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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 17 days

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The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.”

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre.

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.”

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring.

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet.

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.”

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...”

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath.

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak.

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself.

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do?

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say...”

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.”

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.”

You don’t know how else to explain it.

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.”

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.”

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark.

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.”

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is.

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur.

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.”

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace.

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold.

“Yum,” he purrs.

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice.

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white.

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.”

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do.

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--”

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.”

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says.

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up.

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.”

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him.

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there.

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown.

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.”

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why?

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep.

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there.

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water.

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet.

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away.

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest.

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real.

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done.

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess.

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former.

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned.

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?”

You shrug and shake your head.

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.”

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.”

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls.

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.”

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders.

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...”

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...”

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying.

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.”

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way.

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business.

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough.

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more.

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up.

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince.

You sniff, “sure.”

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp.

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs.

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?”

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself.

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.”

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man #the quiet ones

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multifandomwhore-003 · 5 months

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Deal? —Scrap

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x female! reader

Genre(s): smut, fluff, a bit angsty if you look closely

Summary: Finding a past love in the bedroom of your best friend's parents can lead to a lot more than just a quick catch-up.

Warnings: smut, fingering, no condoms (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, a bit of breeding link maybe.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 join taglist here

A/N: As much as I wanna be proud of this for being smut and therefore out of my comfort zone, I can't, you see this is what made me realize just how rusty I am in writing,like the fingers are creaking an screeching. Anyways, I tried my best, so... enoy?

Gif credits to whom it belongs

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE,YOU CANNOT USE MY WORK

You could say it began right this second, finding yourself wrapped in a perfume that no longer had notes of peach and pear, the hours you had spent wandering around the crowd salted it with cigarettes and perhaps a vodka you shouldn't spending time thinking where it proceeded from. Taking a deep breath to relax was, a bad idea, was it the alcohol or this newfound smell that produced that wooziness? It was just for a couple of seconds at least since you could focus more clearly on the four walls you just stepped in, far too big for it being your old best friend's childhood room.

Reaching the windows to scan the city through the glass, glistening with passing cars every once in a while.

"Julie, you crazy bitch," you chuckled remembering how she had just recently bought the whole place to herself, including everything inside it, wanting to neglect her parents as much as they did her back when she was far too young to thirst revenge.

You could tell she hadn't changed anything, the side tables slightly covered with dust still, and the framed pictures of the "happy" couple on the shelves. She hadn't even dared to pull out her father's Cuban cigars she was always so curious about, the plastic around the rim being intact. Your curiosity peeked remembering her mother this time, the beautiful clothes that adorned her seemingly flawless frame, you paced quite rapidly to the walk-in closet, flicking through the infinite number of shoes and bags, finally reaching the hangers.

You didn't think twice before pulling out the most exquisite structure you ever laid your eyes on, lines curving in all the preferable places, covered in red hand-sewn crystals that matched the rest of the smooth fabric, invisible stitching, it was art. —It could pass as a Mugler— you thought, perhaps it was knowing none of Julie's things were ever cheap. You hesitated for a second contemplating your next actions.

"Fuck it," you began getting rid of the pink that had been covering your body the entire time, "She did say she was gonna gift me some anyway," you murmured. You could jump in excitement seeing how absolutely mesmerizing you looked, reflecting light that could easily be produced by your smile alone.

Before you had time to reach your phone from the bed the door closed, followed by rapid exhaling, you furrowed your brows, worrying more about the posible anxious someone.

"Are you okay?" you stepped out slowly.

The man jumped slightly, "Sorry, I'll leave," he began his exit.

"Don't, it's okay, you can stay here," you lowered your voice placing a hand on his arm carefully, "Do you need anything? Do you wanna leave?"

"No, I'm fine, I'm just-" he tried recovering his breath.

"It's okay take your time," you granted him a slight smile.

"I had to get out of there," he grinned, slightly more relaxed.

"What happened?"

"I was being ambushed,"

"By who?"

"Everyone,"

"Oh shit," you said a bit shocked, "What are you famous or something?" you tried to joke.

"I- I don't like using that word," he finally turned around.

"Okay, we'll use popular then, how's does that sound?"

"Way better," he was fully comfortable now.

"Ok Mr. Popular, do you wanna stay here the whole night? Or I can take you to the stairs and call you and Uber to be more discreet,"

"In that dress?" he pointed out.

"Oh! This isn't mine I kinda just borrowed it for a second, I'll take it off then," you simplified.

"Please don't, I was just messing with you, I'm Oscar by the way," he extended his hand as a motor raced by lighting his face.

You widened your eyes in a very pleasant surprise, "Oh my god, I knew the voice was familiar, fucking Pastry you should've started there asshole!" you pushed his chest.

With no time to ask you where you knew to call him that, his mind also clicked, "Y/N?"

"Yes, bitch! Oh my god!" you hugged him, "It's been so long, what are you doing here?! How did Julie even contact you?" your smile grew wider.

"Instagram!"

"Makes sense," you laughed embracing him again, "Look at you! You're a man!" you grabbed his shoulders, "Still got a baby face I see," you moved your hands to the edges of his face.

"Rude," he playfully pushed you away.

"Who am I kidding, back then I defended you to death whenever anyone pointed that out," you shrugged.

"They did?!" he found a new offense to that statement.

"Of course they did! Especially my parents,"

"Oh yeah, they never liked me did they?"

You just shook your head making him smile more.

"I would aks you how you've been but I already know, Mr. Rookie of the Year," you mocked, flipping your hair.

"I've been great, you? Did you end up marrying Zach Efron in the end?"

"Hilarious, truly," you squinted your eyes.

"You used to cry laughing at my jokes," he passed by you to sit on the bed.

"Yeah, well," you followed making him move to sit by his side, "In my defense a) I was madly in love with you," you rolled your eyes, "and b)My sense of humor was simpler at the precious age of 15"

"You were crazy about me," he nodded.

"Okay," you placed a hand on his face, "At least I didn't dedicate you a race on international TV which let me remind you! You lost," chuckled at the hilarious memory.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that!" he slightly slapped his thigh.

"I sure as hell didn't! It was the last race I ever watched,"

"Really?" his head turned suddenly.

"Yes, really, by the time you were on the next one we were beyond over,"

"That's right," he closed his eyes, "I'm sorry for ruining motorsport for you,"

"It's okay," you slapped the air, "The heartbreak was far worse than never having to watch you again,"

"You broke up with me I was the one who was completely shattered,"

"Hey! So was I,"

He crossed his arms, "For how long exactly?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, "A week," you looked away.

"Ouch, I suffered all summer Christmas thanks to you,"

"I'm sorry," you scrunched up your nose.

"Wanna know something embarrassing?"

"More embarrassing than losing that race? I don't think there is anything that can be better than that,"

"What if there is?" he cocked up his head.

"I'll ..." you thought for a second, "I'll tell you my most embarrassing story, deal?"

"Deal," he accepted, "When I wrote to Santa I told him to gift me the golden locket you saw in your favorite movie, the Nutcracker one with Barbie so I could give it to you because all I wanted was your heart back again. Imagine how much I cried when instead all I got was an Xbox,"

You placed a hand to his heart, "Aw, that's adorable, but yeah it sounds pretty embarrassing considering your parents had to read that,"

"Your turn now,"

"Okay, but after that you can't tease me about it,"

"Alright,"

"After we broke up, the first time I kissed someone else, we were at a gas station, and when he bought me some gummy bears as I thanked him I said 'thank you, Oscar'"

He tried to bite down his laughter.

"He absolutely flipped, and dumped me that night in front of my parents who were waiting by the window,"

"Wow," he gulped clenching his jaw, "That's- That's rough," he cleared his throat.

You nodded slowly, "Humbling experience for sure," you sighed resting your head on him, "So, let me guess, you escaped the people who wanted to take pictures with you," you pointed at the door.

"Don't tell me about it,"

"I thought all you wanted was to be The Great Oscar Piratri," you exaggerated with your hands.

"Not great at all to be harassed all the time,"

"Yeah, sounds awful to have so many fans and money..."

"That part's fun," he admitted, "But everything else is just a bit of a nightmare,"

"I'm sorry, but you know what," you tried to lighten the mood, "What I'm absolutely most sorry about is that we..." you stood up taking his hand, "Never ended up living right... there!" you pointed at the most beautiful building of the view.

"Well for starters, you never married me,"

"I did! Well not legally but we had vows and everything,"

"And my cousin as our officiant, what a mess that was,"

"And all for a wedding night, that we never had,"

"I still can't believe we faked a wedding just so we could have sex,"

"To be fair, back then we were good children who followed God's rules," you whipped your index finger dramatically as you turned to see him.

"Your parents were awful,"

"About us yes, but you have to admit they weren't too bad about everything else,"

"No, they just made you break up with me after three years, nothing big really," he pouted sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, really, I never wanted that to happen, I was just- Young and brainwashed," you cupped his face, "And also, the next three years we spent hating each other didn't help your image so much," you tilted your head.

"Yeah, sorry for egging your house those Halloweens,"

"Don't apologize, me kidnapping your dog for a week was way out of line,"

"Archie is still alive, you know?"

"Really? That's great!"

"He's a bit old, but staying strong,"

"He better be, he tackled me down a couple of times when I visited you,"

"I still have those videos," he said proudly.

"No, you don't,"

"Yes, my mom still has my old phones,"

"Why though?" you complained.

"It's never been easy for her to let go of stuff,"

"Yeah, I remember she always invited me over to yours while you weren't around, but I just couldn't do it, I felt way too guilty,"

"I have to ask," he let out, "If it weren't for your parents, how long do you think we would've lasted?"

"I'm not sure, but I can tell you that back then I wanted you- I- I wanted this," you signaled between the two of you, "Forever," you grinned, nostalgia and regret adorning your entire semblance.

"I can rest peacefully now," he caressed your forearms.

"Why?"

"I had a piggy bank for our future engagement ring,"

You opened your mouth slightly, "I had a savings account for that Rolex you always wanted,"

"Guess what?"

"What?"

He showed you his wrist, "I got it on my own,"

"Show-off," you spat.

"It's better than stealing," he looked down at the garment adorning you, long forgotten under this conversation.

"I wasn't stealing, I was just- trying it on," you defended.

"It looks good,"

"I know,"

"Now who's the show-off?"

"At least you get to keep it,"

"Hurts doesn't it,"

"Fuck off, you can win all the races you want, but I bet you still can't beat me at wrestling," you got close to his face before walking slowly to the other side of the room.

"Is that a dare?"

"I don't know, if you're brave enough it is, if you're a coward then it isn't," you crossed your arms.

"I have muscles now, it wouldn't be fair," he added with cockiness.

"Don't patronize me, I do ballet, my legs are far stronger than your arms,"

"Bet," he stepped closer.

"Yeah, bet!" you clapped your hands before giggling as you began this ridiculous dance.

If you both hadn't been laughing the entire time you probably would've seriously hurt yourselves given how careless you were being, throwing each other on the bed and the floor over and over again. After a couple of minutes, the laughter stopped leaving you as panting messes still struggling for dominance, it wasn't until he laid on top of you that you considered giving up.

"I told you, I had muscles," he paused in between words.

"And I-" you gathered yourself as quickly as you could straddle his legs and with much adrenaline and heat flip him over, pushing his hands down to completely immobilize him, "I told you I did ballet asshole," You grinned devilishly in victory, "Ready to surrender?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm done," he truly wasn't, yet the sight of you in that position alone told him to stand down.

"All that driver training for what? Still, lose to your ex-girlfriend?" you let go of his hands only.

He chuckled under his breath, struggling to stand on his elbows, "Well, when she's the one that goes away, you have to let her win, right?" he confessed.

You licked your lips without knowing how to respond, however, being fully aware that something about you not removing yourself from his body told you that this was no longer part of a friendly conversation, perhaps it never really was.

—The one that got away— he had just described everything that needed to be said in one simple phrase.

"Sorry," he began to realize his words getting his back to straighten up, "I didn't mean to make it awkward,"

"You didn't," you were incredibly doe-eyed as you met his gaze, "Just shut up before you do," you pulled him by the collar of his shirt kissing him. He knew how to respond, as he immediately hugged your waist with one hand, resting the other one on your thigh right before the hem of the dress.

