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nouearth · 11 months

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a business trip.

john wick x male reader.

warnings: smut, alcohol, blowjob (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), dirty talk, rough!sex, breeding, unprotected!sex, top!johnwick, bottom!reader.

request.

the soft tune of jazz—a sonata that you were never particularly fond of—became comforting in your solitude. though a piano was absent, hidden stereos were more than adequate as you gathered the ambiance would’ve been more or less the same if a pianist had performed.

in the sleepy hours of the continental hotel, patrons of the lounge kept their conversations low, indescribable murmurs to your ears as you sipped on your drink—warm and smooth down your throat.

the time on your phone flicked to midnight, and day two commenced. you came on a business trip. if you could, you would’ve rejected the offer to come to new york, especially when it took away time from your dog. but the rascal was spoiled, and that unfortunately meant you had to step out of your home office once in a while—all to keep her spoiled.

but who ever said you couldn’t have a little fun during your trip?

the seats at the bar were unoccupied except for yours. clients preferred sitting in something that supported their back, you presumed, but that didn’t stop a gentleman from taking a seat next to you.

oh, wow. maybe the lady was right… this cologne is a dick magnet.

unbeknownst to you, his favorite seat was occupied and he was petty—though only slight, because a strong drink to incinerate his stress was his main priority.

“bourbon whiskey,” the gentleman glanced at you, dried blood and cuts lanterned under the muted lights, but his black hair succeeded in shadowing. “please.”

the man didn’t seem phased by the injuries—a nonchalant attitude he maintained—but you were nonetheless surprised. speechless as no one, not even the bartender, seemed to have minded his wounds, the blood stained on his dress shirt, and the purple bruise beating on his cheekbone.

it was… strange.

“uh...” you cleared your throat, directing the sound towards the man to get his attention. he looked, clearly want to be left alone as he kept his gaze front. “sorry, i just… uh… should i be worried about that?”

though he didn’t seem to recognize you, the stranger was hesitant to answer, taking more than a few beats before speaking, low and gritty. “no, just… got robbed.”

“oh, shit, seriously?” you reached for you phone and turned the screen on. ”then, I think we should call-“ before you could take the process to another step, a gentle grasp latched around your wrist, stopping you.

“that’s very kind of you, but i’m fine.” he finally turned to you, a reassuring gaze pierced to your worry before letting go and looking front again.

handsome, even when he’s all beat up. focus, that was not the priority right now.

“dude, you’re bleeding.” remnants of warmth escaped your wrist, but his calloused fingers remained in memory. “you could have a concussion or something.”

“maybe,” the man took a sip of his drink, a simper to his face when it was concluded that you were evidently not from his world. “seemed fine as i walked the way here though.”

“jesus,” you couldn’t pick apart between fact or fiction, especially from a stranger, but he had no reason to lie. you took another sip, watching him and accepting his truth. “did you manage to get a hit on them, at least?”

you missed it, but the man glanced down at the red stain on his dress shirt, small and ruby-ed against the white fabric before taking a sip again. “something like that.”

“hm... i guess i know who to call for a bodyguard when i’m in the city again, then.” the ice between the two of you was slowly melting, puddles of it spreading when you two shared a chuckle. “(m/n), by the way.”

“john.” you can put a name to his face now, and it was fitting. mysterious and aloof, but never intimidating because there was a warmth inside of him that just needed a reason to come out. “never seen you here before, first time?”

“kind of?” by now, the drink has caught up to you and you felt a little more confident, turning your body towards him. “i mean, i’ve been to new york before—just not this hotel. i’m here for work.”

“i see,” when you faced towards him, john never meant to do a double-take. several glances were hidden in between the constant motion of drinking, the heat relieving john’s body whenever he took a sip—he likened it to medicine. “enjoying your stay then?”

but the more john looked at you, warmth began to rise instead. it eventually settled on his chest, neck, and cheeks to his dismay and it does not intent to wear off, no matter how many sips he took in greatest efforts to push it down—in a void somewhere, where he believed his feelings deserved to be buried.

“it could be better.” alcohol was a powerful drug, because you were one-hundred percent sure that the chance of you flirting without a drink would’ve been close to zero.

it came out of nowhere—this feeling. fleeting or not, your pants tightened and you needed a release. if it wasn’t him, then it was going to be someone else. and if you really couldn’t get laid, you’d be content with dry-humping a pillow.

you’ve seen it in the movies before—well, usually from a women—but it should be universally accepted, right? confidence was sexy: show some skin, make your intentions clear, and handle rejection like a real class act.

worst he could do is say no…

“I don’t mean to be crass, but,” you tugged on your necktie, loosening it around the collar, and unbuttoned only the top two buttons. a slight breeze ghosted your neck as it radiated and yearned for lust—kindled further when you downed another drink, a last stop for encouragement, but also a device to handle rejection all at once. “do you want to fuck?”

john watched you stone-faced, but there was clear interest in his eyes—you watched it spread across his dark orbs.

it was telling that you both needed something—a release: you with work and him with being mugged, apparently. your fingers tapped on the counter, impatient for an answer.

after a smooth swig of his drink, john got up and beckoned to you with a small smile. “come on.”

as soon as the door shut, you were backed into it with considerable force—not a single second to spare. you held onto john in blind support, groping at his broad back and hips while john’s needy palms worked at your ass, squeezing tight to aid the erection in his pants.

“fuck.” pressure applied to your clothed bulge as john pressed his hips against you, rutting in irregular rhythms conducted by pure lust, and you desperately returned them, needier as you rubbed into his thigh. your moans caught between his lips when the pair found themselves on you, kissing you with the utmost passion—poisonous, because it stole your breath away.

“i could come just like this.” you spared enough oxygen to breathe out, but later found it swallowed when john kissed you again, eagerly licking the inside of your mouth. his tongue was sloppy, mixing the sweetness of your drink with the burn of his to form an entirely new recipe that only the two of you would share.

complete darkness filled your sight while your neck was then bombarded with rough kisses, only broken when john unwillingly tore himself from your skin to strip himself. it was a tedious process because he was greedy, returning back to your neck and lips whenever a piece of clothing was thrown to the corner of the room.

but you were impatient, as was he, and knew things would never progress if he was submitted under the smell and soft touch of your skin. so you playfully pushed him, squeezing his chest in midst, and constantly knocking him back to his amusement while the glow of the moon became your guide to the bed.

