frown on your face. “I don't ‘get grumpy’.” You added.

“You can say that all you want, still doesn’t change that you need to sleep,” He replied.

“....fine…” You grumbled and shifted a bit, getting comfortable.

Rebecca giggled, her gaze locked on how your head was resting on Leon’s shoulder and a soft smile on her lips. A year ago, she clocked it, asking you about you and Leon, while killing time in the helicopter while the vaccine spread through NYC. Specifically asking if you two were in a relationship. At the time, you only blushed and tried to steer your conversation in a different direction, assuring her you two were just work partners.

Now here she was, seeing the two of you act like you were the only people in the world.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #slow burn

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Note

Peter fucks his brothers girlfriend, she needs to be quiet so he has his fingers in her mouth.

Brother's Keeper

Summary: your fiance gets home late.

Warnings: dubcon, deceit.

You close the cupboard as you hear the front door. You see the shadow along the doorframe and rinse off your hands as you smile.

"Hey, PJ," you chime, "took you long enough. Your dinner's in the oven."

He hesitates. You glance at him as he leans an elbow on the doorframe, hand on hip as he considers you.

"What is it?" You giggle.

"Long day," he drags his feet away from the door and slides his hand over the countertop, "you been waiting long?"

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. You peck his lips and pat his shoulder, "long enough…" your hand lingers on the grey cotton, "when'd you get this?"

You trace the dark blue line that crosses through the grey.

"What?"

"That shirt."

"I've always had this," he smirks and brushes his hands up your arms, a shiver running through you, "you know, I think I'm more in the mood for dessert."

"PJ," you shake your head, "I got an early day tomorrow."

"It's not that late," he grips your hips, pulling you against him gruffly. He's usually not that pushy.

"What's gotten into you?" You squeal.

"Come on, baby, just a little fun."

"This morning wasn't enough?" You kid as you trace the line of his shoulders.

His jaw clenches, it looks squarer, his eyes lighter. Maybe it's just you.

"This morning was just the start," he turns you against the counter, trapping you there.

His hands grip the granite and pen you in. He leans in and smothers your lips, hungrily, harshly. There's a desperation you've never felt in him.

You murmur into his mouth as he tugs at your night shirt, fingers wandering over the elastic of your shorts.

"What's gotten into you?" You gasp as his lips smear across your cheek.

"I'll be quick, baby."

Baby. When has he ever called you baby?

You hum as he kisses you again, shoving your shorts down to crumple at your ankles. You flinch as you brace his chest, feeling the firm muscle.

He runs his hand down your hip and thigh, lifting your knee around him as he leans into you. His other hand fumbles with his jeans. Jeans? Wait, he worked today…

He grunts as he nibbles down your neck, prodding you blindly as his jeans slump. Impatient, unyielding, you tilt your head back in a final act of defiance.

"Really, what are you–"

He dips into you and you gulp. Somehow he feels thicker. He fills you and you quiver as you pull your hands back to the counter. You bend your leg around him, your other foot planted as you balance between him and the cupboards.

"PJ," you breathe, "jesus, I…"

He hushes you as he frame your chin, curling his fingers into your mouth, "don't wanna disturb the neighbours."

"Oh my god," you sigh as he jerks you.

You huff as his teeth pinch the skin on your neck and grind against it. So swept up in the spontaneity of the moment, you can only let him do as he wishes. You bite down on his knuckles. There's something so carnal about his touch, his eager fucking. So unlike him.

"Don't want them to tell on you when PJ gets home," he growls and bucks without restraint.

"What…" you babble around his fingers.

"Tell me you can't feel the difference," he snarls, "all these years and he hasn't even broken you in."

Confusion mingles with the stolen delight brewing in your core. You grasp onto his thick forearms, the rigid scar tissue against your palm.