"Carry me to the bed Oscar," you gasped in between his mouth, to which he obeyed, carefully lying your bodies to fir perfectly, like you always knew they did. Your tounge slipped in between to which he groaned in your mouth, fingers begining to inch closer to where all his teenage wet dreams met.

"Do it, please," you whispered, "Don't wait longer than you already have, just do it,"

As much as a part of him wanted to treasure this moment as much as he could, his more carnal side acted on behalf of your encouragement, circling your clit with his thumb as you moaned into him. You slightly thanked you were fucking him until now, a way more experienced and knowledgable version of the man you'd thought to be the love of your life.

He traveled to the back of your ear right, knowing more than guessing your sweet spot was still there, confirming it by how you lightly arched your back, pulling on his hair as he left a mark you were probably gonna regret so much later, pulling back to allow him access to your neck and jawline.

"You're so fucking wet,"

"Proud of yourself for that?"

"A lot,"

You could feel him grinning against your collarbone, slowly feeling the purple stamps, trailing to the top of your breasts that the dress ever so slightly allowed out, he contemplated his options for a moment, admiring your body in such a piece.

"Rip it off if you want," you mumbled.

"As tempting as it sounds, I want you to wear it for next time, then I'll rip it off, deal?"

—Next time— what twisted grave had you dove yourself into?

"Deal," you nodded.

"Now be a doll, and help yourself out of it,"

"Jesus Oscar, did you always have that under your sleeve?" you unzipped the sides.

"I saved it just for you," he pressed his thumb harder making you moan louder.

You slipped it over your head, tossing it away, "Keep saying stuff like that and maybe I'll marry you for real, deal?"

"Deal," he said against one of the nipples before beginning to suck on it.

"Multitasking motherfucker," you groaned feeling his middle finger pumping slowly into you, he moves his hands around for a living, of course, he was good at fingering, way too fucking good.

All kinds of sounds bounced off the walls and into your ears, sounds you only ever imagined on those lonely nights after the breakup, and so did he. More of your moand as he added his index finger drowned in the vibrations of the music for the outside to never find out how awfully loud you being for him, just for him; especially if his thumb switched to eight circles as he focused on your other tit.

"I'm close- I'm so close Oscar," you begged, "Go faster," you gulped, "Please,"

The most pornographic sound escaped his lips, "Beg again, beg for me," you obeyed without a second thought as he also did as told, keeping his pace as you reached your orgasm, whether you screamed or just raised your voice, no one will ever know, the music from outside and the cars rushing by braiding it in. By the time you realized, his belt clinked on the carpet floor, feeling as if in one motion everything in between you two was now discarded.

"I'm on the pill by the way," you whispered.

"Wasn't planning on having children until that wedding of ours, deal?" his tip rubbed against.

"Deal," you answered without ever crossing your mind how actually terrifying the idea of being pregnant was, just to have him inside you you would've signed a prenup right then and there.

He joined your lips again as he slipped inside, filling you up to the brim, with an unnecessary elevated ego that this whole situation resulted in, he thrusts into you mercilessly, you couldn't complain, his hands supporting his body on your hair, tangling all around the cover and his skin. Now being completely shameless it seemed as if you were competing to see who could make the most noise. You both came undone almost at the same time, Oscar having to battle with himself to get hard again as you followed his lead.

"I wasn't joking about next time," he mindlessly whispered in the crook of your neck.

"Neither was I, my place next time, deal?"

"Deal"

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri angst

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su8arandspite · 4 months

Text

Show Me

Summary: When Steve and Robin bail on you, you’re left alone with Eddie for the first time and you want him to teach you how to play the guitar. But you find it hard to focus. Or, alternatively, the one in which you find out why Eddie Munson keeps handcuffs in his bedroom and what those stains on his mattress really are.

eddie munson x afab!reader, steve harrington x afab!reader (implied)

Warnings and content: 18+ mdni, smut, mentions of the ud, canon-compliant brief gore, eddie lives!post st4, alcohol and drug use, use of restraints, squirting, limited physical descriptions of reader (though I think I inferred long hair), no use of y/n, reader loves journey bc me too

A/N: i was absolutely drunk when i wrote this ngl. it’s shameless filth, and i am not sorry. this is my first good faith effort to write in second person, so y/n is used only sparingly. inspired by the fun, spicy lil details in eddie’s room. this was originally a steve x reader x eddie threesome piece but it was simply too long, so who knows, part 2??

Word count: 9.6k

divider cr: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

It was a Saturday night tradition. After a particularly mind-numbing shift at Family Video, you, Steve, and Robin were always in desperate need of some fun. Really, it was a miracle that Keith even let the three of you work the same shift, given the especially sloppy work you produced when presented with the distractions of your best friends. As much as you loathed Keith, you supposed you might as well use his apparent –albeit inappropriate– fondness for you to your advantage. After the first time Eddie called the store during your combined shifts, the routine formed easily: the second that the last customer left and the door was locked, the three of you piled into Steve’s BMW to meet Eddie at his trailer for a well-deserved joint or some shots of tequila, maybe a bit of both if the day was particularly unbearable.

Tonight, though, your friends seemed to have other ideas. It was Robin who first broke the routine. She burst into the store with a guilty grin and a rushed explanation about the maybe-date she had with Vicki. And, okay, you could admit that you were happy for her. The excited rush in her voice and dusting of pink in her cheeks made it hard to be too mad at Robin. Beaming, she nudged you in the arm:

“Besides, who wouldn’t want a night alone with Eddie and this dingus?”

You turned to glance at Steve, hiding the flush this brought to your cheeks. A sinking feeling settled deep within your belly as you caught sight of the giggly girl leaning her torso against the checkout counter. She batted her eyelashes at Steve, twirling her hair around her finger. You hadn’t needed to hear them to know that Steve was asking her out on another date that you were uncertain he even actually wanted to go on. For someone who claimed to hate it, Steve sure did seem to have quite a bit of mindless sex. Not that you wanted to think about Steve’s sex life, or him with his shirt off or– No. You pushed away the image before it could fully form in your mind.

“Whatever,” Turning back to Robin, you rolled your eyes. “Now, are you gonna help me restock the shelves, or should we risk leaving it for Steve?”

Chuckling, she nodded and followed you to the stockroom to grab the carts filled with the new arrivals. Both of you took one and wheeled it off to different parts of the store. You hummed to yourself as you lugged the heavy container towards the next genre. It was in the middle of your whispered rendition of “Lights” that Steve finally made his way over to help you.

He shot you a grin as he gripped the cart, taking it from you. You eyed him skeptically, raising an eyebrow:

“Someone looks happy,” you teased. “Did my tip to recommend Pretty in Pink get you a date again?”

Steve’s warm laughter filled the store over the radio playing through the loudspeakers. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. Casually, you tell him: “There’s this little quirk to your lips that gives you away.”

Steve stared at you for a brief moment, surprised, but averted his gaze before you turned your torso back to him and grabbed another VHS. Shifting his weight, Steve rubbed his hand over his chin.

“Don’t worry, kid,” said Steve, unable to avoid a grin at the nickname. He gave you The Karate Kid Part II to put in the new release section. “I promise I’ll still drive you to Munson’s, okay?”

“Wait,” You paused, whirring back to gape at him. “What do you mean, ‘drive’ me? Steve, please tell me you’re not bailing, too!”

Steve broke out into a sheepish grin. You tossed your hands up in exasperation. While you busied herself with visibly pouting, you missed the knowing smirk that Steve gave in response.

You blinked at him. Robin, you understood; she’d been dancing around taking this plunge with Vicki for ages, but Steve…? Well, you didn’t know why that bothered you, but you suddenly found yourself filled with jealousy towards the stranger with her forced Valley Girl accent and ugly purple top. Unwilling to admit that, you instead focused on the other idea stirring your nerves. Robin wasn’t coming to smoke that night, nor was Steve. That just left you... And Eddie. It would be the first Saturday Smoke Nights without all four of you there.

The thought made your tummy flip. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie– in fact, he had quickly become one of your closest friends. Still, something about the idea of spending time truly alone with him for the first time since, well, since the Upside Down, sent your heart aflutter.

You thought about canceling the whole thing until everyone was free. Except, when you floated the idea to him, Steve wasn’t having any of it.

“Maybe I should just call it a night, then,” you shrugged.

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “I’m driving you.”

Steve shot an odd look your way as he pushed the cart of tapes to be reshelved towards the Action section. You followed closely behind him, holding two tapes at a time and replacing them on the shelves.

That was how you found yourself sitting on Eddie’s bed while he deliberated over the two movies you had swiped from Family Video to watch that night— Airplane! or Teen Wolf. Not that you could care less; it was only a matter of time before you and Eddie weren’t sober enough to really care.

After a moment, Eddie looked up from the VHS cases with a brow quirked. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “How do you expect me to choose between two such riveting pieces of cinema?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, we had to pick something that Keith wouldn’t notice went missing.”

Eddie shrugged. “Werewolves it is, then.”

While Eddie held up the selected tape and carried it over to the VCR player, you rose to your feet. You adjusted your skirt as you stood, pulling the plaid material a little further down over your thighs. The white tank top that you had put on before work looked more see-through than you remembered it being without the oversized green vest of your employee uniform over it. With that shedded in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, the lacy black bra which you threw on that morning popped against the white.

“Hey, Eds,” you called out. ”You got any popcorn?”

Eddie spared you a glance, a finger suspended in the air over the play button. His breath hitched at the sight of you. He wondered if you knew how good you looked or if you meant to waste it on the renters at work. Or him, for that matter. Swallowing thickly, he told you about the Jiffy Pop he had waiting for you on the stove, and stared after you once your figure disappeared from sight.

When you returned to Eddie’s bedroom, snacks and drinks in hand, he was oddly quiet. You paused for a moment, your eyes scanning his face for signs of what was going on in that head of his. You bent to set the popcorn bowl on the floor by his feet and handed Eddie a beer. The tension in the room was palpable. It pushed you to plop yourself down in the space next to him. You watched the opening credits rolling on Eddie’s shitty TV as you settled into this new position, criss-crossing your legs.

Your palms slapped against your thighs as you rallied his attention. “Okay,” you said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get wasted.”

Eddie snickered. “Okay, princess,” he cooed. “As you wish.”

A delicious calm washed over your body as your high set in. The beer was shitty and slightly warm from not being in the trailer’s refrigerator long enough, but it was the best you two could scrounge up in Hawkins. It warmed you up and, more to the point, got the job done anyways. By the time you had a couple beers and half a joint in your system, the movie was over, and you felt more comfortable being alone with Eddie.

Your fingers ghosted over the tops of the cases as you sifted through Eddie’s cassette collection. It took a while for you to find something familiar. You waited until Eddie was in the bathroom to switch the stereo to Journey so that he couldn’t protest the change.

You spun around the room, strumming your fingers in the air against an invisible guitar. It was in the midst of this little solo act that Eddie returned. He leaned against the doorframe so as not to disturb you, a small grin overtaking him. Eddie’s eyes flickered to your hips subconsciously as the movement swished your mini skirt upwards; the sight gave him just enough of a show to stir up tantalizing thoughts about the soft skin of your upper thighs and up until they disappeared under your panties. His impure thoughts brought a dopey smile to his face. It was then that you noticed his presence.

Upon realizing that you had been caught, your cheeks heated. A small squeak passed your lips. You stopped dancing abruptly, hair falling like a curtain over your face.

“Please,” said Eddie. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Suddenly shy, you shrugged. “Shit, you scared me! But,” Your lips curled into a demure smile, “I thought you were the rockstar, Eds. Wouldn’t wanna steal your limelight”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind sharing, angel.”

You hummed. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you blurted out unfiltered thoughts:

“You know, your hair’s almost as awesome as Steve Perry’s.”

Not this again. Eddie cocked an eyebrow, “Almost?”

You shrugged, a coy smile playing over your lips. “Just a little less silky.”

Pushing your hair away from your face, you narrowed your eyes at him. You sauntered over to the bed and collapsed yourself down onto it. Your eyes flickered from his hands to his tongue as he pushed it out to wet his lips. Getting comfortable, you shifted on the bed, tucking your legs up further underneath yourself. Your hands rested patiently over your thighs as you tilted your head.