“keep that up,” john held you by the waist again, applying his bare body to your clothed figure, half-undressed with your trousers and shirt left, as you felt his beard against your skin. a gentle brush tickled you, but his darkened, low voice sent goosebumps. “and we won’t make it to the bed.”

“hm.” a hum vibrated in your throat while he kissed your neck again, suckled at his favorite area because he could feel your cock throb against him, desperate to be freed from the fabric.

you watched him in the moonlight as john began undoing your clothes, leaving a wake of hot kisses down your body the more you unveiled before him—cold, but john’s mouth made up for it as it wrapped around you like a warm glove. no warning whatsoever, but you preferred that, shuddering when he worshipped your body like a knight to a prince; calmed caresses to your calves while he polished your cock with godly licks.

john’s fingers spidered up your legs and his palm found its way to your ass again, spanking one cheek hard enough for you to suddenly thrust your cock into his mouth and down his warm throat. “oh, fuck-“

he moaned around you, vibrations riding your thick veins as it would take a electrifying trip up north until you moaned, pleaded with him to be fucked—to no avail, simply because he was stubborn.

briefly, john let you go with a slimy pop to stroke you, standing back up to kiss you in midst. you tasted yourself, the saltiness of your pre-cum lining your taste-buds as his tongue ran over yours in a wet and sloppy affair. “god, you taste so good…”

simultaneously, your hand worked at his cock, under-handing the weight of it with slow strokes—to the intimate arousal of your sluggish tongues moving with one another. it wouldn’t be long until you found yourself pressing into him again, gliding your wet cock against his, spreading and sharing john’s thick saliva between the two muscles.

your lips never his, neither did your hand on his cock—both of your cocks now, clumsily stroking—even when john began to prod at your hole with his finger, lubed up seconds before, teasing. only then, you pulled away when his finger slid into you with careful ease, and you flushed forward.

he embraced you with one arm around your body, holding you still while he worked you open, curling inside of you deeper with quickening intervals. you could practically come undone from this, but you refrained from doing so, distracting yourself with kisses to john’s chest, then his nipples, sucking hard to counter the overwhelming pleasure.

but he had the upper hand on you, only realizing when you immediately flexed around him when he pushed into you with another finger—slight difficulty, and so he worked you open once again. though, it doesn’t last long because he wanted to feel the tight stretch you’d provide for him—a heavenly need you’d happily supply.

without any guidance, you bent over the bed and pushed your hips out, and he held you close. you laid there bare before him, looking back completely vulnerable while john toyed with you, taunting your arousal as he slid his cock in between your ass cheeks, wet and sticky from the lube.

“come on…” you almost whined out into the sheets, refraining yourself from wiggling your hips.

his silhouette didn’t budge and he only agitated your impatience even further by tracing your pucker with the plump tip of his cock, slow and teasing with a smirk you could hear. “you want me that bad?”

“fuck,” you were never one to admit things easily, and this wasn’t going to be the start of it. equally as stubborn as john was, you groaned into bed again and used your core to push back at his taunts. you began reaching back amid his continuing tease to grab ahold of his length. “if you’re not going to fuck me, then i’m going to-“

john’s reflexes were fast. as soon as you wrapped your hand around him, he pinned you further into the bed with a firm shove to your back. your chest stung when it rubbed harsh against the sheets and you immediately let go, lying pliant under his force. “you’re going to what?”

you struggled to move—to escape from his hold—but he was stronger in every way possible. every struggle was met with an ache to your body as he barely used a fourth of his strength to hold you down.

and your cock couldn’t have gotten harder.

“I’m going to-“ before you could respond, your throat dried up as john pushed himself inside of you with one slow yet rugged thrust, pushing heat back in, and filling your hole up with more. “f-fuck!” every muscle in your body tensed and you shouted out, almost a whimper.

his cock was thick inside of you. you can feel every pulse, every vein as he worked himself into you, back and forth with deep and slow thrusts, painfully stretching you out. it knocked the breath out of you and your legs wobbled, feeling your current stance weakening as your toes curled into the floor, desperately clinging onto the arrival of your soreness.

but you loved it. you loved how barely prepped you were because you can feel every inch of him reaching deep inside and violating your hole with the uttermost disrespect. he held your wrists together, your arms back and your chest pushed forward while your cock rubbed against the bed, and fucked into you—faster, harder. “look at you, fuck. you take cock like it’s nothing, hm?“

“m-mmm!” you whimpered out in response, your breath hitching as he repeatedly slammed his hips into you, continuously knocking any thought out of you. the painful pleasure was dizzying, finding solace in muffling your moans into the covers. your breath warmed your cheeks as you rocked into the bed from impact, gliding your cock in between the bed and your pelvis along.

there was an ache in your shoulders, in your arms, in your wrists, but john’s cock overpowered every feeling to the point where they became numb. all there was left was john’s rapture and you basked in it. the heaviness of the sex-filled air, the humidity of your bodies when john decided to push his all of his weight onto you and fuck you like you were nothing but a void, the warmth of his breath when he kissed your shoulder and neck, and the sting when he bit.

overwhelming was an understatement of your current state of euphoria. you took him in and overloaded yourself into his pleasure. every thrust, every breath was submerged into you, compelled to mirror even a fraction of the pleasure john felt, and it was only when his cock drove into your prostate with unbeatable force that you did—tenfold.

“oh, fuck! don’t stop,” you cried out, desperate in pushing back against him because you never knew if john would pull away anytime soon. “fuck me just like that, fuck!”

and he doesn’t. john was a man of promise and he delivered your pleas with force and speed, letting go your wrists to spread your cheeks apart and watch you be fucked open with his thick cock, growing more swollen with every passing second. you can feel his balls following his thrusts, swinging against your sweaty skin and creating the most delectable sounds. “like that, yeah? you like my cock, just like that?”

“f-fuck, yes!”

in this moment, you were his, under his control, and selfishly captured when john devastated your prostate with one more powerful thrust to your demands, and you found the stars. they resided in the back of your eyelids as you came—thick and heavy—in between the sheets and your twitching body.

it wouldn’t be long until john joined you in your trip to heaven, his grasp on your hips hard and bruising as he yanked you back and met your ass to his cock one last time in uniting your body with his.

warmth began to fill you as john came undone, shooting deep inside of you. his hips slowed, but never came to a stop as you clenched around him, tight and yearning for his seed, and with that, he milked himself inside of you, giving you all of him and what was left of him—creamy and thick.

his breath was heavy in your ear as he pressed his chest to your back, and you groaned, coming down from the high that you just experienced. sleep approached for the both of you, but he maintained the steadiness of his hips, spreading his load in you as if he was marking his territory.