PJ doesn't have that scar… Peter does. A story your fiance tells about a game in the woods. This wasn't how you expected to meet his twin brother. PJ always promised you'd never have that displeasure.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #drabble #mcu #spider man

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silkscream · 2 years

Note

hey queen, this is def me projecting rn, but a req for period sex with tom <3 pls <3 -maddie (hollandsangel)

i'm at the last leg of my period so i totally get it!! cycle siblings 🤞🏼 @hollandsangel

warnings: smut (18+ only), period sex, blood obvs

wc: 649

he'd be so caring -- teasing you about your bad mood but coming home with flowers and dark chocolate and that ginger tea that helps your stomach stop hurting. even in your sedentary state, tom's puppy-dog mood is enough to make you crack a smile in the slightest bit.

you feel all warm when he joins you in bed, taking the time to rub the small of your back or wherever you need. besides the obvious cramps, there's an aching in your body, a hunger to be satiated, and of course, you have to curse mother nature for the scam of bloodletting in tandem with hormonal lust.

tom notices it despite how hard you're trying to hide it. he knows you far too well.

"you want something, baby?"

"no," you mumble, fiddling with the sleeve of your (his) sweatshirt.

"seems like you do," he murmurs with the whisper of a smirk on his face, flipping over so that his body hovers yours. he clasps his hands on your waist and squeezes gently.

"i'm about ready to overdose on ibuprofen if it helps these fucking cramps go away."

"why don't i just fuck the cramps away?"

you wince at his suggestion, nervous laughter falling out of your mouth at the earnestness. "that sounds like some fucked up british slang coming from your mouth."

"your hormones are speaking to me, darling, i'm rock hard already."

there's not much time to protest considering tom's mouth is already descending down the nape of your neck, hands kneading the swell of your breasts as his teeth nip on the skin. the short amount of time it takes for him to get a towel and unclothe you has you aching for his touch.

"want me to eat you out first?" tom offers.

"no, that's okay, edward cullen," you chuckle. "jesus."

maybe tom's enjoying this more than you are considering the blooming hickies that are starting to form on your chest. you whine -- he keeps kissing you, rubbing the space above your belly button and down to your shivering thighs that it makes you impatient. you can feel his length against your legs.

"tommy, want you now."

"of course, honey, gonna take care of you," he kisses your forehead. "i always take care of my girl, yeah?"

you hum, eyelids fluttering and half-lidded when you feel him enter you slowly. you revel in the way he groans quietly, knowing just how well your cunt makes him unravel even when he's inside you for just seconds.

"so warm for me," he growls. "feels so good, darling."

"fuck," you choke on a gasp. "faster, tommy."

he listens. he always does.

his hips snap to yours, strokes moving faster when he hears your wanton moans encouraging him. he wants to be cocky from the way you fall apart for him but the glow on your features makes you look all too angelic and god, you are his angel. taking care of you means the world to him.

"shit, shit," he groans. you, with your eyes screwed shut and your mouth ajar, he's in love with you. in love with way there's a swell of lustration in your face every time he gets deeper inside you. it feels ritualistic.

"'m gonna cum, tommy, keep going -- fuck!"

"gonna cum on my cock, baby? doing so fucking well for me, such a perfect cunt."

his own orgasm rushes to his head first while the entanglement of your bodies merges like milk and honey. your release has your legs vibrating with pleasure and your body feels lighter. like you've ascended to a different plane.

"think you put a spell on me, sweetheart," tom breathes out, grinning ear to ear as he lays his head on your chest.

"i think -- god," you struggle to catch your breath. "some tantric rituals do that. blood magic or whatever."

"i believe it. you really are magic."

#hollandsangel #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #peter parker smut

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hannahssimblr · 3 months

Text

Chapter Twenty-Two (Part 2)

We don’t really know where we are headed, but in the middle of the day in the dust and the heat we find ourselves halfway up a mountain with the sun belting down on us. Jude spins his hat around so that the brim is shielding the back of his neck while I ask him innocently if he thinks that the 90s are back.

“You seem to be feeling better,” He smirks as I cycle ahead of him, creating S shapes in the dirt with my tires, and I angle my face up to the sun and breathe in deeply as the last of my hangover floats away. “Yes,” I say, “So much better.”

I wouldn’t have been able to do this trip a year ago, back when I barely moved around at all and had gained enough weight that my parents started to feel it was appropriate to comment on it. Now, thanks to Shane and our morning runs and our evenings in the gym I feel lighter, stronger, more energetic than I ever have, and while these hairpin mountain roads aren’t easy and my legs are burning, there’s a certain thrill in being able to do something like this without the taste of blood in my lungs.