“Hey, Eddie,” you said. “Will you teach me how to play guitar? I mean, how else am I gonna become a rockstar?”

His lips quirked up at this. “Sure,” Eddie nodded. “Most songs are three simple chords, anyways.” He lifted his hands to strum at an invisible guitar of his own. You couldn’t quite focus on his explanation with his hands moving like that.

“Okay, teach. I’m all ears,” you looked up at him with wide eyes, leaning forward with your elbows against your thighs and chin resting in your palms.

Eddie marched over to the wall where his guitar hung in its place of honor. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed a stray guitar pick from the desk and placed it between his lips, before taking center stage in the middle of the room.

“Now,” Eddie began. “First, you’ve just gotta learn three simple chords: D, C, and G.”

He positioned his fingers, one at a time, over the strings in the correct position. The tip of his tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration. Even as crossfaded as you both were, Eddie wanted to impress you. After all, it wasn’t every day that he had a beautiful girl sitting on his bed, and he planned to milk the moment for all it was worth. So, he did his best to look cool and, if he was lucky, maybe you would ask him to teach you again. Eddie slowed the chord down to illustrate the correct posture. He played each of the three a few times then in succession.

“Then, when you put them all together, eventually, you get a little something like this–” Eddie strummed the iconic guitar solo of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” He thanked God for the liquid courage that allowed him to play Journey for you, like he hadn’t memorized the song just because he knew you were into them. Thank Ozzy for alcohol and weed or whatever it was that kept you from pointing out that Journey wasn’t exactly metal enough for Eddie’s usual taste.

And you meant to pay attention, you really did, but your brain turned into mush at the sight of Eddie truly in his element. You could think of nothing but the quick pace of his fingers. The thick rings he wore just on the cusp of his knuckles demanded attention. You bet they would feel cool against your skin, flushed and chest heaving, while he— pay attention. You swallowed around your cottony throat. White heat snaked up your spine as your mind wandered to thoughts of what else those skilled fingers of his could do. You shifted slightly in your seat. The room suddenly felt stuffy enough to run your mouth dry.

The sound of Eddie’s voice calling your name pulled you from her reverie. “Hmm?” Your eyes drifted slowly up to his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blinked your eyelashes up at him. WIth a faint smile, you tilted your cheek to rest against your shoulder. “Sorry,” you muttered. “Uh, can you show me that last one again? D, wasn’t it?”

“C, actually,” he corrected. “‘S something on your mind?”

“Oh, uh, I–“

You failed to think of an excuse, but you certainly couldn’t tell him what you were really thinking. Instead, you opened and closed your jaw, unsure.

Eddie let his hands fall to his sides. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “What’s a matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

The burst of warmth this brought to your cheeks gave him confidence. Eddie gently shrugged his guitar from around his shoulders and set it aside. You could only watch, eyes wide, as he strode your way.

He moved to sit beside you with his hands laid flat against the bed to support him, one on each side of you like a lanky cage, and his tall stature leaning over you. Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. As he leaned forward, the guitar pick which he wore around his neck swung forwards to tap against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

When you didn’t respond, Eddie continued: “You wanna know what I think?”

With Eddie so close, you struggled to think of anything at all. The weed mixed with Eddie’s cologne— since when did he wear that?— and made your head swim even faster. You barely registered the words as they left your lips, “What’s that?”

Eddie sucked his teeth, a low rumble of a chuckle rippling through his chest as he leaned in to drop his lips to your ear. His hair tickled the skin of your neck. Gooseflesh rippled over you as his hot breath met your ear, “I think you’d rather watch”

You swallowed thickly. There was little time to compose yourself, though you tried, as Eddie leaned back against his palms, flattening them to give himself a better view. The expectant way in which he looked at you made you melt like putty under his hot, hungry gaze. Eddie reveled in the way you averted your eyes, embarrassed, and knowing you’d been caught. His big brown eyes gleamed.

Lamely, you shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I–“

You went to call him an asshole but lost your train of thought entirely. The quip died in your throat as a flash of something shiny in your peripheral vision caught your eye. It was your turn to smile devilishly at him as you realized what it was.

Eddie frowned at the dip of the bed as you rose to your feet and stepped away from him. His gaze followed your saunter as you tiptoed over a copy of Heavy Metal magazine and a pile of cassette tapes to stop before the wall.

You lifted up the silver object with one finger. Turning to the boy, your lip curled devilishly into a knowing smirk. Eddie knew he should have been embarrassed or something, probably needed to come up with some plausible excuse for why he kept handcuffs in his bedroom. Maybe you would buy it if he said he was trying a hand at being an amateur magician? No, that was lame. He wanted to be a cop? Yeah, right! He certainly couldn’t tell you that he liked to use his hands in bed and, sometimes, he wanted to be the only one doing that. Could he?

“You know,” you lifted your eyes from the cuffs to meet Eddie’s. “My big brother’s a cop.”

The way that you twirled them around in circles stirred up something within Eddie. This, along with the plump pout of your lips, left Eddie suddenly very turned on. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he said lamely.

“Well, then, Eddie, baby, you should know that he also taught me a little trick about how to get out of them.” You pulled at each loop of the cuffs until the chain was taut. “Do you want me to show you how?”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to stare and squirm. The suggestive tone to your voice rendered him speechless. He nodded dumbly. Your lips curved upwards devilishly. Mimicking his tone from earlier, you teased: “Cat got your tongue?

“Put ‘em on for me?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. He rose to his feet at your command. Your hands brushed as he took the restraints from the end of your finger. You blinked up at him expectantly as you pushed your wrists together in front of yourself. The cuffs bound your wrists as one with a resounding click. Eddie took a step back to admire his work. You looked so damn pretty with your hands all bound up for him, your wide eyes the icing on the cake.

“Wait,” Eddie shook his head. He gripped your wrists in one hand, stilling them before you had a chance to show him your trick. “Keep them on”

The mere sight of you in his cuffs made Eddie’s cock stir within his jeans.

“Perfect,” he muttered. The remark was more to himself than anything. It made you dizzy nonetheless.

Eddie didn’t know where his newfound confidence came from–the weed, maybe, or the shine in your eyes as you looked at him– but it was welcomed either way. Playful banter and a flair for the dramatics were his bread and butter, sure, but this? Flirting with you and unabashedly ogling you in his cuffs was something Eddie never saw happening outside of his perverted fantasies. Whatever pushed him to do it, he was chuffed that he had the courage to say what he did next.

His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, lifting it upwards to force your gaze upon him. “You didn’t really want me to show you how to play the guitar, did you?” he clicked his tongue. “No, you wanted me to teach you what my fingers can do to you”

Then his thumb pushed at your mouth, tapping against your pillowy lower lip. He applied gentle pressure to it, just enough not to push its way inside. “Is that what you want, angel?” A whine rumbled deep within you. You could only nod dumbly in response. Eddie clicked his tongue, head shaking. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you”

“Yes.” That was all the confirmation Eddie needed. He pressed his thumb firmly so that it opened your mouth for him. Your tongue lapped at the intruder, teasingly, as you sucked him in. Eddie all but melted at the sensation and his cock responded similarly, his dirty thoughts racing with desire for that mouth of yours.

He jerked his head towards the bed. “Sit.” You obeyed readily and sat on the end of his mattress, legs dangling off the edge, and spread your knees wide for him.

Eddie bunched your skirt up with his fists and flipped it upwards on your hips. This gave him an eyeful of skimpy lacy panties that the skirt hardly covered to begin with. Christ. A whine escaped him at the filthy sight. He pushed your thighs as wide apart as he could by the knee. His hands ghosted over your skin from the knee up to the thickest parts of your thigh. He grabbed at the fleshy part of leg just below your ass.

He pushed aside your panties with his thumb to expose your wetness to him. A slow, shaky exhale escaped him as he dragged his finger through the slick and back up to rub sloppy circles against your clit. This made your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth hung open with the silent whine threading to spill out.

Eddie’s Cheshire Cat grin only grew as he stretched his long fingers out to hook into the fabric of your underwear, keeping as much contact as he could with your clit, until he managed to yank them down your thighs and around the left ankle. Swiftly, and so smoothly that you didn’t even notice, he tucked the lacy material in the front pocket of his jeans. For later.

“Kiss me,” your voice sounded like a true angel whispering to him. His nickname for you had never felt more apt.

Eddie’s fingers never ceased on your clit as he dipped his head down to press his lips against your cheek. He mumbled a slew of praises and compliments against your skin as he mapped a trail along your jawbone to your neck, pausing to suckle a deep hickey on the jugular and ghost against your clavicle. Only when his name passed your saccharine lips did he give you what you wanted and press his mouth hungrily to yours.

As you melted into his touch, you breathed a happy sigh against him. You kissed every last inch of nerves and desire away into his waiting mouth. Eddie swallowed it readily. His mind buzzed with the hazy static of lust and illicit substances until he could no longer hear Steve Perry’s voice thrumming in the background. He thought maybe his heart was going to take flight. Deep unfiltered want drove Eddie as he added a second and third finger to your clit and increased the pace. He blinked through heavy lids as you twitched involuntarily at the sheer pleasure.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, Eddie was a hopeless fool for you. You were exactly the beautiful, smart, warm breath of air that he needed. His heart ached for you with each brush of your hands as you both reached for a kernel of popcorn from the same bowl during movie nights with your friends. That had been enough for him up until now; Eddie would take as much or as little of you as you wanted to offer him. Even if tonight turned out to be just another one of his elaborate fantasies, he’d die a happy man—he seemed to have more and more vivid images of you in all your sunny glory as of late, the filthy thoughts flooding his mind in the quiet moments when he was truly alone and his hand wandered on its own accord towards the waistband of his underwear. He had it bad for you, and Eddie didn’t want it any other way.

Though you couldn’t reach your hands up to card through his hair as you so desperately wanted to, you caught his attention just the same with nothing but those sweet lips of yours. He chased after your touch as you pulled away from the kiss, head shaking just faintly. The buck of your hips against him spoke for you.

Only, instead of taking your lead, his touch left you altogether. Eddie stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes, awestruck. His fingers drew shapes over your clavicle, inching over to your shoulder. The band of your bra strap snapped as he lifted it and let it flick back into place. Eddie hooked his finger under it once more but made no further moves.

“Can I?”

“Please,” you nodded.

Eddie pushed the straps off your shoulders, taking the tank top down with them. Gently, he propped you up enough to get the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. With the dip of his head, Eddie leaned down to kiss the swell of your breasts just above the lace of the bra you wore, as he reached behind you to unclasp it once and for all. Before you knew it, that too was long forgotten. You laid bare on Eddie’s mattress, covered only with your skirt that was still bunched up around your hips.

He cupped your face in his hands. Your stomach flipped at the thrill of feeling your own arousal against your cheek. His voice and his grip forced your eyes on his.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled. “A goddamn vision.”

There was an unmistakable fondness in his voice that made you feel warm inside with an emotion you couldn’t name. It only grew as he snaked one hand down your stomach and towards your core again, the other kneading your breast.

Ripples of pleasure rolled through you as he returned his thumb to its rightful place against your clit and pinched your nipples, rolling each between his fingers one at a time. You whimpered, hips bucking, and craving more and more of him.

The grin on his lips only grew at your silent begging. He lifted his hand, spitting on his fingertips, before bringing it back down to your dripping sex. It made an obscene sound as he gathered some of your arousal for good measure, toying with your entrance.

Slowly, Eddie pushed the very tip of his middle finger inside of you. His ring finger soon followed, and he twisted his wrist so that his palm now faced the ceiling. You writhed under him, craving more, but were unable to find it; his other hand gripped harshly at your hip to keep you in place. Only once he had you good and still did he push his fingers deeper. The thick rings he wore were cool against the fluttering heat of your body. He curled his fingers deliciously upwards. They only just brushed against your most pleasurable spot at first, leaving you just out of reach, teased.

You babbled at him. The sound of your own voice begging sounded far away, “Eddie, Eds, please”

Who was he to refuse you? “Well,” Eddie tutted. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Eddie knelt with his thighs pushed up against the mattress. He was close enough that your Achilles’ tendon brushed over the tattered denim of his jeans. But you wanted him closer yet. He still felt so very far away. Just as you mustered the core strength to pull yourself up without the aid of your hands, he moved his free hand from your hips to splay over your lower stomach, just above the pubic bone. It forced you back against the mattress, dumbfounded. You were fully at his mercy as he worked to fuck his fingers into you. They pushed slowly inside of you, down to the base and out again at a snail’s pace. He pushed them in faster, this time, only to the knuckle and curling them.