“so... how long until you’re leaving?”

“mmmph, four more days….”

"good."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn.

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn.

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling.

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son.

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth.

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks.

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played.

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole.

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative.

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind.

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly.

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder.

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation.

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums.

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang.

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?”

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding.

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside.

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud.

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?”

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter.

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later.

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy.

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged.

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead.

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

“So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack.

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion.

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes.

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.”

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him.

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future.

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart.

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his?

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end.

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier.

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm.

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now.

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires.

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.”

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?”

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom.

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller.

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you.

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box.

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

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perlelune · 11 months

Text

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | Epilogue

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Ethan, you’re tearing me apart. Can you go s-slower, please?" you whimper as Ethan bounces you on his cock, his fingers digging possessive dents into your hips. New bruises have already bloomed over the ones from last time just this morning. It’s one of the things you had no choice but to get used to…the constellation of bruises, scratch marks and love bites Ethan is fond of scattering all over your flesh.

He can’t let a single day go by without leaving evidence that you're his somewhere on your body.

"Can you blame me when you feel so fucking good, princess?" Ethan grunts, resting his head in the valley between your bare breasts. His dick twitches inside you and you gasp, your slick walls reflexively spasming around him. Your nails burrow in the taut muscles of his back, an explosion of both pain and pleasure rushing through your core, terrifyingly indistinguishable from one another.

The pornographic echo of your wet skin slapping against Ethan’s fills the room, his throaty moans mingling with your helpless squeals.

He squeezes your hips and slams you harder onto his length.

Your chest clenches as you feel him graze your sensitive spots.

Ethan’s sweat-dotted forehead creases.

"Shit…I’m gonna come," he rasps, his damp curls brushing your collarbone.

Dread fills the pit of your stomach.

"Not inside Ethan, please."

Despite your desperate plea, Ethan hums out a deep sigh and spills his warm seed inside you. Your gut sinks as you feel his spent flood your cunt. There’s so much of it that it leaks past the ring where his length is buried inside you and stains the sheets.

You bang on his chest, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Ethan!"

Your mouth shudders.

"You said you wouldn't anymore."

A slanted smirk twists his plump lips at your outraged reaction.

He cradles your weeping face, thumbs swiping your tears.

"It's okay. You're on birth control, remember?"

How could you forget? Ethan all but threatened you to take the pills so he could use your body whenever and wherever he feels like.

Your hesitant, trembling voice trickles out.

"Yes but…" You squirm beneath his heated stare. "In sex ed they used to say there's always a risk."

"It won't happen," he assures firmly, his large hand traveling down to your hip to keep you impaled on his cock when you try to move away.

Ethan takes a minute to bask in the sight of himself leaking out of you, the sticky excess trickling along your thighs. His brown eyes darken as he licks his lips.

Worry tickling your stomach, you let your hand brush over his thick mane of curls. You noticed he's nicer when you play along. Ethan leans into your touch, gripping your wrist to kiss the inside of your palm.

Chewing your bottom lip, you mumble, "What if…you used a condom."

Ethan snorts.

"I'm not using a fucking condom." His long fingers trace the swell of your hips, a sigh of pleasure leaving him as your walls flutter around him. Ethan's throat bobs, his voice hoarse with lust as he says, "I want to feel you around me, princess."

"O-Okay."

You deflate. You don't know why you keep trying to reason with Ethan despite the awful truths you've learnt about him. Maybe part of you still hopes the sweet boy you first met is still buried somewhere deep within him, even if he shows you his depraved nature time and time again.

He frames your chin, his hard gaze locking with yours.

"You're forgetting who’s in charge here, princess. You don't make the rules. I do."

Your blood turns to ice. Swallowing your tears, you nod.

"Okay, Ethan. I'm sorry I complained."

As soon as you apologize, a bright smile appears on his face. He bends over you and brushes a soft kiss against your lips.

"It's fine. I forgive you." Ethan’s smile grows as he takes a long look at you. "You're lucky I love you so damn much."

Relief flows through you when he finally exits your core with a groan. It was the third time this morning and you’re beyond sore.

Exhausted, you climb under the sheets and lie on your side. You tense as Ethan pulls your back into his chest, his chin nuzzling the crook of your neck as he breathes you in. His muscular arms circle your waist and it takes everything in you not to shrink, especially as his soft cock rubs against your ass cheeks.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. But what other way is there? Ethan didn’t exactly give you a choice. He made it clear you could either yield to his every desire or watch everyone you care about fall like flies around you.

You can’t have another death on your conscience.

Under the pillow, you feel the buzzing of your phone. You grab it and check the text you just received.

Your heart sinks.

Somehow, it slipped your mind. Maybe because Ethan monopolizes so much of your time.

"Who's that?"

You shrug.

"It's just Alana."

Your meager hope of him dropping the issue crumbles to dust when he inquires, "So why do you look so sad?"

"It's nothing," you elude, praying your nonchalance will keep him from digging any further.

You’re about to set your phone aside when Ethan swipes it from between your fingers.

"Ethan!" you cry out.

Retrieving it is impossible, Ethan using the length of his arm to keep it out of your reach.

A wide, shit-eating grin decorates his mouth as he watches you fail to pry it from him.

As he reads the text however, the mirth on his face evaporates. His brows crumple.

"Why is Alana asking for your uniform?" he asks, sitting up.

You fiddle with the hem of the sheet.

"With everything, I forgot to give it back."

Ethan’s frown deepens.

"Give it back? Why? You love being a cheerleader."

"It’s really nothing."

He tilts up your chin when your gaze falls downward.

"Answer me. Why is she asking for it back?"

You shudder. His stern tone allows no room for argument.

You lick your lips and confess with a small voice, "She cut me from the team…"

Ethan’s jaw ticks, flames of rage burning in his chestnut orbs.

"She did what?" he growls.

Panic fills you.

You put your hands on his chest, tears adorning your lashes.

"No, Ethan. You promised. No more murders, please."

Your plea peters out into a sob.

Ethan flashes you a bright smile, tenderly cupping your cheeks as you sniffle.

"Sure…anything for you, princess."

Despite his promise you can’t help but feel unsettled, the air growing chillier around you as a strange glint dances in his eyes.