Jude, on the other hand, is wheezing after twenty minutes. “Do you think we should stop for a break soon?”

“If you like.”

“I don’t know how you have the stamina for this, Evie.”

We pass a little sign that we can’t understand, but next to the Greek symbols is an image of a body of water, and an arrow that points down a narrow trail through a tangle of Aleppo pine, tantalisingly shaded from the sun. We leave our bikes in the underbrush and hike down the rocky trail together, stumbling over rocks and snapping twigs on the rusted earth.

“Do you hear that?” Says Jude, and I stop. “What?”

“Water.”

“Well I hope there’s water, seeing as that’s what the sign said.”

“Yeah, but it’s rushing water.”

I listen, and sure enough I can hear the roar of it in the near distance, splashing, sloshing. “I think it’s a waterfall.”

And I am correct. Within five minutes we arrive at a clearing where an avalanche of water cascades from a rocky height into the lake beneath it. Droplets form into clouds around the bubbling, foaming point of contact, and I have never wanted to swim in something so badly.

“I imagine it’s cold,” Jude says as I tear off my clothes, and it is. It’s freezing in the way that lake water always is, as I suck in sharply as the little ripples I’ve created lap up against the sun warmed skin of my belly. Jude drags his t-shirt over his head by the back of his collar, throws it onto the ground and then he rushes in to join me, diving beneath the water without issue. He accidentally splashes me when he comes up for air and I squeal.

“Come on, Evie, this isn’t like you, just get your head in.”

“It’s cold!”

“It’s actually fine, do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t!” I shriek, “Don’t splash me! Don’t dunk me in!” He reaches for my hips beneath the water, “Come on, it’s fine, it’s just that your skin has gotten warm.”

“I know that you’re going to drag me in if I don’t do this myself.”

He pretends to be offended, “I’d never.”

“Jude!”

“Evie!”

“Don’t!”

“I won’t,”

“You will! I know you, God, you’re just dying to, aren’t you?”

“Evie, baby,” His hands tighten almost imperceptibly on me and that’s all it takes for me to sacrifice myself and dunk my head in before I can give him the satisfaction. I come up spluttering and gasping and clawing my matted hair out of my face.

“Jesus Christ,” he’s saying now, “Are you alright?”

“You were about to dunk me.”

“I wasn’t! I’m kind of wondering how offended I should be at your lack of trust in me.”

“I trust you,” I say, “I just like to have control over the things that happen to me,” I swim backwards towards the centre of the lake and he follows. “Life’s full of things you can’t.”

“Yeah well I’d like to control as much as possible. Like for example if there was a zombie apocalypse I would kill myself immediately.”

“You would? I think I’d try to survive for as long as possible.”

“And have what kind of life?”

“I don’t know, a hopeful one I guess.”

“You’d live in fear and filth and have to hunt and skin animals and always be losing the people you love, all while knowing that life would never go back to the way it was?”

He shrugs. “I think I could make it work.”

“I bet you think that. And you’d probably try to make the best of your everyday life, even when improvement is clearly hopeless.”

“You accusing me of being an optimist?”

I snicker, “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe that you’d leave me all by myself if the apocalypse happened, I think that’s selfish, Kilbride. We’re supposed to be a team,” He swims closer and hooks his arms around me, so close now that I could count the tiny droplets of water that punctuate his impossibly long eyelashes. “What if I killed and skinned all of the meat for you and all you had to do was cook it?”

“Oh, could you not cook it too? You know I’m not as good as you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, I’ll do everything then, all you have to do is stay with me.”

I consider this, “Hm. No. You know, I think I’d still kill myself.”

This shocks a laugh out of him, “So the gist of this conversation is that I will do double the work to keep you safe, and you’ll peace-out at the first sign of difficulty?”

“In a zombie apocalypse situation, yeah.” I smile up at him sweetly, “Does that worry you? I’d probably encourage you to do the same.”

“Nah I’ll fight until the end.”

“Wow, the hero of the story.”

His lips are slippery against mine, our noses cold as they brush together but the velvety heat of his mouth feels like home, and warms me all the way down to my toes. Our warmth can’t fend off the cold water forever, though, and soon we’re shivering, blue hands and chattering teeth, and have to retreat back to the shore. He kisses me still as he wraps a towel around my shoulders, and some more when we sit on the ground, soft dirt sticking to our wet legs until we’re warmed and dried by the sun again.