The added pressure of his hand on your stomach coupled with the speed of his movements ensured that every move hit you in a way that left you breathless. Eddie seemed to know your body like it was his, quickly finding the spongy area inside you that made your mind empty save the pleasure he was giving you. It was an electric spark that spread from your very core and threatened to burn you to pieces. You gasped at the sensation– a weak little sound that faded out into silent cries of pleasure.

And oh was that just the thing Eddie had been needing to hear all night. His own breath quickened as he doubled his efforts. The pace at which he thrusted his fingers was brutal and delicious. You mewled, unable to form a coherent thought that didn’t include Eddie and his magic fingers.

Each curl of his fingers caused the exposed skin under his tattoos to flex, and it looked so hot. Your eyes were drawn to the way his veins popped with the movement, and the sight nearly had you drooling. Every one of your senses was overwhelmed with him: his touch was unlike anything you could have anticipated, the shaky, aroused breaths that escaped him and the pornographic squelching sound of his fingertips each time he thrusted them into you made you dizzy, and you turned your head to whine into the mattress and breathed in his scent like it was pure oxygen. Eddie was everything.

Your toes curled and your legs began to shake. “Eddie, ‘m gonna– fuckk, I–“

“Yeah?” He tutted. “Let go, sweetheart.”

His soothing voice and unrelenting cadence made it difficult for you to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. The tugging warmth of your orgasm that had been building surged until it was all-encompassing; intense pleasure slammed you all at once. Every ounce of tension left your body as you came around his fingers.

Eddie kept his fingers tapped against just the right spot as you rode out your orgasm. He lazily rubbed the heel of his hand against your very sensitive clit. Unable to help himself, he palmed at his erection with the other as he watched you come undone.

You’d had orgasms before, but never anything remotely like what Eddie was doing to you. The familiar knot in your stomach was there as it built, but it was accompanied by something else— another type of pressure that was foreign to you. He left you no time to dwell on it, because you were coming before you could even really process it. When you finally did, it was a release unlike any other.

You hardly noticed it at first, but once you started to return to your senses, you felt something wet between your thighs that hadn’t been there before. Leaning up, you tried to get a glance at it. Your cheeks burned, slightly embarrassed, as you saw what a mess you’d made. The bedsheets and—oh, God— Eddie’s forearm and parts of his pants were soaked.

When you managed to look at him again, locking eyes, he was smug. There was no sign of disgust or surprise anywhere. He looked proud, almost.

“Eddie,” you said, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what… I’ve never done that before.”

Only you weren’t entirely sure what it was that Eddie had done to you, just that it was the most intense euphoria in the world.

He smiled at you in a way that made it hard for you to feel insecure. Like you were a work of art; his masterpiece, even. Eddie rubbed his clean hand against your cheek, gently stroking your skin with his thumb.

“It’s okay, angel,” he reassured you. “You’ve never squirted before?“

You hesitated. The term sounded vaguely familiar to you, like maybe you’d once heard your girlfriends whispering about it, but you didn’t think it was real. Hell, no other boy you’d ever been with had even come close to making you orgasm at all, so this was entirely uncharted territory. It left you wondering where the hell Eddie fucking Munson had been hiding those skills all this time.

“No,” you shook your head. “But it felt really good.”

“I’m glad,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the blooming hickey he sucked on your neck earlier. “Just wanna make you feel so good. Such a good girl.”

He breathed in your scent like he was trying to commit it to memory. Eddie stayed with his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck for only a moment. He was leaning back up all too soon.

Finally, Eddie pulled his fingers from you and held them up to the light. His lips curved as he admired the way your slick glistened, thick as he separated his index and middle fingers. A deep hum left him as he lifted his hand to his waiting mouth and licked them clean.

“You taste so fuckin’ amazing,” he groaned.

“Yeah?” You asked, though your head still swam with the haze of your orgasm.

“Think it might be my new favorite dessert,” he confirmed.

Your heart flipped. Though you assumed he was only teasing, Eddie knew just what to say to render you speechless. You couldn’t get enough.

Eddie lowered himself onto the mattress next to you. As he propped himself up by the elbow, he brushed some hair from your face. His umber eyes were dark with lust-blown pupils.

Though your cheeks still burned, you grinned mischievously as a memory creeped up on you. It was probably something you should have forgotten, what with everything you had all been through since March of 1986, but you could still hear Eddie clear as day in your mind, see his doe eyes widen as he glanced nervously at you over Robin’s shoulder:

“Those stains are, uh… I don’t know what those stains are”

Gently, you nudged Eddie to get his attention, as if there were anywhere or anything else in the world that it would be.

“So,” you locked eyes with him. “That’s what those stains are, huh?”

Eddie chuckled. It was a full belly laugh that had his shoulders shaking in amusement. He shook his head fondly at you.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what the stains are.”

Well, that and bong water, —mostly the latter— but he thought it sounded more impressive if you thought of him as some sort of sex god.

You hummed in recognition.

Eddie smiled at you. He gripped the hem of his shirt in his fingers and toyed with it, chewing on his lower lip.

“You know,” he said. “I’m feelin’ a little overdressed here, don’t ya think?”

“You are entirely overdressed.”

You’re unable to fight off a smile. Eddie sat up again and reached to pull his shirt up and over his head. It fell in a heap beside the mattress. As he started on his belt, you let your eyes take in the marvelous sight of him.

His skin was pale and his long torso seemed to go on forever. The black ink of his tattoos and healed scars popped against his flesh, the largest of which spanned across his stomach, just over the naval, and blended into the beginnings of his happy trail.

Eddie and you had never discussed that fateful night in the Upside Down. It was easier that way than to admit your nightmares were still mostly plagued by the overwhelming fear you’d felt as you and Dustin carried his limp body back to the base camp in that stolen RV and in the weeks you spent nursing him back from the brink of death. Eddie’s heart slowed to a pace so imperceptible he swore it had stopped and, for the briefest of moments, he was on the other side. He knew he should have died that day and that, really, he supposed a part of him had.

Perhaps for the first time since then, Eddie didn’t feel nervous or hesitant to reveal himself, scars and all, to someone else. Because it was you, after all. You, who had cursed at him through teary eyes for his monumentally stupid need to play hero and had somehow managed to remain calm enough to stem the bleeding, then scoured through the vehicle for something to sew him up with. It had been you who shooed Dustin out of the room, at least enough to shield the boy from the gruesome sight of your shaky hands as they crudely stitched him back together well enough to last until Steve and Robin and the others returned to regroup. He knew then, even in his weakest state, that he was in trouble because the flutter of your eyelashes made his sluggish heart ache. As he looked at you now, your eyes blinking up at him, Eddie realized he never stood a fighting chance when it came to you. He supposed it was impossible not to fall in love with you, the angel who had saved his life, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And every moment since then. He had called you his angel ever since.

You kissed a trail from the scars by his chest, down his tummy, and the one that disappeared under his boxer briefs. His skin was warm but erupted into goosebumps at your touch. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as you craned your neck further down to peck an open-mouthed kiss where the head of his aching cock strained against the fabric.

Suddenly, he’s stopping you. Eddie’s hands cupped your cheeks, gently pushing your face away from him. The flash of hurt in your eyes must have been clear because he immediately softened his gaze, stroking your face lovingly with his thumbs.

“What’s wrong?” Confused, you glanced from the tent in his groin back to his eyes. “Do you not want to?”

“No!” Eddie cut you off, maybe a little too quickly and too loudly. He cleared his throat to recover, playing it off as a cough. “No, believe me, I really do. Fuck, if I’m bein’ honest, angel, I’ve wanted you since the second I first saw you in that boathouse. But, right now, I just really want to taste you. It’s a need, actually”

Eddie wasn’t done with you yet. No, tonight, he wasn’t letting up until he made his sweet little angel come against his lips, clenching around his fingers, and, finally, around his cock. Only then, after he took everything you had to give, would Eddie allow himself to come.

This confession rendered you speechless. A meek oh was all you could make out. Though he smiled down at you, a hunger swirled in his eyes that had you feeling he wanted to swallow you whole, and God, you wished that he would.

Even so, he made no further moves to act on it. His hands itched as he slid them from your face, down your chest and waist, before gripping at your thighs. He tilted his head, blinking expectantly at you.

“So, uh, can I? Eat you out?”

“Fuck, yes,” you nodded. “I’d be offended if you didn’t, now.”

Eddie didn’t waste another second. He pressed himself down against the mattress, lowering his face closer to the apex of your thighs, and tightened his grip on your flesh, swiftly yanking you closer to his waiting lips. They were wet and warm as he peppered kiss after kiss up the insides of both your upper thighs, nipping at the soft skin there.

“Don’t be a tease,” you wiggled your hips to chase his touch.

His breath hit your sopping core as he let out a quiet chuckle. Eddie nudged his nose foreword, just barely brushing it against the hood of your clit, dragging it down to your wetness.

He hummed, “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Eddie, I swear to–“

Your empty threat dissolved as he relented. Eddie shifted his grip to spread your lips open for him, thighs now caged in the crooks of his elbows. It’s when he wrapped his lips around your clitoris that the shock of pleasure shot through your spine and took the words from you. He sighed into your core and let himself push closer to it, almost smothering himself.

Eddie intermittently flitted his tongue out as he suckled at your clit. His mouth worked at the perfect rhythm and if you’d had the presence of mind to listen past the hammering of your heart in your chest, you would have been able to make out the tune he was humming; ‘Open Arms’ was surely for your benefit.

With his arms wrapped tightly around your hips, you had no choice but to ignore the urge to buck your hips against him. You got only what Eddie gave you, and good God, would you take every last ounce of pleasure hungrily.

After what could have been minutes, hours, or mere seconds —you couldn’t tell— Eddie broke his lips’ seal from your clit and let his nose take their place against it as he breathed out. He’s only off of you long enough to let out a low rumbling chuckle, asking: “Hm, what was that, angel?”

But you’re unable to answer him, because Eddie’s reattaching his lips to you and sucking with more intention than before. You couldn’t remember what you were saying even if you wanted to. Your mind was wiped of everything outside of him. Eddie Eddie Eddie. Your thoughts were a chorus of his name and him only. Eddie!

You had little presence of mind left to be embarrassed about it, as your second orgasm snuck up faster than the first. You were already close, barely able to contain your whines and sweet sighs any longer. Eddie seemed to sense this, and shifted his right hand from his death grip on your thighs—which would surely bruise, you noted with a twinge of excitement—and prodded two of his fingers at your entrance.

He licked lazily at your clit between words, remarking, “Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

He plunged his fingers inside finally, curving them again to find the spot he’d discovered earlier. His lips had only just returned to their rightful spot around your clit when your release hit you.

Eddie didn't let up on his suckling until you were still again, a broken sound falling from your lips. You pushed at his head as best as your restraints allowed, trying to wriggle away from the overstimulation. “‘S too much, Eds,” you pleaded.

He pulled himself away with a wet smack of his lips. Eddie wiped your arousal from his face with the back of his hand, though not without sucking it clean off his fingers. The grin he gives you is a delicate mix of devilish and heavenly.

Eddie crawled up the bed, long, alabaster torso towering over you as he planted his knees at either side of you. His fingers fanned out over your face and cupped your cheeks.

“You okay?” His eyes softened.

“More than okay,” you assured with a breathy giggle.

“Good,” Eddie said.

You could barely think. Not with your body still humming from your earth-shattering orgasm and not with Eddie’s big Bambi eyes blinking at you with such softness and deep affection. It made you feel like you were being seen for the very first time.

He couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentler than before and he tasted of your slick, a fact that elicited a soft groan from your chest. Eddie swallowed it up. His guitar-calloused thumb stroked your cheek as he titled his head to deepen the kiss. It was passionate, sensual, and every brush of his tongue against yours stoked the butterflies in your tummy. There was a certain sweetness behind it, too, that you weren’t used to. The type of need that Eddie was oozing ran far deeper than lust alone.