“So it’s a thing now?” Mindy asks for possibly the hundredth time this morning. The mix of shock and disdain oozing off her tone is unwavering every time.

Ethan’s hold on your waist tightens as he readjusts you on his lap. He insisted for you to sit here despite the vast amount of room on the benches.

His fingers lazily skim over your thigh, right beneath the hem of your shorts.

“Yes, Mindy, it’s a thing, now. We’re a thing now," he says, his lips curling upwards.

"Yes and according to some of the girls in our dorm, they were a very loud thing this morning…" Tara whispers under her breath.

Your cheeks heat.

Awkward stares circulate around the group, all your friends avoiding looking at both you and Ethan for a few seconds.

Well, all of them except for Mindy.

She glares daggers at him before swiveling to her brother.

“You’re okay with this?”

You wonder what Chad's thinking from his seat atop the table.

He’s been unusually silent for most of the morning, his face impossible to read. Scratching the back of his head, he heaves out a deep sigh.

“I still…don’t really know how I feel about it to be honest.”

Mindy shakes her head, turning to the other end of the bench.

“Tara?” she asks, desperation for someone to back her up clear on her features.

Tara opens her mouth, shifting on the bench before clearing her throat.

“I’m not the right person to ask, I think.”

Your best friend rolls her eyes.

“Babe, come on, back me up," she begs Anika.

“I…" Anika trails off, her eyes bouncing between you and her girlfriend. She reaches across the table, putting her hand on your arm as she asks earnestly, "Uh…Are you happy?”

Mindy’s hand covers Anika’s on your arm. “Blink twice if you need help."

Chad shakes his head, hopping off the table.

“Mindy, come on." His eyes lock with yours, exasperation painted on his handsome face. “Bean, can you reassure everyone that my roommate isn’t holding you hostage and that this is a fully consensual boyfriend/girlfriend dynamic?”

You swallow thickly. As the seconds stretch into eternity, Ethan’s hand grows heavier on your thigh, his thumb drawing circles into your skin in a quiet threat.

Chest tight, you remember the words he had you rehearse, trying not to stumble as you repeat them.

“I love Ethan…"

His deep commanding voice echoes in your head as you speak.

He’s the nicest and most caring guy I know.

"...And if you guys are really my friends…"

You’ll accept him.

"And most importantly, you’ll accept us.”

Mindy’s jaw hangs slack at your statement.

Quinn pipes up cheerfully from the other side of the table.

“I think they make a super cute couple, don’t you think, guys?" Your stomach knots as she beams at you, mischief gleaming in her emerald eyes. "The hot cheerleader falling for the shy, awkward nerd? Sounds like a great romcom to me.”

Tears tickle the back of your eyes but you suppress them. A romcom? More like a R-rated horror flick full of gore, tragedy and cruel deaths.

Mindy tosses her hands up in the air.

“I need to go throw up somewhere," she says before storming off.

Anika tosses her a sad look, mouthing 'sorry' at you as Mindy leaves.

If only she knew.

Mindy doesn’t have a thing to be sorry for.

In fact you’re the one who owes her an apology for ever doubting her.

You wish you could chase after her, tell her how right she was…about everything, how you should have listened, how you should have trusted her.

But it’s too late.

Anika sends you a soft smile, genuine concern swimming in her orbs.

“You are happy though, right? You deserve it after how rough things have been for you lately."

Your skin sizzles beneath the intensity of Ethan’s gaze. He blows a warm breath on the back of your neck that makes your pulse race.

You know you can’t falter, or he’ll find a way to make you pay. A deadly way.

Your smile grows big enough to hurt the corners of your lips.

“I’ve never been happier. Ethan…Ethan makes me happy.”

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #dark!ethan landry #bimbo!reader #scream 6 #scream

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steddieasitgoes · 1 year

Text

“Babe! It’s about to start,” Steve calls from his spot on their couch.

Their living room has been taken over by the Party, but unlike twenty years ago when they all would have fit crowded but comfortable in the space, they’re like a can of sardines now. Bodies on top of bodies. Some share dining room chairs, others sprawled out on the floor so they don’t block the TV.

It’s rare they’re all together like this now, just the original Hawkins gang, no kids, no outside significant others, just them.

It needed to be like that.

At least for this.

“Thirty years ago, a small town in Indiana was plagued with a series of misfortune tracing back to government mishandling. Or so the residents were told. While many in the town believed the government story, others became skeptical.

“For the first time ever, we’re talking with a group of citizens who claim to be intimately involved in the events that really happened in a once quiet Indiana town. Stay tuned for a special showing of The Truth Revealed: Hawkins Turned Inside Out.”

“Oh, they were so close,” Dustin chuckles.

“Dammit, Eds! Where are you?” Steve calls again, throwing his body over the open couch cushion as Max tries to claim it.

“The show is starting and he’s not here, so it’s mine now,” she says, pulling on Steve’s arms to get him to move.

“You have Lucas’s lap to sit on!”

“And Eddie has your lap to sit on. Now move!”

Steve’s about to give in when Eddie comes racing down the hallway. The sudden absence of his thunderous footsteps is the only warning sign before he throws himself over the back of the couch and crashes down on Steve’s back as if he’s still a twentysomething year old and not a fiftysomething year old.”

“Seriously, Eds?” Steve groans under the weight of Eddie.

“Aw, baby,” Eddie croons. “Thought you loved being under me.”

The room erupts into a chorus of mock gagging and outrage. It brings Steve right back to the summer of 1986, when he and Eddie’s relationship was new and shocked the kids. They couldn’t even peck each other on the cheek without one of them wanting to gouge their eyes out. In a fun way, of course.

“We still got it,” Eddie laughs, leaning forward to free Steve.

“You guys are disgusting,” Robin laughs from the chair she’s currently sharing with Robin. Bodies pressed so close together they’re practically intertwined. She’s one to talk.

“What are you wearing, babe?” Steve asks, glancing over at Eddie for the first time since he made his dramatic entrance.

Eddie beams. His cheek dimples so big and deep, Steve’s pretty sure he could bury his entire pinky nail into them.

“Thought I’d dress for the occasion,” he shrugs. “What do you think?”

Steve blinks, really taking in Eddie. He’s wearing an old Hellfire Shirt. It’s not the same one he wore during Spring Break 1986 — that one went stayed behind in the Winnebago — but it’s the same design. A leftover from the hoard of shirts Eddie made for his club all those years ago.