“I’m obsessed with your mouth,” He murmurs, and I let him trace the shape of it with his thumb, enjoying the look on his face when I gently bite down on the pad of it. I never really know what to say when he tells me things like that. It feels a bit awkward just to say ‘thanks’, so I just lie back on my towel and pull him over me so that he can more easily draw shapes on my face, down my neck, my chest, to my ribs. Of course I touch him too, because it is a privilege to be allowed to, and I smooth my fingers over all of the hard lines of his chest and his stomach, which sucks in sharply when I get too close to the waistband of his shorts like a warning. I enjoy the way that he reacts to me.

“What are you thinking about?” He wonders, having caught the moment that my eyes drift away to watch the clouds, and if I was ready to be completely honest with him I’d tell him that I was imagining what he might look like without his shorts on.

“Honestly, I’m hungry,” I murmur. “All I have in my stomach is this morning’s toast.”

He sits up, “Well thankfully I have something.”

“Really?”

He rummages around in his things and then grins as he tosses me a familiar, crumpled little paper bag. I can’t help but to laugh, “My peach rings.”

“My peach rings, excuse me. Those were a gift.”

“I’m sorry, well, may I have one?”

“Yeah, you may,” He slumps down next to me and we pick away at what’s left of the bag, and they’re still too sweet for me, but my stomach doesn’t care, it’s just grateful for something solid.

We watch the waterfall for a while, in silence, the way that the light hits it and creates little rainbows in the spray. Fish leap and grasshoppers chirp. I rest my head on Jude’s shoulder.

“This is a nice day.”

“It is.”

“I’m glad you wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, well, everything I do is better when you’re doing it too.” He shifts to put his arm around me. “I’m going to miss you loads when I’m back in Berlin.”

“Yeah,” and I hesitate, “What do you think you’ll do after you hand in your assignments? Have you thought about it at all?”

“Of course,” He looks down at me, “Do you think I won’t come back? I thought that was obvious.”

“I didn’t find it obvious.” Silently I worry that we are bad at communication.

“There’s nowhere else I can be, and it feels right to be in Dublin. Jen needs me, and now that things are going well with us I’d just really like to be around.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course. You really thought I was going to stay in Germany after all of this?”

“I don’t know what I thought.”

“No, Evie, I’m moving home.”

“Well, that’s handy.”

He laughs and digs the very last peach ring out of the bag, “C’mere,” He lifts up my hand and splays out my fingers, and the ring is awkwardly large and the sugar is melting but he carefully places it onto my finger, “This is the softest thing I’ve ever done, but nobody is here to laugh at me except for you. Can’t we just admit that we’re together? I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I look down at the sticky ring, and he’s right, it is a soft gesture, it’s cheesy and embarrassing, but I don’t feel like laughing at him at all. Actually I want to break down in sobs. “I will,” I say.

“Oh, that’s good,” He bows his head and carefully bites the ring off me. “Don’t tell Claire I just did that, because then she’ll tell Shane and I’d have to go into hiding and change my name if he found out.”

I laugh and throw my arms around his neck, “God, I won’t, I’ll never tell a soul. I’ll make up something really slick and sexy and say that you did that instead.”

“Good, my reputation is at stake here,” He captures my mouth in a sweet, sugary kiss, lowers me back onto my towel and covers my body with his.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #Jude is honestly at his best and most beautiful here #he's so happy #he's his best self when Evie loves him tbh #tw: suicide mention #tw: sex mention

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atths--twice · 7 months

Text

Paths in Life

Teenage Dana an Melissa discuss the many paths in life one warm summer night as they watch a meteor shower.

August 1978

Annapolis, Maryland

2:30 a.m.

Dana Scully lay back on the sleeping bag she had carried to the vacant lot, two houses down from her own, to watch the meteor shower with her older sister Melissa.

She stared at her as she heard the click of the lighter Melissa always carried and then an orange glow appeared at the tip of the cigarette as she took a long drag.

“Here,” Melissa said, pushing back the hair that had come loose from her long braids, offering the cigarette to Dana.