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, panting to catch his breath and nuzzling his nose against your cheek. His cheeks swelled as he broke out into the fondest of smiles. You softened under the weight of his heady gaze.

Your entire body ached for him. Eddie may have been content to focus on your pleasure all night long, but you thought you might die if you didn’t get the privilege of returning that favor.

Growing impatient, you were desperate to make Eddie feel good. You straddled Eddie as smoothly as you could, settling yourself in his lap. You locked eyes with him and kept your gaze steady as you pressed your dripping core harder into his erection, slowly dragging it for friction as much as his grip would allow. A low growl came from him as he blinked up at you with his wide chocolate eyes. A greedy hand grabbed at your ass, as the other lifted your wrists to his face. Eddie pecked soft kisses to your knuckles, the heel of your palm, and just above the metal cuffs. He pulled back just enough to see you properly, still stroking your hands with his.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he told you. Eddie’s smile never wavered. It had been a joke, but he meant it; part of him wouldn’t mind if you ripped his lovesick little heart from his chest and never bothered to give it back. He would let you with a smile.

He was painfully hard; you could feel it with every rock of your hips against his. The deep ache within him felt like your own, like every throb of his cock was your heartbeat.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Baby, please, I wanna make you feel good now”

Something inside his head short-circuited at the filthy words leaving your sweet, vanilla-scented lips. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered to himself. With a heavy swallow, Eddie nodded. He gripped your hips tightly.

His thumb drew mindless shapes against your skin. “Think you can handle more?”

“Mhmm,” a breathy moan escaped you at the feeling of his cock twitching beneath you.

“Tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

You gave a single nod, “Yes. I will– just, please, Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

Eddie planted a searing kiss to your lips. He pulled you from his lap and set you down on the bed next to him. You watched with awe as he finally pulled his boxer briefs off and kicked them away. A rush of want swam around your head and in your core as you took in the heavenly sight of his nude form for the first time.

You truly weren’t prepared for just how perfect he was. The tip of his dick was a needy red, painfully erect, and dripping with pre-come; the length curved to the left and was just the right girth.

The kiss he pressed to your lips once he’d fully stepped out of his jeans was sweet and short. He kicked the fabric aside and leaned further into you, gently using the force of the kiss to guide you back against the mattress. Eddie’s left hand pushed your cuffed wrists over your head, where he wanted them, while he pumped himself a few times with his right.

“Ready, angel?” He asked.

This time, Eddie accepts the slow nod you give him. He tapped his tip against your swollen clit, lips curling devilishly at the whine that escaped you. Tease. Eddie gave you very little time to feel sorry for yourself before giving you what you needed.

With one slow, measured movement of his hips, Eddie thrusted fully forward. He planted his palms against the mattress to hold himself up and get better control. His breathing was shallow and ragged, eyes squeezing shut, at the feeling of your pussy adjusting and stretching to accommodate the curve of him. The stretch was a sweet ache, and you’d never felt so full. If you’d thought Eddie was everywhere before, he was the only thing now.

His hips pistoned into you at an unrelenting pace. After so long of ignoring his own need, Eddie chased any relief he could get. And this, burying himself balls-deep inside you, was better than any drug in existence; it made him feel like a virgin all over again. A string of expletives left his lips that would have confused you if you had enough presence of mind to pay attention.

Eddie lifted your hips further up, twisting just so to ensure every pump slammed into you at just the right spot. It knocked the breath out of you until your lungs burned with every gasp and whine. The curve of his cock was made for you, made to fit right against your g-spot with every pass.

You thought of running your fingers through his hair. But, of course, when you pulled at the handcuffs, you were unable to get at him. A deep chuckle rumbled in Eddie’s chest that stoked a fire within you and reminded you exactly why you had plucked them from their hook in the first place.

Your third orgasm loomed at a rate that must have been some sort of record. Eddie had you too cock drunk to care, though. It was like you were floating and a lucid part of your brain wondered if the heat of your pleasure had set you ablaze and you were watching yourself from above.

Eddie lifted himself away from you enough to get a good look at every inch of you— your plush lips parted in pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glistening and pupils blown wide, the bounce of your breasts in time with his thrusts, the way his hand looked as he splayed it wide over your lower stomach, meeting just over where his cock hit your walls. He did his best to commit every last detail to memory.

His thrusts became sloppier, nearly stuttering, with the way your walls tightened.

“You close?” He managed, but it wasn’t much of a question. “Come on, good girl, come f’r me, just one more. That’s it”

As if your words summoned it, you spasmed and contracted around him with your third and final orgasm. Your back arched clear off the mattress like a woman possessed, weak and held up largely by Eddie’s tight grip and where he was still fucking into you. The squeeze of your cunt around him was too much, and Eddie let out a guttural groan of your name as he came. His come was warm and foreign inside you.

Eddie collapsed onto you, the last of his strength he had been using to keep both of you upright finally giving out. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, panting into your sweaty skin until he caught his breath again.

“Well,” he muttered. “Fuck. That was… fuck.” You chuckled in response and Eddie lifted his heavy head, not willing to miss a single second of it. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Eddie slowly leaned down to your bound wrists, pressing a kiss to the sore skin.

“Here,” he helped you slowly sit upright in the bed. He pressed one last peck to your temple, then finally peeled himself away from you and his damp bed sheets. Eddie glanced around his room, ready to retrieve the key and free you, when your sweet voice pulled him back to you.

“So,” a playful smile spreaded over your lips. “You still wanna see that trick?”

Eddie hummed. He turned back to you, pulling his boxers back up to rest lowly on his hips with his eyes locked on you. His heart skittered as you blinked up at him.

“Ta-da!” you lifted your now-empty wrist to show off.

Your trick was impressive. Sure enough, you had freed your wrists from the bounds and the second cuff dangled from the chain, tapping against your forearm. If anything, it only made Eddie’s heart swell with the knowledge that you could have gotten yourself out of it at any time but you hadn’t, for him.

“Color me impressed,” he said.

Chuckling, you leaned in to him. Eddie keened, melting against the gentle touch of your newly-freed fingers against his face. Slowly, you pressed your lips to Eddie’s. The kiss was lazy, slow, and heavy. Your lungs burned as she breathed him in.

The unmistakable glow of headlights shined through the curtains as someone pulled up to the new Munson trailer. It was enough to break the delicate bubble of you and Eddie’s post-coital bliss.

Eddie grumbled, lifting a hand to shield his eyes. You lifted yourself to pull the fabric aside, taking a peek at who had pulled up. Panic inched up your spine as you recognized the car.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Shit, Eds, it’s Steve.”

The headlights cut off, and you sprang to action. In your haste, you hadn’t paid any attention to where your clothing ended up. Your knees nearly buckled under your weight as you stood. With burning cheeks, you hushed Eddie’s cackle and could practically see his self-satisfied smirk without turning to look at him.

With Steve only moments away from catching you in far too compromising a position, you yanked your shirt as far down your hips as it would go and decided that would have to do; you couldn’t see your panties anywhere and you had no time to hunt them. Eddie, who seemed to have no trouble redressing himself, tossed your tank top to you. It was just over your head as you heard three telltale raps at the door to the trailer.

Eddie’s long legs allowed him to rush ahead of you and lead the way to answer the door. His grin didn’t dull one bit.

“Relax, angel,” he assured you. “It’s just Steve.”

You really weren’t sure if that made you feel any better or it was somehow worse. Eddie’s touch burned as he slung an arm around your shoulders and you weren’t able to think about it any longer.

“Harrington!” Eddie beamed at the younger man as he stepped inside the trailer.

Steve offered him an odd look at the uncharacteristically chipper tone but pushed past the pair of you and continued his beeline to the kitchen. He grumbled under his breath as he yanked open the fridge. Steve snatched the last cold beer and slammed it shut after himself.

You shared a brief glance with Eddie. Raising an eyebrow, you asked:

“I take it your date went well?”

Steve groaned again. Even his hair looked sad, drooping, as he shook his head. He opened the can and took a heavy swig. It told you everything you needed to know about his latest failed attempt at romance.

“That bad, huh?”

Eddie’s laugh is maybe a little louder than he meant for it to be, but there was no malice in his voice. Only then, as he set his beer down on the counter, did Steve properly look at you and Eddie for the first time since he arrived. It took him longer than it should have to notice something was off. When he eventually did, though, Steve’s jaw lowered. He blinked at his friends a few times as if he had somehow imagined it.

You were worse for wear. Where you had it neatly styled when he dropped you off, your hair was tousled and messy, tank top askew on your torso. The thin fabric did little to hide your pert nipples from his sight and, holy shit, was that a hickey? Your lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, a matching set to Eddie’s, complete with spit and the gloss of your vanilla lip sheen. But all of that was nothing compared to when his gaze lowered towards your thighs. Steve struggled to look away, though he knew he should, but he was mesmerized with the sight of Eddie’s cum dripping down your thigh.

Only then, when he could still clearly see the single handcuff clasped around your wrist with its counterpart dangling at your side, did Steve say anything.

“It smells like sex in here.”

When no one responded, Steve trudged on:

“Were you two just– oh!”

Steve’s chocolate eyes widened slowly with the realization.

You glanced over to lock eyes with Eddie. He barked out another laugh, his dimples popping with amusement.

“Sorry, Stevie,” he teased. “You just missed the show.”

Your fist didn’t even budge him as you smacked Eddie square in the chest for his lewd comment. He gently caught your wrist and snaked your fingers around his to hold your hand.

“Wait,” Steve flitted his eyes between you and Eddie. He called your name softly. “Is this why you didn’t want me to drive you here?”

“No!” You shook your head. “No, I just, uh, didn’t want you to feel like you had to or anything.”

Steve knit his eyebrows. “You’re never a burden, kid.”

Steve’s pretty face pinkened as he took in your disheveled appearance once more. You pulled uselessly at your skirt, as if it might grow longer. He hadn’t noticed he was staring until you squirmed under the heat of his gaze.

Eddie slung his arm around your shoulders easily, pulling you close. Cocking an eyebrow, he called, “Aw, Harrington, you’re just jealous I got to her first.”

“Wait, what?” You glanced between the two boys, brow furrowing.

The glances they shared conveyed some secret conversation you didn’t understand. You raised your brows, asking one of them to clue you in on their little secret.

Steve didn’t deny it when Eddie spoke for him:

“He thinks you’re pretty,” he batted his eyelashes at you, teasing.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” Steve whined. He turned to you, dipping his chin shyly. “But I, uh, yeah.”

It was just a fact. You were beautiful, and Steve didn’t see why he should have to pretend that was a secret.

Your stomach flipped.

“Okay, well,” you stepped out of Eddie’s grasp and towards Steve. You picked his beer up from the counter and drank from it. Gently, you squeezed his shoulder and grinned. “Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

Steve’s pretty face darkened to scarlet, sparkly eyes blinking rapidly. He swallowed thickly and muttered out a weak response. You had them both watching your every movement as you carried the beer towards the living room.

“Now,” you called over your shoulder. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

You smirked into the beer as the boys scrambled to race each other to the couch, arguing amongst themselves about who got to sit next to you. Mentally, you decided you needed to thank Robin for ditching you tonight.

#my writing #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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A little Eddie x bookworm!Reader fluff for my beloved @corroded-hellfire 💚 thank you for being my soulmate. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.

The school library is your favorite place to be. Surrounded by stillness and books, rows and rows of novels that allow you to escape into your own fantasy world. You love it so much that you’ve started volunteering there after school just to embrace its feeling.

“What’re you in for?”

The voice startles you, breaking your focus of reshelving mysteries. You turn around to see Eddie Munson standing beside you, pushing a cart of paperbacks. “Wh-What?”

“The manual labor,” he clarifies, gesturing to your book stack. “I accidentally told O’Donnell to kiss my ass, so Higgins stuck me here. Guess he finally realized that detention wasn’t helping me ‘learn my lesson.’”

You’re not quite sure how someone can accidentally tell a teacher to kiss their ass, but you move on. “Oh, um, nothing. I mean, I just help out here. For fun.” You cringe at the phrasing. Yes, while most people are out partying, I hang out in the library. Try not to be jealous of how cool I am.

Eddie just nods. “Fellow bookworm, huh? Nice.” He glances around the library. “You’re really smart, right? Probably read everything in this place.”