It’s a snug fit. The logo stretched taunt across Eddie’s well-loved belly. The bottom of the shirt barely covers his navel, rolling up at the hem. The sleeves still fit though. Nothing’s changed too much about Eddie’s arms, aside from new ink to cover some of the scars.

Eddie’s left no detail unturned. From the black jeans that aren’t as baggy as they used to be, to the chain and bandana in his back pocket. He’s even got his old rings on. The only detail out of line is the missing skull ring he used to wear on his left ring finger. A black band with a gold stripe through it sits there instead.

“You should have told us you were dressing up,” Dustin wines.

“Yeah! I would have found dug mine out of storage,” Mike adds.

“If I told you it wouldn’t have been a surprise!” Eddie smiles, tipping his head back in that satisfied way of his.

“And now it’s time to learn what really happened in Hawkins, Indiana in the 1980s,” the announcer says.

Her booming voice is met with a chorus of shushing and chants to turn it up, all of which are listened to as they settle in to watch themselves reveal what really happened all those years ago.

Of course, it doesn’t stay silent for long as they all chime in with comments, laughter, and even some tears. They may be thirty years removed from the events, but the wounds are still fresh for most of them.

On the final commercial break, Erica checks in with social media on her phone. Shaking her head and mumbling curses under her breath.

“They don’t believe us,” she fumes, typing violently on her phone. “Those idiots. It’s just the facts!”

“We knew we weren’t going to convince everyone,” Lucas says, trying to placate her.

“It was never about them,” El nods. “It was about telling our truth. So we do not have to lie anymore.”

“I know,” Erica groans. “But it’s still annoying. They’re still going to think we’re freaks.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Eddie says.

They all nod in agreement as the final segment of the show begins. It’s quiet as they watch the final minutes of their own interviews play out on television. They all get asked the same question:

“If you could go back and relive those years without any of these events happening, would you?”

To no one surprise, they all answer no.

But it’s Steve’s answer that gets everyone choked up.

Especially Eddie.

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without the shit we went through. I never would have met my platonic soulmate. Or the love of my life. And I would probably be stuck in a miserable cookie-cutter family, instead of the found family I have because of those events. I’d take a thousand more hits to the head or bites to my chest if I had too to keep them around.

“Besides, being normal is overrated. Being a freak is so much better,” on-TV Steve says, winking directly into the camera.

Eddie leaps at Steve, smothering him with over-the-top kisses until the kids are groaning and gauging so loud it drowns out any of the trauma that the documentary might have brought back up.

“I’m changing my answer,” Dustin groans. “I’d go back and make sure you two stayed mortal enemies!”

“Too late, Henderson,” Steve sings. “You already said you wouldn’t go back. It’s immortalized on TV!”

#idk what this is but enjoy #steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #dani writes

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

Text

~*~

Eddie wanting to get to the bottom of why you’re feeling so insecure and anxious, but you’re pawing at his clothing, because he’s the only constant in your life and you need to feel absolutely wrecked by him. You’re breathing heavily, whimpering with tear filled eyes. “Don’t wanna feel anything but you, Eds. Fuck me until I forget.”

“Sweetheart, you gotta talk to me.”

You’re alarmed, panicked, but Eddie presses a finger to your lips. “After, yeah? M’ gonna give you what you need right now.”

He rocks slowly inside you, a painstaking rhythm that drags every thick inch of him through your sopping wet walls. He laces your fingers, pushing your arms until he’s got them pinned above your head, his mouth draping over the shell of your ear. “Good girl of mine, with the prettiest pussy. Always makin’ me cum so fucking hard.”

It’s what you need to hear, what you have to hear, Eddie knows this. And it’s nothing but the truth. His thumb presses your bottom lip down to bare your teeth. His thrusts become heavier, deeper. It’s on the cusp of that sweet agony, that burning sheath.

“You wanna cry for me, sweetheart? Let it all go, m’ right here.”

And your floodgates barrel open in full speed, your tears soaking his perspired neck. He pumps steadily, hips snapping, cradling your necks’ nape, bringing your mouth into a rough kiss. You’re sniffling, shaking. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m gonna cum, princess. Fill up my good girl, so she knows I’m with her all the way.”

It causes that coil inside you to shatter, your walls clamping down on Eddie’s cock, milking him through your soaking release. Eddie’s own vulnerability as he releases moments later in thick, warm spurts to mix in with your orgasm, it has you calming slightly. His sweat slick chest presses into yours, two heartbeats thumping in honor of one another, and it’s… right. He props up almost immediately, concern etched into his chocolate brows, thumb on your mouth’s corner. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

~*~

#idk what this is but I am emotional today okay #eddie munson fic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #kristenwrites #my writing #my work #eddie munson fanfic

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 15 days

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The shorter version: Hey could you talk about stone tops more? Or anything like that, people who like giving but not recieving?

The longer version: I’m sort of going through that process of self discovery, I’ve been meaning to ask about it somehow- basically I am sexually attracted to people (I think??), I get aroused, I enjoy masturbating, even talking with my partner about stuff we could do is arousing to me. I enjoy some submissive kinky stuff. Hell, my boyfriend (transmasc, both of us are) recently let me go down on him and it was like a fucking religious experience, I LOVED it, but I find it really difficult to enjoy anything being done directly to /my/ genitals. Like, I can feel the sensations, and they feel good, but I don’t build any arousal, like I can’t get in the mood? I know I’m not, but I do feel fucked up and broken. Spiritually, I want my boyfriend to rail me into next week, but physically I’m afraid there’s like. Something wrong with me, like,, I don’t work??? Idk. I’ve got major anxiety, I’ve got dysphoria, I guess I always figured it was one of those things. There’s only so many times I can feel Way Too Seen by fanfiction about Noted Asexual, Archivist Jonathan Sims before I start to wonder what exactly they’ve hit directly on the head, if that makes sense. I’m not asking you to Diagnose Me Asexual lmaoo but I was wondering about more like… asexual adjacent things? My boyfriend suggested I look into “service top” too. I… don’t feel like a top? I’m very submissive. But I’ve heard it’s not always top= dom, bottom=sub… how can I be a submissive top?