“Nah,” Dana said, shaking her head. “I don’t really like how it tastes.”

“I guess it doesn’t taste great… if you’re a baby,” Melissa said and Dana sat up, snatching the cigarette from her.

“I’m not a baby, Melissa.”

“Prove it,” Melissa said, shrugging her shoulders with a smile as she toyed with the silver fairy pendant on the chain around her neck.

“Fine. I will,” Dana said, the smell of the cigarette already making her feel queasy.

“In this century, please,” Melissa laughed. Dana placed it on her lips, took a long pull and immediately coughed it all out. “Jesus. Give me that, before anything happens.” She took the cigarette back, clapping Dana on the back. “You’re just not doing it right, little sister. Watch me.” She took another drag, holding it in for a second and let it out in one smooth breath. “Like that. Try it again.”

Taking it back from Melissa, Dana did it again. She could not hold it in as long as her sister, but at least this time she did not cough.

“Better,” Melissa said, taking the cigarette back and smiling. “Two bad you only snuck out the one or we could try it again.”

“There were only five left in the pack. Mom would definitely notice if two went missing.”

“True. Although it would be me who got in trouble and not you. Not goody two-shoes Dana.”

“I’m not,” Dana protested and Melissa laughed. She took one last drag from the cigarette before she put it out. “I’m not that, Missy.”

“Oh lighten up. It was just a joke,” Melissa said, lying down and looking up at the stars. “You’re better than me, that’s all I mean.”

“I’m not better than you,” Dana said, lying down beside her, watching her sister’s face as she said it. Melissa turned her head and smiled at Dana.

“Maybe I didn’t mean better. Smarter. More careful. Thoughtful.”

“I’m not smarter than you,” Dana whispered and Melissa laughed, turning back to look up at the sky.

“We both know that’s not true, Dane. You’re the smartest one in our family.”

“I…” Dana said, her face hot.

“You are,” Melissa said, looking at her again. “You’ll be out there changing the world one day.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dana said, laughing uncomfortably. At fourteen, the future felt far away but also like it was coming at her fast.

“Mmm,” Melissa hummed with a nod, looking up again. “I do.”

They were quiet for a moment, the crickets chirping around them in the warm air.

“And you don’t think you will?” Dana asked.

“Me? No,” Melissa laughed. “I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”

“What?” Dana asked incredulously. “Of course you have to go to college.”

“No, I don’t. I know that Dad will be angry about it, but it’s not my path.”

“What is then?”

“I don’t know. But I know it’s not college. And it’s also not getting married and having kids.”

“You don't want to have kids?” Dana asked, shocked by her sister’s revelations.

“No, I don’t think so,” Melissa said, shaking her head. “At least not… well, like us.”

“We’re alright,” Dana said, feeling offended.

“Not what I meant, Day,” Melissa said softly, looking at her again. “I just meant… I wouldn’t want to have kids and make them move and leave their friends and school behind. I only had one year left and now I have to start my senior year as the new kid with no friends. It’s really hard.”

“I’ll be there. If that makes you feel any better,” Dana whispered and Melissa smiled. Finding her hand, she squeezed it and then let go.

“Thanks. It does help, but still…” She shook her head. “I’ll miss my friends and the plans we had made. I know it’s silly for a Navy man’s daughter to make long term plans, but…” She looked up again and exhaled through her nose.

“I didn’t think about that,” Dana said, frowning as she remembered only thinking about her own feelings and how the move affected her. “I think this is the first move we’ve made that I’ve felt more than a sense of interest. Carolyn and I were going to…”

“To what?” Melissa asked and Dana shook her head, realizing how childish it would sound to say they were going to form a secret club, letting in only the people they liked the most.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter now anyway. We’re here and everyone else is there.”

“See?” Melissa said, with a deep sigh. “It’s really fucked.”

“Yeah,” Dana agreed, not even saying anything about Melissa’s use of the f word.

“No comment about my language?” Melissa asked, turning her head and smiling at Dana. “You’re not going to tell me I shouldn’t speak that way?”

“No. Because it is… fucked,” Dana replied, a thrill going through her at the use of the word.

“Well, well, well,” Melissa said, leaning up on her elbow, as she turned toward Dana. “I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“I’ve never done it before.”