“Pretty much,” you agree, even though it’s far from the truth. Your crush on Eddie Munson is beyond cliché: shy honors student falling for the metalhead bad boy. He leaves you both tongue-tied and rambling. “I didn’t know you liked to read, too. What’s your favorite book?”

He brings his hand to his heart as though he’s just been stabbed, stumbling back dramatically until he bumps into a bookshelf. “That’s like asking a mother to pick her favorite child,” Eddie laments, rubbing the back of his head where it collided with the shelf. When he does, his Hellfire shirt rides up slightly, exposing a pale sliver of stomach. “I love anything Tolkien writes, but pretty much anything fantasy is fair game.” He hands you a book to shelve as he asks, “What about you?”

“Fantasy’s…fantasy’s good,” you manage, embarrassed at how flustered you got by just seeing a bit of his skin. You grab another book off of his cart. “But I’m especially partial to the classics. Like Little Women.”

You expect him to scoff at that, but he just plucks a pen from his back pocket and clicks it open, scrawling the title on his calloused palm. “Little…Women.” His tongue pokes out from between his lips as he concentrates, skin not the best medium for writing. “Okay, now I’ll remember to read it.”

You spend the next hour shelving books with him and swapping stories. Eddie tells you about his band and his D&D Club, and you confide in him that you’re working on writing your own novel. His eyes widen at the information. “No shit!” he exclaims, seemingly unaware of his otherwise quiet surroundings. “How much have you written?”

“Just an outline so far,” you admit, but he’s already excited.

“Bring it with you tomorrow,” he instructs, “and I’ll read it after we’re done.”

You cock your eyebrow at this. “How many days of manual labor did Higgins give you?”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to be bashful. “Just, uh, just the one.” His cheeks tinge pink. “But I’d like to keep talking with you.” He lets his fingers brush against yours for just a moment, but it’s enough to tell you that there’s hope for something beyond friendship here.

“Yeah, okay,” you smile, returning the empty cart to the circulation desk and shutting the lights. “Walk me to the bus stop?”

“I’ll do you one better,” he offers with a grin. “Let me give you a lift home?”

And who are you to deny this cute, metalhead, bookworm bad boy?

—

#eddie munson #fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fluff

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the-fluff-piece · 1 year

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Headcanon: how they react to you telling them "you can do anything you want with me tonight"

This turned into a sexy roleplay headcanon while I was writing but I am okay with that. Sanji, Zoro and Law get a wish what to do with you for a night. It stays safe for work I promise!

Feel free to expand on it if you feel inspired, tag me pls.

Xfem!reader

Like this one? Here's my headcanon masterlist

Zoro

As soon as the words leave your lips you kind of regret it. Zoros mouth twists into a lewd grin and his eye glints. "I'll make a list", he says and leaves you hanging for the rest of the day

The more urgent your questions get, the more wicked he grins. This was a bad idea.

When you two are alone, he leads you to his dojo. What happens next involves his favourite sake and his swords. Everything he likes in one place. You never actually train with him, he is far too advanced and far to bad a teacher. But he would love to fight you, one sword for each of you. He promises he won't hurt you, but he is really, really REALLY excited, it's a bit scary to see him pumped up like this. You know what he is capable of. He is only playing mit you, leaving you enough time to react to his strikes and get some in for him to parry. You soon realise that he is totally in control. When you don't manage to lift your sword to meet his, his blade stops inches from your skin with total precision. None of your strikes could ever touch him, but he seems to enjoy evading at the last second or holding his ground against you with ease. He is visibly getting more aroused with each exchange of strikes - until he finally ends it. He lets you charge one last time and throws his sword away. Moving out of your range to get you off balance and catching you in time before you fall. You see in his eyes that this is it and let your weapon fall to the ground as well...

Sanji

After a short period of realization what he had just been offered, his body kicks into overdrive and for the next ten minutes he will be a mumbling mess sprinting around the ship

When the first wave of absolute excitement subsides he is challenged to actually come up with something he always wanted to do. He is a little boy in a candy store.

Your room will be filled with flowers and the finest food Sanji could manage to get. It smells wonderful and as soon as you sit down, he will tell you his wishes for the night: to serve you in any way he can, the full program. You don't do anything. You get massages. He will get to stare at you all he wants. He won't even let you walk to the bed, he will carry you.

Law

Your generous offer leaves him a bit flustered. There are things he always wanted to do but never felt that he could bring it up. He ist still a bit nervous, but with the right preparation it might work. He'll need more time though.

Eventually you will find a slutty maid-style dress on your bed, a feather duster and a handwritten letter: "tonight, 8 p.m. in my study. Don't be late. Knock before you enter. Await further instructions." The dress is hardly reaching beyond your ass, there is a deep cutout und it's fastened along the side with snaps.

You knock. "Who's there? I am very busy" , Laws says from behind the door. "Uhm...it's me, as instructed" you answer. "Come in." You enter and find Law in a classic doctor's coat, jeans and no shirt. He is brimming with excitement as he sees you, but tries to sound as business like as he can: "Miss Y/n, the upper shelves need some dusting. "Now you see where this is going. "Of course Dr., I'll get on it right away", you coo, already stretching to dust the bookshelf. The dress doesn't reach as far down anymore. You don't get around to really dust anything that night.

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angel-of-the-moons · 7 months

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A Rose Under the Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Domestic violence mentions, hints at child abuse, child abuse mentions violence, phantom pains

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Again, none of this is beta read. We die like the younglings Anakin snuffed in the Jedi Temple

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @bad4amficideas

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 3:

The Victims

You sighed, checking the little egg timer in your apron pocket to see how long until the scones you were baking had left in the oven. Fifteen minutes. Ugh.

It had been a few days since Steven had come in and purchased his pillar of books. The two of you would make small talk, him thumbing through books and rambling about a subject on ancient Egypt that he knew. The moment you brought up your own obscure facts you have memorized from the things your father would read to you as a little girl, Steven’s eyes lit up and he got the biggest grin on his face, and launched himself headlong into info-dump mode. It was kinda cute, really, how excitable he got. You could tell the poor guy probably didn’t have many friends, aside from his brothers, whom he’d told you about, and a friend named Layla. You also found it endearing how his messy, bed-raggled curls would flop over his face, or how animated he’d seem when he would interrupt himself to bring up another fun fact…

But, it had been a day or two since he’d come in last. And to be honest, you kinda miss the guy. He was probably the nicest most engaging customer you had. He even admitted that he didn’t come in just for the books. He told you he liked your teas and treats, and he loved the comfortable atmosphere of your shop over a crowded cafe. But one day, he just had to ask:

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” He started, looking at the muffin in his hand.

“Hm?” You hummed as you stocked shelves.

“Are these… vegan?” He seemed hesitant to touch the muffine now, as if it were poisoned.

You giggle softly. “Yes, actually. I try to use recipes that everyone can enjoy. Vegan, gluten-free…”

“Oh! Wonderful!” He scarfed the muffin down rather quickly after that, his nose buried in the textbook on archaeology he had in his hands.

You set your phone down as you sipped your spiced tea. It was a rather cold and gloomy day today, not uncommon this late in the year, but still, it sucked. It reminded you of where you grew up in Maine, off the coast. Storms blew in all the time, you’d remember as a little girl getting up in the morning, wanting to run outside and play, just to be met with a dark and angry sky, blistering winds, and pelting rain.

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Your poor little six-year-old heart was crushed one day when a particularly bad squall blew into town, and you were trapped within the confines of your house, arms crossed, feet firmly planted as you glared out the window, lip wobbling.

How dare the weather ruin your plans for the day? You were going to play in your treehouse! Now the stupid wind was gonna blow it away! And if it did, your father would have to build another one, and that would take forever!

“Hey, there, Lil’ Bit.” Your dad said, kneeling behind you, as you stubbornly looked out the window in a seething rage. So, so angry for a little girl. You inherited your temper from your mother, surely. Though you personally never saw her mad, of course. Ever. But then again, she worked so much…

Your mom was what your dad told you was a “breadwinner”, which was a term you found dumb. You mom never entered contests and she certainly never won bread as a prize. It was so dumb! Why did adults have to use such dumb words for things?

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad sang, leaning forward from where he was crouched to put his chin on your tiny shoulder.

“No, daddy, ‘m angy.” You mumbled, trying to shrug him off as lightning flashed in the distance.

He chuckled, his voice warm, much like your favorite pair of fuzzy socks after they were just taken out of the dryer. “Come on, princess. It’ll pass. They always do.”

“But why did it have t’ do it today!” You whined, not budging.

“Dunno, kid. The sky just felt like dumping buckets, I guess.” He said, humoring you.

“Daddy...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Clouds don’t use buckets!”

“Sure they do!” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you. “You just never see em!”

“You’re silly.” You scoff.

“You’re silly!” Your dad laughed, scooping you up and spinning you around, finally getting a smile out of you as you shriek in laughter.

He tucked you against his chest and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you some sna–”

His eyes went wide and he gasped when you writhed, crying out and wincing like you’d just been struck.

“Babygirl, what’s wrong?” He asked, hurriedly sitting you on the couch as you curled in on yourself. He could see the welts start to peek out from beneath the sleeves of your little pink shirt.

It was happening again.

The pain in his heart gripped him like ice, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain his daughter was feeling. His poor, poor baby girl, whose soulmate was constantly being inflicted with whatever horrors they faced with.

He would curse it, sometimes. Your mark. Your bond. You were already enduring abuse that wasn’t directed at you. Or maybe it was in a way… Given that it was happening to your other half. Who you would one day meet. Maybe things will be better, when you had. Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, he hated whomever was inflicting those injuries on your soulmate more. Not only were they hurting your soulmate, they were hurting you. He’d imagined that you were close in age. If so, who the hell would abuse a child in such a way? The concept was completely foreign to him.

He rubbed your back, murmuring sweet and loving things to you.

He noticed something odd about your mark about a few years ago, right when the welts and bruises started to show and you would recoil in phantom pain... There was a new addition to your mark. At first it was one crescent moon. But then one became two, and two became three.

Right now, the bottom right moon was full.

He wasn’t sure what it meant… But he noticed your crying slow to soft little hiccups and sniffles as you sit up, rubbing your eyes.

He rested his forehead against yours. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

“I jus’ wanna know why it hurts so much, daddy.” You sniffle.

“Trust me, I know. Me and your mom are similar. I remember when we were kids, before we met… She fell from a tree and broke her leg. Man, it hurt so bad…”

You looked up at him, your big beautiful eyes glistened with tears. Your mother’s eyes. Little gems of hers that you would always have.

“Really?” You peeped.

“Really.” He stood and walked over to the bookshelf above the living room fireplace, and plucked a book off of it. He turned back to you and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap and kissing the top of your head.

“This book came from your great auntie over in London. You remember her, yeah?” He hummed.

Your fingers grazed the cover, old and worn, obviously well-read and well-loved. It had a picture of a woman with wings and a pretty dress on it. You couldn’t read the other words on it just yet, you were still learning how to read the bigger ones.

“Want me to read you some of the stories in it?” He inquired.

“Uh-huh.” You nod.

Your father flipped the pages open, and hummed again, softer.

“Now, let’s start with the tale of Isis and the Seven Scorpions…”

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You jumped, almost dropping the egg timer you had in your hand when your shop’s door dinged and swung open. A frantic young woman rushed inside, her sunken and baggy eyes looking at you, wide with fright.

You skipped the usual welcome and regarded her with a confused expression.

“I… Can I help you–”

“Please, I just need to–to hide!” She said, rushing over to you and gripping your hand, pulling you behind her and further into the winding shelves that made up your bookstore.

“Hey, Hey.” You say, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My–my boyfriend. He… He’s… I messed up and burned lunch and…” She looked to the side trying to check if he somehow didn’t materialize out of thin air over her shoulder when she wasn’t looking; and when she did… you saw them.

The already darkening bruises on her delicate throat.

Immediately you went into protector mode. You gently urge her towards the door leading to the stairwell that went up to your flat above.

“You hide up there, and call 999, okay?” You say to her. “You can stay here until the police arrive. If it makes you feel safer, there’s a deadbolt to the door up there. If your boyfriend comes in I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

You rush to the oven when you hear the timer go off, and pull out the scones (after slipping on your mitts), when the bell to your store dings.