Sorry this is… so much. It’s really been weighing on me. Even if you don’t feel up to answering this I thank you profusely for the sex ed content you’ve been posting lately. Demystifying sex and promoting sexual health is so incredibly important, and even just what I’ve read from you makes a difference in the agency I feel over my sex life.

hi anon,

weeeeeee!!! this is a fun one.

so, first off, I'm just gonna throw this out there: liking the idea of something - for instance, your boyfriend railing you into next week - is not an innate sign that that's something you'd like in real life. I'll jack off to the idea of getting railed like Thomas the Tank Engine, sure, but in real life vaginal penetration has never felt like much of anything to me + I haaaaAAAAaaaate the idea of doing anything with even a teeny tiny slight chance of getting me pregnant. some stuff is fine to stay in the brain!

if you do ever decide to tentatively explore it with your bf, that's also fine and wonderful, but let's focus on what we know about your likes right now. you don't want to get fucked (awesome) but you like going down (also awesome). none of that means you are or aren't asexual, btw, there are loads of asexuals in the world who love to get railed and hate going down and also feel every possible way about every other possible array of sex acts. you're only asexual if you want to be, keep that in mind.

you're also only stone or a service top or whatever else if you want to be. words exist to be useful, not as an innate ontological truth to discover within yourself. personally I think it's waaaaay more important for people to refine their sense of likes, dislikes, communication, and boundary-setting than finding the exact right word for their particular cup of tea.

as long as we're talking about terminology, let's get into dom/sub and top/bottom. you're absolutely correct that they're not interchangeable, whatever the hooligans on various hellsites would have you believe. dom and sub are terms for power exchange play, when two people enact a power differential in which one partner is consensually given a great deal of control over the other, be it physically, psychologically, financially, or what have you. top/bottom simply refer to who is acting vs who is being acted upon during a sexual act; while some people identify intensely as either a top or a bottom, it's also a simple matter for those roles to switch on a dime depending on what kind of sex you're into. it's completely possible to have sex without designating anyone the top or bottom, and I'd argue that most people have sex without there actually being a dom or sub involved.

so can dom bottom, or a sub top? of course; people can mix and match whatever pieces of sexuality they want in their own explorations. a dom can boss their sub around like a little servant, giving them extremely detailed instructions about exactly how to rail them, and perhaps punish them (in the fun consensual way, obviously) if they fail to meet those expectations and don't get their dom off the way that was wanted. you can, and I cannot possibly emphasize this enough, do whatever you want forever.

a service top, incidentally, is generally considered a separate thing from a dom (which is not to say they can't overlap!) in that a service top isn't always dominating, but is topping because they enjoy getting their partner off in whatever way they like. the overlap of service tops and folks who are stone is notable!

in your particular case I would recommend not worrying so much about which of these terms, if any, are the correct one for you and focus way ore on exploring and playing with your partner to find a rhythm that works well for the two of you. doms, subs, tops, and bottoms all have something useful to teach people about how they like intimacy, but there's no rush to figure out which category, if any, you fit in. just focus on what's fun and feels good to you and toss the rest.

#sex edventures 2024

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munsonsmixtapes · 4 days

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🦇 💞 🏕️

(ily)

ily2

Eddie x bestie!fem!reader

cw: brief mention of alcohol, vomit, and smoking, reader has a panic attack

summary: your best friend Eddie takes you camping and you have every intention of telling him that you love him as more than just a friend

You had been looking forward to your camping trip with Eddie for weeks and now that he was on his way to pick you up, you were nothing but nervous. You had been in love with the man since the moment you had met him and had only hid your feelings because you were sure that he didn’t feel the same.

After a few drinks at a party you had gone to with him, Steve had told you that Eddie had loved you too, but you were still hesitant to talk to him about it. You weren’t exactly sure why, but the thought terrified you. Going from friends to lovers. It would be different and you weren’t sure if you wanted different. But you felt like he deserved to know so maybe you should have told him the truth.

You saw Eddie’s van pull into his driveway from your bedroom window and felt bile climb up your throat as you grabbed your duffel bag that was sitting on your bed. You swallowed your vomit and took a deep breath before heading down the stairs. Your hand rested on the handle of the front door, but you couldn’t get yourself to open it. All of the endless possibilities of something going wrong swirled in your head and it all made you feel dizzy.

You shook your head and then put on a smile as you opened the door, heading towards the van that Eddie was leaning against with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His hair was pulled away from his face in a very loose bun and he was dressed in a muscle tank with the sides cut open and a pair of very short shorts. The whole look made him look so hot that you couldn’t even comprehend it.

His face lit up when he saw you and he put out his cigarette with the bottom of his shoe before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug as if he hadn’t seen you the day before. Eddie always gave the best hugs. They were filled with so much love and he’d hold on as long as the person he was holding wanted. Being in his arms could have easily solved so many of your problems. All of them except the glaring one that wouldn’t leave your mind.

“You okay?” He asked when he pulled away from you. The only bad thing about Eddie was that he always knew when something was wrong. One look at your face and he was asking you how you were doing. In that moment, you were fine. At least, that was what you were telling yourself.

“I’m fine, Eds,” you nodded. “Now, we have a long trip ahead of us, so let’s hit the road.” You hit the side of his van twice with the palm of your hand then handed your bag to Eddie who put it in the back before heading over to your side and opening the passenger door for you.

“It’s only thirty minutes,” he laughed as he closed the door once you were safely inside. You knew that, but it was definitely going to feel long with the secret you were hiding. If you had it your way, you would have canceled the trip, but you couldn’t have done that to Eddie, especially not because he was so excited.

The silence between you was deafening. It felt like the walls were closing in on you and your breathing was getting heavy. Everything was sounding was muffled, even the loud metal mixtape that was playing from the stereo. Your breathing was becoming more labored and your chest was getting tight. You could breathe, but it felt like it was constricted.

As soon as Eddie realized what was going on with you, he pulled over to the shoulder of the road and as soon as he was parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car, making a beeline for the grassy area that was to your right. You just needed some fresh air.

You raced into the grass and Eddie was quick to follow, needing to make sure that you were okay. To him. It seemed like you were having a panic attack and he surely didn’t want you to be alone for that. He was going to help you every step of the way.

“Y/n,” he called after you, but you kept running. He chased after you and eventually caught up to you, grabbing onto your wrist as gently as he could. You were still breathing heavily and he was nervous for you. He had never seen you like that.

“Honey,” he rested his hands on your shoulders, his eyes looking straight into yours. Looking up into those pretty pools of honey, your breath shuttered and you felt tears well up in your eyes. This tears turned into sobs and Eddie was quick to wrap you up in his arms.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hands running up and down your back. “What’s going on, hon?”

“Nothing,” you sniffed. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? Y/n, you had a panic attack. What is going on?”