“Well, we’ll make a Sandy out of you yet, Doris Day,” Melissa said and Dana pushed her, both of them laughing. “Sneaking out, smoking, swearing… next time I’ll grab some of dad’s liquor and we’ll have you drinking too.”

“No, I’ll get it and two cigarettes. One for each of us,” Dana said. Melissa stuck out her pinky and Dana grinned as she hooked her own with it, their thumbs then touching before they let go.

“I like this new Dana,” Melissa said as they both laid down.

“Thanks, I guess,” Dana said sarcastically and Melissa hummed out a laugh.

They fell silent as they watched the sky, but Dana’s mind was troubled.

“Did you mean what you said?” she whispered. “About not getting married and not having kids?”

“Right now? Yes. That’s not something I want. I don’t want to be just a wife and mother. I want to do things. To have adventures. Go lots of places. And like I said, I wouldn’t want to bring kids along with me, taking them out of their life and… no, I wouldn’t want that life for them.”

“Yeah,” Dana whispered, though she felt differently and did not know how to say so to her sister.

“But, Dana,” Melissa said, turning her head to look at her. “If you want that, if that’s the life that appeals to you, then you do it. You don’t let me or anyone else persuade you to do anything other than what you want to do, okay? Get married. Have a dozen babies. Or move to New York and live in a little apartment and have a fire escape landing full of plants. Or live in France and spend all day on a topless beach.” They both laughed and then Melissa was reaching for her hand again, squeezing it tight. “You live the life you want to live, not the one others want for you. Even if it’s me, telling you to use those brains you’ve been given to make a difference in the world.”

“Or maybe I could do both?” Dana asked, squeezing her sister’s hand. “Maybe that’s where I will find my husband. Making a difference and falling in love all at the same time.” They laughed again and Melissa squeezed her hand.

“Maybe, little sister. Maybe.”

An owl hooted somewhere and their attention returned to the sky, watching the meteors that began to streak across it.

And as they spoke and laughed, pointing out constellations and exclaiming over the meteors, almost nine hours away on Martha’s Vineyard, a lonely boy of nearly seventeen was lying on the roof of his house, watching the same meteor shower. His parents had been arguing more and more recently, their words cutting and cruel. It felt like a divorce would be imminent and the thought of it made him feel sick.

He had escaped to his room where he listened to records to drown out his parents voices. When the heat of his room became too unbearable, he climbed through his window and laid on the roof, staring up at the sky.

One bright flash filled the sky and although he knew it was not a shooting star, and it was also rather childish to do so, he closed his eyes and made a wish. Not a wish for his parents to stay together, because he knew that was out of even the hands of nature, but that somewhere out in the universe, there was someone who, when he found her, he would never leave her.

________________

Five years later, while running in the rain to her afternoon sociology class, Dana slipped and twisted her ankle. Tears fell hard and fast as she sat on the steps, her ankle throbbing.

“Hey, are you okay? I saw you slip and it looked pretty bad,” a voice said and she looked up through tear filled eyes to see a man with green eyes and dark hair, staring at her with concern. He was holding an umbrella and he handed it to her as he knelt down in front of her. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “It hurts really bad. I shouldn’t have been running, but I… oh, it hurts.”

“I think you need to go to the hospital.”

“I need to call my mom,” she cried. “I don’t want to be there by myself.”

“I can call her, if you give me her number,” he said and she looked at him with uncertainty. “But, I should probably introduce myself first. I’m Fox Mulder. I’m in my senior year here and I live in Walker Hall. My phone number is-”

“I know you,” Dana said, sniffling. “Or at least of you. My friend Mary mentioned you before. I remembered your name.”

“Not many Fox’s around to get us mixed up,” he said with a smile.

“No. But it wasn’t just your name. She said you helped her and some other women. They said you were kind.”

“I try to be,” he said with a small smile.

“My name is Dana,” she said, sniffling again. “Dana Scully.”

“Well, while the circumstances are less than ideal, I’m glad to meet you, Dana,” he said and she started to cry again as she moved her foot and pain shot through her ankle. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

______________

For six weeks, he walked with her to class, carrying her books and making her laugh as she used crutches, her fractured ankle in a cast.