You curse under your breath and say to the girl quietly. “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll be up when the police get here.”

You carefully slip the tasty treats onto a plastic tray and toss the pan into the sink with a clang; instantly regretting it when the young woman flinched and curled into herself, her arms instinctively reaching to cover her head.

You muttered and apology and balanced the pan on your hand as you hastily make your way down the stairs, to see whomever was incessantly dinging your “ring me!” button at the register.

When you finally break free of the labyrinthine bookshelves, you spot a rather large and angry looking man.

This had to be the boyfriend.

“Hello, one moment, please.” You say tersely, sliding the scones into the small display case showcasing the fresh treats of the day.

“Oi, you seen somebody come in here?” He demanded gruffly.

You take another visual sweep of his appearance. Rather big build, probably abuses the gym too much. He looks like he exclusively dines on protein shakes more than food… He could be trouble, if he got violent. The only upside is that you knew the layout of your little shop by heart, he didn’t. You really wished you had a gun under the counter, right about now.

You made a mental note to sign up for the courses and get the certificate from the police..

“Other than you, no, you’d be my first customer of the day.” You force the cheer into your tone as you bring a box of books and begin to half-assedly place them, hoping to look normal.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ customer.” He growled. “Don’ want no books.”

“Well, I also offer a variety of coffees, teas, and snacks–”

“I ain’t no fuckin’ customer!” He barked, getting in your face.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains the slurred speech.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you please back away, you’re a little too close…” You say, your hands up in a submissive gesture, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Does it look like I giv' a fuck? Ya fuckin' muppet?" He hissed at you, his eyes dilated and glassy.

"Look, I don't want to cause trouble, but–"

He seized your arm and gripped it painfully tight, you could feel the crunch of your radiocarpal joint being squeezed under his rough and indelicate fingers. "Did ya hear me, ya fuckin' cunt? I'm lookin' for my girl, I know she came in here! Don't lie t' me!"

"Sir, people come into my store all the time, and it's not really my business why unless they buy a book or a muffin. Let me go!" You retort, trying to pry his fingers from around you with your free hand.

"Shut th' fuck up!" He snarled, pushing you back against the bookshelf so hard the back of your head cracked on one of the shelves. Great, another pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An unmistakably American accent called from the door of your shop.

How had you missed the bell? How did you not notice the sound of the door opening?

The drunken man holding you turned, still gripping you. "Great, another fuckin' yank? Can't you fucks stick to ya own country?"

You felt your pulse quicken, and your eyes widened at the man who stood in the door; dark, honey-tinted eyes aflame with anger. But the man the eyes belonged to?

Dead ringer for Steven. But he carried himself entirely differently, he even had his hair styled back in a different way. He wore a white hoodie, faded blue jeans, and some steel-toe boots.

"None o' ya fuckin' busniess, you dick." The man sneered, looking back down at you.

"It is if you're hurting the lady." He said gruffly.

"Oi, you got a listening problem?"

The man turned again, but he was met with the knuckles of the American man who just came to your aid; straight to his jaw, knocking him back against a cart you had full of discount books, sending them to the floor with a clatter.

The man cracked his knuckles, before gently grabbing you by the shoulder and moving you behind him for cover.

At this distance you could just barely catch a whiff of sandalwood and some kind of spice. A hint of aftershave wafted into your senses in accompany.

"You fuckin' dick!" The man grunted, shaking his head in an attempt to reorient his brain.

"You need a better repertoire of insults, buddy. Or stop hitting the sauce." The other man sneered. "Probably both."

The drunk lunged at him, and this guy was one step ahead, intercepting him by grabbing his wrists.

The crunch of bone was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, and when you dared to peek again, the drunk was clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Your savior on the other hand?

Barely broke a sweat. He headbutted him with the hardest part of his head, crunching bone and cartilage.

"Stay down, asshole." He growled. You spun on your heels to look at the door when two clothed officers came in, hands on their pepper spray.

"Everybody just calm down!" One of them shouted.

Ugh. Now you had a headache…

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By the time the officers, the battered girl, and her boyfriend all left, it was just you and your knight in shining hoodie. Who looked way too much like Steven.

You sat him down at one of the reading nooks and shakily wring your hands out to calm down. "Uh… Yeah, so…" You try.

"My name's Marc. Marc Spector." He said. "You, uh… met my brother, already. Steven."

You gasp. "The heathen!"

He choked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"Oh! Uhhhhhh…" You clear your throat awkwardly trying to change the subject. "You and Steven have different last names!"

Marc huffed through his nose. "It's uh… a long story."

"What, were you guys separated at birth or something? He speaks with a typical Londoner accent, you're full-blown American." You smile.

"Or something." Marc murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

"God, and Steven and I joked about my life being a setup for a book." You giggle softly. "You guys sound like you're straight out of a Dickens novel!"

Marc kind of squirmed in his seat. "Yeah…"

"So, uh… what brings you here today? From what Steven told me, you don't exactly pick up books all the time like he does." You say to him, tilting his head.

Marc wiped at his face with a groan, "Ugh. Don't get me started on Steven's books! He has too goddamn many–"

"Ah!" You say, flicking a stray curl. You weren't sure why your brain told you that was okay to do. It just felt right. The look he gave you afterwards sent your heart leaping into your throat.

Raw confusion, maybe some surprise?

"Uh… No talking like that is allowed in my store, there, pal…" You stammer out. "So… why are you here?"

"Steven said you had coffee. Didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people today." He kind of mumbled.

"Oh, I get that." You sighed softly in sympathy. Already, Marc struck you as the kinda guy who didn't like dealing with people unless he had to.

And honestly, you kinda felt for the guy. Something about him made your heart twinge in a funny little way.

"Tell you what, as a thanks for helping take care of that asshat, coffee is on the house, and I'll even give you a cup of my personal blend instead of the stuff on the menu."

"Uh, you don't have to–"

"Ah!" You say, wagging a finger at him as you walk away. "None of that in my store!"

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You sat and talked for a while. Hours, really. Whereas Steven loved to babble about things he knew, and was rather energetic about it, Marc was… reserved. Shy, almost. He was content to let you lead the conversations, piping in here or there on a subject.

He told you some about his time in the Marines, and how something happened to him mentally that got him discharged early. He was vague about what he did after that, but he mentioned moving to London after he and his wife ran into problems.

At first you almost asked a rather impertinent question, "Why did you guys split up?" But decided that was far too rude of a thing to ask. Even if you wondered why he married outside of a soulmate bond. Even if a marriage like that wasn't entirely uncommon…

"I'm sorry." You say softly, sitting across from him, your coffee long finished, the mug cold. "You've been through… a lot..."

"Yeah, you can certainly say that." Marc sighed, turning his mug in his hands for probably the hundredth time.

"So… Thanks again. For y'know. Helping me." You smile.

"No problem, easy enough to deal with a drunk." He shrugged. "And he looked like he was about to hurt you, so I had to do... something."

"Well I'm glad you did that something." You chuckle.

Marc cleared his throat and smiled back, a soft thing on his face, really. But it was nice to see.

He moved to stand, "I should, ah… go. Thanks for the coffee." He reached out to hand you a few notes from his wallet, and you declined, gathering the mugs to go wash them.

"Nope, I already said it was on the house." You tell him.

"But–"

"No buts!" You called out as you vanished into the expanse of bookshelves.

When you came back, you noticed that, stacked neatly on the counter, was a bundle of notes, your egg timer sitting neatly atop it, with a post-it note simply saying:

"Tell me your life story next time. Thanks. -Marc."

Chapter 4: Link

#A Rose Under the Moon #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #soulmate au

192 notes · View notes

tangledinink · 9 months

Text

At long last! A new chapter... Of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? Chapter 22 is here. The Hamato Family focuses on re-adjusting to everyday life until suddenly they're not. Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

“Donniiiieee!” Leo whined loudly, “Tell your drone to quit ignoring me! I never get any footage out of these things!”

“Skill issue,” Donnie remarked, and Leo gave an affronted gasp.

“What!?”

“Yeah!” Mikey chirped, an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face as he joined them; hopping from his skateboard when he reached the top of the half-pipe, grabbing it in his arms and making a smooth transition to solid ground. Donnie’s drone, buzzing softly overhead, followed after him. It was filming all of them, but it did, admittedly, spend a great deal of time trailing Mikey like an excited puppy. “If you want drone time, then you should do more cool stuff. Like me,” he teased.

“I do plenty of cool stuff, thank you!” Leo huffed.

“Where?” Donnie questioned, and April snorted softly.

She had missed this.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m the best skateboarder, cuh-learly,” Mikey declared happily, all but peacocking, plopping down next to his siblings where they were currently all perched atop of the half-pipe platform, taking a break and lounging in the sun like seals on a ocean rock.

Or maybe like turtles on a log?...

Raph hummed in response, wordlessly rolling over so that he could flop on top of his baby brother, effectively pinning Mikey to the ground. Mikey squealed, shrieking in protest, even though laughter colored his voice.

“Raph! You are crushing me! Get off!”

“Gotta eliminate the competition,” Raph replied calmly, grinning as he settled down on top of him. April snickered, leaning forward to rest her chin atop her knees.

“Guess that’s the danger of being the best,” she teased.

“Oh, how the mighty fall,” Donnie said, grinning widely. The drone happily recorded.

“I will bite you!” Mikey threatened.

“No you won’t,” Raph said. “‘Cause if you do, I’ll stop getting stuff off the top shelves for you.”

Mikey gasped loudly in offense. “I am still growing!!!”

“Better hurry up,” Donnie said.

“Ex-squeeze me!? You’re five-three!”

“And yet, I am still taller than you…”

The weather was finally starting to get nice out, April observed, and the skatepark that she and the boys frequented was filled with people taking advantage. The steady orchestra of wheels on pavement and excited shouts in the background provided a comforting soundtrack, playing nicely with the birdsong and the sounds of the city that filtered in from around them. Now that it was getting warmer again, the entire city seemed to be waking up. All of New York was flooded with joggers, with dogs on leashes going on walks, with cyclists and parents with strollers and even just people walking around and enjoying the nice weather. April swore it was like animals waking up after hibernation; poking their heads from their burrows at long last. People sat on milk crates on street corners and talked and laughed with one another, trading cigarettes and stories alike, and all the balconies and stoops in her neighborhood were suddenly occupied now that the temperatures were rising. Leaves were beginning to grow on the trees again, and this was something April had always loved, getting excited to see them each and every year. But they had never made her smile so much as they did this time around. Mikey had taken the time to inform her about eight times now that it was the exact same hue as her life color, and now every time she looked at them, she couldn’t help but grin.

Raph eventually let Mikey loose with enough complaining, and the five lingered for a bit longer up top, readjusting knee pads and rollerskate straps or guzzling water, filling the space with idle chatter as they did so, until Leo got to his feet, stretching his arms up above his head.

“You guys wanna do another run?”

“Nah,” April sighed. “You guys go. I gotta get heading to work soon.”

“Booooo,” Mikey complained. “No working. Quit your job! Rollerskate for money!” April scoffed.

“Right, well, if you find someplace that accepts drone footage of rollerskating as currency, you let me know!”

“The new job good?” Donnie questioned, raising a brow, and April nodded.

“Yeah! It’s pretty cool. I mean, my bosses are sort of weird, but in a chill way,” she hummed. “I mean, it’s retail, but the pay is pretty good, so I like it alright.”

Leo sighed dramatically. “Wow. I can’t believe you love money more than you love us,”

“You just say that ‘cause you’ve never had a job,” Raph scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What about you?” April asked, glancing over at Raphael. “Going back to work soon?”

Raph’s face absolutely lit up at the question, grinning big and giving a determined nod. “Yep! Next class is tomorrow!” He reported proudly. “Can’t leave my kids hangin’ for too long.”

“I’ll bet you any amount of money that that Penelope kid will yell at you for being gone for so long,” April said with a grin, and Raph laughed.

“Yeah. Probably.”

---

“Okay, deep breath in.”

Mikey agreeably inhaled, allowing oxygen to sweep inside of his lungs, feeling his chest swell up to accommodate the load.

“... And deep breath out.”

And he exhaled, slowly blowing all of the air back out, feeling his own breath tickle the edge of his lips as he went.