“You wanna know what’s going on?” You asked, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “Eddie, I’m in love with you!” Everything stopped when you said the words and all Eddie could do was gasp. He honestly didn’t know what to say, but all he could do was smile.

“Have been since the moment I met you and Steve told me that you feel the same way, but I was terrified to mention it because I didn’t want things to change, but now I do.”

“And you know what?” He squeezed your shoulders. “I’m scared too.”

“You are?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “But I’m willing to take a chance if you are.”

“I am.”

“Guess the only thing left to do is seal this thing with a kiss,” he winked. Your arms wrapped around his waist while his moved around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a dizzying kiss.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

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attractive-nuisance-esq · 8 months

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Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

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saltpepperbeard · 9 months

Text

what if

what if it's like-

"I love you."

My, how wonderful it felt to finally say those words, how wonderful it felt to utter his utmost truth. It came as simply as an exhalation from Stede's lungs, but so, so much purer. It tasted sweeter than anything he had ever said before.

And the importance of such must have instantly resonated; tears leapt to Ed's eyes in a mere blink, his gaze sparkling with all the stars in the sky. Yet...Something very important seemed to be missing. Happiness, pure joy, seemed to be missing. Instead of falling victim to the giddy laughter Stede felt welling up within his own chest, Ed seemed to sort of...crumple before him.

A lump formed in Stede's throat.

"...E-Edward?" he tried weakly, softly.

To further his dismay, those gorgeous eyes averted, staring down at their feet as though Ed was choking on guilt. Perhaps he was.

"Do...do you really?" he asked, quiet and pained, "After all I've done? Seeing who I am?"

Ah.

Stede let out another little breath. The questions registered in his mind, but didn't deter him in the slightest. Very much the opposite; he took a small step forward, reached with both hands, and framed Ed's lovely face, softly guiding him to look back up.

"Yes. Yes, Ed. Yes. Because, you know who I see?" He softly ran his thumbs against those darling cheeks, grounding them both that much more. "I see the most astounding, wonderful, beautiful man standing before me, and I love him with all that I am. I love you so much."

Ed let out a shaky noise, and the sheen within his eyes broke, racing down his cheeks and hitting Stede's fingers in trails of falling stars. Again, Stede was only drawn forward further, leaning their faces closer together.

"I love everything about you," he whispered tenderly, reverently, "I love being near you. Breathing the same air."

He punctuated his point by boldly leaning their foreheads together, nestling so close that there was only a whisper between them.

"I love you from the very bottom of my heart, Edward Teach."

And following such, their lips spoke the rest.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #OFMD fanfiction #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Gentlebeard fanfiction #Blackbonnet fanfiction #OFMD Season 2 #Write! That's the spirit!#Revenge Rambles #...ON A CREATIVE ROLL SJDKLJSHDLKS #PLEASE SEND HELP IF AND WHEN THE PROPER TRAILER DROPS #AND DEEM ME A LOST CAUSE WHEN THE WHOLE SEASON COMES OUT

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riddle-me-ri · 2 years

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Hey this was me who wanted a whole fic for this scenario for the bottom line "go be pretty over there away from me" could u do it thank u

A/N: I’m writing this at like 4 am cause I can’t sleep, so if this goes down later tomorrow I'm heavily editing it rip but hey at least I get to practice writing for other rogues that pique my interest! I hope I do them justice. This is another shot of just my own generalized takes on them (albeit I've been watching BTAS again, so they may seem softer than normal rip), and still no Joker sorry not sorry and most of these ended up being fluffier than I intended oop. Special thanks to @like-rain-or-confetti for supporting my ramblings in the tags of my reblogs lol

Batman Rogues x Reader - Yes, You’re Pretty…Now GO AWAY

Edward Nygma/The Riddler:

It was ridiculous.

Absolute nonsense.

He was jotting down riddles and puzzle traps away in his journal. You were only a few feet away on the other edge of the couch. Your face glued to your computer screen.

Everything was fine…until you started laughing.

Your little giggles, and the sweet small smile that lingered after your giggle fit. The way your face’s natural glow was tinted by the blue of the screen…

Ludicrous, outrageous, unbelievable.

“Y/N…”

“Hm?”

“C-Could you perhaps take yourself…anywhere else but here?”

You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion. “Uh…yeah I could, but I don’t want to. I want to stay here with you, Ed.”

“I…appreciate that, but it’s rather hard to focus.”

Your blinked and shook your head. What? “I’m not even talking to you, I’m only like three feet away from you!” You shot your hand up going from right to left, gesturing the distance between you and Edward.

“Yes, yes, but y-you’re distracting…”

“How?”

“You’re laughing, smiling, beaming…” Ed drifted from stern to swooning.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You scooted closer to him on the couch, catching him off guard.

“Eddie, are you saying I’m distracting you because…I’m pretty?” You grinned.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes, beautiful even, so can you please go somewhere else?”

You doubled down. “I don’t know sounds like a you problem…”

“Please Y/N!”

“Okay, okay, just tell me again how beautiful I am…”

Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin:

You were just helping Oswald out in his office. You enjoyed helping him stay organized. He may be a criminal but it was in organized crime.

Oswald was going over invoice statements and you were checking inventory for the lounge’s food and beverages. However, you were proving to be rather…distracting.

Your legs were crossed, you leaned back in the leather office chair, slightly rocking yourself. You bit the end of your pen between your teeth while your eyes intently scanned the contents of the papers in front of you.

The gentleman of crime found himself not thinking so gentleman thoughts about you. All previous work and tasks that needed to be done was slowly slipping out of his mind.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Y/N, dove…”

“Yes, Ozzie.” You looked up at him with a sweet smile.

Oh, why’d you have to do that?!

“Uhh, do you think you can help the girls downstairs? I recall they needed some assistance with the new uniforms.”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, that’s the first I heard. They seem to be getting along well with them, Oz.”

“That’s not what they told me earlier, love.”

“Oswald, I spoke to them and they said they were fine!” You insisted.

Oswald cringed, clearly not taking the bait to leave.

“Is there something else that’s wrong? Something bothering you?” You inquired.

“Ah…it’s just me, love. Well, more you than me…” He scratched the back of his neck.

“And how is it more me than you?”

“Dove, you’re far too gorgeous, you always are, but more so now, and it’s distracting me,” Oz admitted.

Your eyes widened, but you felt your throat bubble up in soft chuckles. “I’m distracting you?”