They studied together, went out to eat, and to the movies.

Every night when he helped her to her dorm room, on the opposite end of the campus than his own room, he would say goodnight, but never kiss her or give any indication that he wanted to do so. She grew frustrated, wondering if he had only been hanging out with her because of her ankle and because he felt he needed to take care of her.

“Do you like me?” she asked him as he started to leave one night and he turned around quickly, staring at her in confusion.

“Do I like you? Of course I do.”

“But you… you don’t ever try to kiss me or… seem like you want to.”

“Oh, I do. Trust me,” he said, stepping closer, but still too far away for her liking.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “I want to wait until your cast is off and you’re healed. I don’t want you to think I’m here because I feel any obligation to be. So, I’m waiting. Is that okay?”

“Ye… yeah,” she breathed and he smiled, taking one step back and then another.

“Then I will say goodnight once again. See you tomorrow to escort you to European Studies, Dana.”

“Goodnight, Fox,” she said, watching until he was gone, her heart racing.

Two weeks later, when she got her cast off, as soon as the doctor left the room, she grabbed Fox and kissed him, much to his surprise.

“I had a plan for this,” he whispered, kissing her again. “I made reservations at Luanna’s. I was going to tell you…”

“Tell me what?” she asked, smiling happily as she stared at his beautiful face.

“That I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“Well, isn’t that coincidental. I was going to tell you that the same thing has happened to me.”

“I never thought I’d be happy that someone got injured, but I’m really glad you broke your ankle,” he said and she laughed.

“As painful and as much of an annoyance as it’s been, I’m extremely glad too.”

_______________

Four years later, she stood in a hotel suite with Melissa, holding very still as she zipped and buttoned her wedding dress, nervous excitement coursing through her.

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous, Dana,” Melissa said. “I know I’ve told you before, but it needs to be said again. It was meant for you.”

“Thanks, Mel,” Dana said, looking at her reflection and then quickly averting her eyes as the sight of herself in the white lacy dress made her want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe it’s finally the day. I feel so nervous. And then excited. And then I'm nervous again.”

“Sure you’re not pregnant?” Melissa teased and Dana laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, all done. Let’s see, turn around.” Dana turned and watched Melissa’s face as she looked at her.

“Good?”

“Almost. It just needs something,” Melissa said with a smile and reached behind her neck to unclasp one of the necklaces she was wearing.

“Mel,” Dana said tearfully as she saw it was the silver fairy pendant she had bought with her own money before they had moved to Annapolis. It was Melissa’s favorite necklace and she was very rarely without it.

“For your something borrowed, if you’ll have it,” Melissa whispered and Dana nodded, blinking back tears as the necklace was placed around her neck. “There, now you look perfect.”

“I know how much this necklace means to you,” Dana said, touching the fairy pendant as she looked at Melissa. “Thank you.”

“I had that on when we watched the meteor shower and talked about our future paths, do you remember?”

“I remember the meteor shower, but not the necklace specifically. But I do know you wore it exclusively that summer, so you would have had it on then.”

“I was thinking about my speech the other day and what I wanted to say. I started fiddling with my necklace, which I do all the time, and it clicked. I wanted to say how our paths-”

“Mel… I can’t hear that right now because it will ruin my makeup when I start crying. I can’t have that happening right now. Let me get married first.” They both laughed and Melissa adjusted the necklace.

“After the wedding is fine because you won’t cry then?” she teased and Dana shook her head.

“No,” Dana said. “But after we’re married, the promise to love me in all capacities will have been made. So when he sees the mascara running down my face, he can’t change his mind.” Melissa laughed and Dana smiled.

“Well then, let’s reapply your lipstick and get you married. You’ve got a promise to make and a path to start taking.”

“Melissa, I swear to God,” Dana said, grabbing a tissue and dabbing her eyes.

“Oh, you’re definitely going to need to bring your makeup to the reception. I’m gonna get you so good.”

Melissa stuck out her pinky and Dana laughed out a sob as she hooked her pinky with hers, their thumbs meeting above.

“Come on, little sister. Let’s go.”

#fictober23 #fictober 2023 #xffictober23 #the x files #xf fanfic #alternate universe #different path #meteor showers #siblings #discussions #fate or chance?#friendship #love

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