Oz gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s the truth, love…I should be checking this numbers and adding and subtracting, but all I can think of is you…”

You felt your face warm up slightly, as a soft blush rose to your cheeks. “Ever the charmer, Oswald.”

“It’s the truth, Y/N. Once I finish these papers, I’ll come get you, okay?”

“You better, Cobblepot!” You shot a finger at him, trying to act serious, but you both could tell you were only teasing him.

Oswald laughed. “The sooner you leave the sooner I can get this done!”

You were halfway at the door when you looked over your shoulder. “You owe me, Ozzie!”

Oz kept laughing, waving you off. “I’ll make it up, I promise!”

Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow:

This wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

How can he resume his plans as the Master of Fear and the Lord of Despair when you’re sitting right there.

You looked so cozy and warm. You were cuddled up in one of Jonathan’s old Gotham University hoodies and a long fleece blanker. You were reading one of your novels while he was on the other side of the room; recording certain chemical reactions, wrote down further hypothesis to test later for a new toxin.

You assured him you wouldn’t say anything or bother him, you just wanted to be near him. Jonathan figured it would kill two birds with one stone, he can get work done and you two get to be near each other.

However, you were still so enthralling and enchanting to the ex-professor. Seeing you so content in his presence. It made a warmth bloom in his heart he had never felt in a long time, he was sure he had long lost the capability to feel this warmth. This love, dare he say.

“Uhh, Jonny…” You start.

“Hm?”

“Sweetheart, you’re staring…”

Jonathan immediately shook his head and blinked, as he broke whatever spell you unconsciously put him in.

“Oh, um, I-I apologize…” Jonathan’s face slowly turned red at his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

You giggled. “It’s fine, Jonny, do you want me to read in another room?”

Jonathan really didn’t want you to go, but he didn’t see himself really getting any work done.

“I promise I’ll come join you soon, darling…but if…if you don’t mind?”

You got up from your chair, giggling, wrapping yourself in the blanket and leaving your index finger in the pages of your book to mark your spot. You bent over and gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek.

“I don’t mind, Jonathan. Just don’t be too long, okay?”

“Y-Yes, darling…”

Jervis Tetch/The Mad Hatter:

Okay, okay, the tea party was almost ready.

Jervis was setting up his next tea party for the Batman. He had the tablecloth laid out. All the plates and tableware was set. Y/N sat in their chair looking radiant as ever…

Y/N sitting in a reclining chair smiling away at some handheld device. Jervis thinks he remembers you called it a Switch or something like that. You seemed to enjoy playing on it, and it gave you something to do while Jervis was plotting and scheming.

However, he didn’t notice until just now, just how ethereal you were. Your eyes lit up, your cute little hums of satisfaction, your giggles. Gosh, your giggles were quite infectious even for him and he is the Mad Hatter.

“Is there something wrong, Jervis?” You noticed he stopped pacing around and mumbling different ideas and tasks he had going on in his head.

“Oh, um, no nothing at all…” Jervis darted his eyes away from you and tried to resume setting the traps on the chairs surrounding the table.

There you go giggling again, gosh you were as cute as a white rabbit.

WHAP

Jervis yelped in pain as the rat trap he had placed on the table was triggered when he placed his elbow down on it.

“Oh my God, Jervis!” You jumped up and immediately helped pull back the mechanism, freeing his arm.

“Aahh, ah..” Jervis whimpered. You began softly rubbing the joint, hoping the pinching sensation will fade away.

“U-um..my dear, Y/N. N-Not that I don’t enjoy having you here with me…but perhaps it may be best if you went somewhere else while I finish up here.”

A puzzled look showed up on your face. You titled your head when you asked, “but why, Jervis, everything was going fine…did something distract you?”

“Well…yes…a certain something..someone did..”

“Someone? Oh! Aww, Jervis…” You couldn’t help the small smile that grew across your face.

“I’m afraid you’re far too enchanting for me, my dear. You’ll have to make haste elsewhere.” He shrugged nervously.

“Well, if it’ll keep you from hurting yourself, I think I can oblige you just this once.” You poked the tip of his nose.

Jervis giggled at the gesture, causing you to laugh in return.

Harvey Dent/Two-Face:

You had no reason to look that alluring.

He’s trying to plan his next trial at the kitchen table but nooo. You were sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing your new dress. You were steady scrolling on your phone, probably laughing at some cute animal videos.

Dent would absolutely kill someone if they got in the way of your smile. He wouldn’t even need to flip a coin on it.

Harvey would look down and try to focus on his list of defendants he had lined up, and some places he planned to raid. Those will probably have to happen next week, he found a quite a few rats in his gang. Plus his boys caught one of Penguin’s higher ups that could spill some hot info…

You laughed. You tried to cover it up, but failed pretty miserably. You started typing away on your phone. Your award-winning smile still plastered on your face.

Damnit…who did his boys catch?

Harvey got up and leaned against the beam that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Hey…gorgeous…”

You immediately perked your head up. “Oh, hey Harvey, how’s work going?”

“Ah, it’s going, could be going a lot faster though…”

“Really? How so?”

“If you could maybe go to the bedroom and hang out there…” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, not sure how else to tell you to leave.

“Oh, am I annoying you?”

“No, no, far from it, doll.” He went up to you and got down on his knees. He took your hands in his and placed them on top of your knees.

“You’re just, you always look so beautiful, but today you look…particularly…well gorgeous. And it’s really hard for me to focus…”

“Harvey Dent are you accusing me of being too pretty?” You jested, teasingly shoved him in his chest.

“Afriad I am, doll. Luckily for you, I’ve already got a plea deal to offer you.”

“Even for a repeat offender like me?” You coyishly inquired, pretending to be worried about actually being charged with a crime.

“Especially for you, if you can spend some time alone in another room, and it can be anywhere, but where I am…I won’t have to charge you for distracting me.”

“What do the charges entail, Mr. Dent?” You crossed your arms.

“You don’t wanna know, doll. Just take my advice and I’ll make it worth your while.” Harvey winked.

“Hm.” You stood up, almost knocking Harvey back on his haunches. “I suppose I’ll take your advice…this time, but I’ll hold you to that offer of making it worth my while.”

Harvey laughed. “Sure thing, sweetness. Just please, I can’t be a victim to your radiance for much longer…”

“Oh shush, I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

#batman rogues #batman rogues x reader #riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #the scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #dc the mad hatter x reader #jervis tetch x reader #dc two-face x reader #two face x reader #harvey dent x reader #ri writes

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