“... Dad?”

“Yes, my son?”

“Meditation is… really… boring.”

His dad laughed out loud, cracking open his eyes to glance over at his youngest son. “I cannot even disagree with you, Orange. I used to hate it when I was younger,” he confessed. “There were always just so many other things I’d rather be doing!”

“I don’t like it!” Mikey whined, flopping over onto his back, letting all his limbs splay out. “I thought it’d be like yoga! I like yoga! But you just sit in this one! Where’s the fun in that!?”

“I know, I know,” their dad hummed, waving a hand. “But it is an excellent tool for control and focus. And you are the one who asked me to teach you in the first place!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be so lameeeeee,” Mikey whined, rolling over onto his side with a pout.

“Suck it up,” Dad hummed in reply, leaning over to nudge his shoulder slightly. “Come on, up. Five more minutes and we’ll be done.”

“Five minutes!?” Mikey wailed. “That’s so long!”

“It’s not that long,” his dad assured. “You will be fine. And this is the best method I know to keep your ninpo in check, Michelangelo. If you want to control your mystic powers, you’re going to have to focus and control your thoughts and emotions first.”

Mikey wrinkled his nose a bit, slowly sitting up and pursing his lips to form a pout.

That had never been a strength of his.

“Mikey.”

The sharpness of his teacher’s voice shocked Mikey back into reality, his head bobbing in surprise as he turned to glance over at her, leaning over his desk. When had she gotten here…?

“Have you finished your work yet?”

“Uhmmmm…” Mikey paused for a moment, glancing down at the math problems on his desk, clutching at his pencil a bit nervously. She had said to do the first two pages, and he had been going to, honestly! And he had done a few, but then the next one he didn’t know how to do on his own--

“Then why are you drawing?” She pressed, narrowing her eyes, and Mikey shrank a bit, his hands instinctively and self-consciously moving to cover up the little doodles that had begun to take over the margins and free space of the paper. All the little lightning bolts and shooting stars and cartoon unicorns and superheroes that he had been so happy about just a few minutes ago suddenly made his blood feel like ice.

“I dunno how to do these ones…” He defended weakly, his stomach flip-flopping as his eyes darted downwards, his fingers wiggling anxiously.

“We’ve talked about this, Michelangelo. If you need help, then you need to raise your hand and ask me to help you, not doodle,” she chided, her tone insistent, matter-of-fact. Mikey wanted to tell her that she had already been working with one of his classmates when he realized he needed help, and that he had intended to wait for her to be done so he could ask her about the math problems without interrupting, cause he knew she didn’t like it when he interrupted, but then he had gotten bored waiting and started drawing instead, and then he had forgot…

But somehow he didn’t think it would help.

He shrank under her eyes, his lower lip wobbling.

“Okay,” he mumbled, his voice very small, and she sighed with such an air of absolute exasperation that it sent hot, salty tears spilling unbidden over his lower lashes. He didn’t mean to! He was trying so hard not to cry, but she just…! It had just been an accident, but she just seemed so disappointed with him! She seemed so angry!

And now he was crying in class and he could feel his classmates looking at him out of the corners of their eyes. His face burned bright as he scrunched himself up into a teeny little ball, his chin tucked down to his chest to hide.

His teacher stood up straight again, and it felt suddenly like she was looming over him. “When you’re finished crying, call me over and I’ll help you with your work,” she told him, and Mikey shivered from the coldness of it. He had never been so ashamed to cry before. “And if I see any more drawings, I’m throwing them in the trash. Do you understand me?”

Mikey had hiccuped, just a tiny bit, without meaning to, and nodded.

His throat felt all achy and swollen up as he laid his head down in his arms, blinking past tears and sniffling softly, trying desperately to push everything back down and dismiss them. This wasn’t even the first time this had happened…! He was pretty much convinced by now that Mrs. Stephanidis must hate him with all the trouble he was always getting into. She was always upset with him. She was always sighing like that every time they talked… and he was trying, honest, he was! He didn’t mean to get distracted and end up doing something else when they were in class, it just…

Happened.

It was so hard to just sit still and listen and not do anything else. His fingers always wanted to move! So did his feet and his tongue! And he could keep some of them down, but he could never quite manage to keep them all in check all at the same time, despite his best efforts. He’d stay in his seat and be still, but then he’d get in trouble for chatting with his desk-neighbor, which he could never quite understand, because why was he in trouble for talking with his friend? Was it bad? He didn’t get it. He’d keep his hands still, not letting them wander off and do anything else, and he’d remain quiet in class, but then he’d spot something out the window and before he knew it he’d be out of his seat and peering out the window, belatedly finding some excuse to be up when he was confronted. And even when he could keep his mouth quiet and his bottom firmly in his chair…

Well, he’d find himself here.

There were just so many things all the time that he wanted to be doing! Like drawing little superheroes. Or debating with Madison about how high horses could jump. Or finding out how many erasers he could stack on top of one another (twelve), or teaching his deskmates how to say “butt” in Japanese (now the entire first grade knew how), or discovering what happened if you put your finger in the pencil sharpener, (it hurt, and you had to go the nurse to get a bandaid.)

It wasn’t like he didn’t like math and reading and all that stuff. It was just…

So slow sometimes.

As he ruminated on this all, he was slowly able to fight off some of the earlier sorrow, muscling all the wobbly little sobs back inside of his head once he put every bit of strength he had into it. It was exhausting, but it was worth it. He wanted Mrs. Stephanidis to like him. He wanted to be a good student! A good kid! He wanted to do his math and learn how…! He eventually picked his head back up, refocusing on the worksheets in front of him, now with a few wet spots.

He wiped at his cheeks, taking a few long, shaking breaths as he glanced over at his teacher across the room, wandering about and looking over other kids shoulders, occasionally making comments or remarks to his classmates. He supposed he could raise his hand and ask her to come and help him, but…

The idea made his throat puff up again. If he had her come help him, he’d have to raise his hand, and then everyone would look at him again. And, maybe even worse, then she would come over, and he’d have to talk with her again, and…

He hesitated, fear prickling up his spine, his sneakers nudging anxiously at the tile floor at the thought. Well. She would surely wander her way back over to his desk eventually…

Mikey sniffled softly, wiping at his nose with the backs of his sleeve. Maybe he just wasn’t trying hard enough before. Maybe he could figure this stuff out on his own, and he just hadn’t worked long enough on it…

His eyes wandered to the first problem, his pencil lingering over the surface of the paper, repeatedly leaving small, nervous marks and nicks in the surface of the paper as his hand squirmed and trembled. He had gone over some of this with Donnie before, so he probably knew how to do it, right? He just hadn’t tried hard enough to remember…

Very slowly, he tried to pick his way through the problem, his face scrunched up with concentration. Okay, so if it was six, plus nine, then it was like… if he had nine… he just had to count six more times higher, right? But wait, did he start from nine, or from ten? Was the rule different when you got into double digits?...

He hesitantly wrote out numbers on the sheet, his handwriting having morphed from his usual big, loopy letters and numbers to become itty bitty, tiny script, all scrunched together and small, like it wanted to curl up and hide just like he did. And he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right, but at least he was doing it, right? It was better to do it this way, wasn’t it…? He frowned, chewing at his eraser, digging his teeth into the surface.

He ground himself to a halt when he approached the subtraction problems, squirming anxiously in his seat. He knew Donnie taught him this, too, but he really didn’t remember how to do these ones. He knew he had to do it backwards, kinda, but he didn’t remember how it worked, or what the first step was.

His pencil twitched absently as he dug around in the back of his mind, searching desperately for anything helpful. He sketched repeatedly over the same lines he had already drawn earlier-- digging into the little canals and divots that the lead had carved into the soft surface of the paper, dragging it back and forth. Just an absent motion while he tried to think.

And he hadn’t realized Mrs. Stephanidis had come back. But the absolutely outraged gasp that clued him in made him jump, and his blood ran cold as he immediately froze, dropping the pencil like it had burned him.

“Michelangelo!”

“I wasn’t--” He tried desperately to explain himself, panic flaring through his chest.

“What did I just tell you?!”

“But I--”

Mikey realized quickly that she wasn’t interested in listening to him as she snatched the worksheets from his desk, his pencil knocked aside with the movement and rolling off his desk. Mikey resisted the urge to grab for them, remaining absolutely still in his seat. All the hard work he had just done to chase the tears away was instantly undone as he watched her march over to the trash can by the door.

She tore the papers in half the long way, right down the middle. And then she rotated them so she could do it again, ripping them the opposite direction, like a cross. Like a great big “X.” Pulled apart into four separate pieces. And then the scraps went fluttering into the black bin.

She went to her desk. She picked up a new set of worksheets, clean and fresh. She returned to Mikey’s desk, laying them down neatly where his previous work had once been. She picked his pencil up off the floor for him and leaned back over the desk.

“Okay. Now show me which problems you didn’t understand.”

Yeah. Dad hadn’t been too happy about that one.

He had started seeing his therapist, Cat, a little after that, and that had helped a lot. And then when he was seven, he started taking meds, and that helped a lot, too. It certainly wasn’t a magic band-aid. Things still… sucked sometimes.

And he still wasn’t the best at. You know. Focusing.

… But he couldn’t just let it keep getting the better of him.

Not if it was going to hurt his family.

Mikey took in a long, deep breath, sitting back upright again, scooting forward so he could copy his Dad’s posture once more, his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

---

It was just as he had suspected.

Penelope was pissed.

It had been endearing, quite frankly, how worked up she was. They all were-- Raphael had been nearly ambushed when he showed up at class, all five of his students throwing themselves at him and clinging to him as soon as they got the chance.

“Where were you?!” Penelope had demanded. “You were gone for forever!!! You’re supposed to teach us, remember!? We have a standing appointment!!!”

And Raph had laughed despite himself, wondering where she had heard that term, unable to keep himself from smiling even as they scolded him. He had already known he had missed them over the past month. But he hadn’t had the chance to actually feel it until just then. It was almost enough to make him tear up, emotion building up in the back of his throat, but he smoothed it back out, keeping himself steady. He didn’t even mind how much his cheeks hurt, because god.

He had missed this so much.

“Sorry, kiddo, my bad,” he told them. “Raph missed you guys, too. But I had to go take care of my family for a little while.”

“Why?” Penelope had demanded.

“Are they okay?” Another child had questioned, looking up at him with these huge, concerned eyes.

“It’s a real long story,” he had told them with a sigh and a lop-sided grin. “But don’t worry. Everyone is okay now.”

“Did something bad happen?” One of his students had asked.

“Did you protect them?” Said another, and Raph had chuckled.

“Nah,” he told them. “We all protected each other.”

Even thinking about it now, now that he was back in his own room in his own house, he couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He thought that there was a fifty-fifty chance he may grow to regret it, but he had even given in and done two ‘Ferry’ laps around the pool at the end of the lesson. Come on-- how could he not?

A knock on his door drew him from the memory, and he lifted his head slightly, his eyes darting over to meet the sound.

“Yeah?”

He was, admittedly, a little surprised when Leo made his way into the room with him, closing the door behind him. Not that he was unwelcome.

“Hey,” Leo greeted.

“Hey,” Raph echoed, raising a brow slightly, already wondering what it was that had brought his little brother here. He wasn’t just here to hang out or avoid doing homework-- he could already tell. He knew his brothers better than that. “What’s up?”

Leo had hesitated a second, wrinkling his nose. “Can you help me with something?”

What kind of a question is that?

“Yeah, a’course. What’s up?”

Leo had frowned, plopping down on Raph’s bed, and Raph took notice of the little black pouch he had brought with him for the first time.

“Okay, look. Can you just help me with my T-shot? Please?”

Raph blinked in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. “I mean. Yeah, sure. I can try. You haven’t done ‘em yet…?” Leo’s appointment had only been a few days ago, but still. He had been so excited for this!

“I’ve been making Dad do them,” Leo confessed, scrunching up his nose. “But I wanna be able to do them myself! And I can, I know how, I just--”

He cut out, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

“This is so fucking stupid. Can you just-- count me down?”

Was that all? Raph just barely breathed out an amused little huff, though he didn’t dare laugh at his younger brother’s request, biting it back.

“Yeah, dude. No problem.”

“It’s just-- it psyches me out,” Leo muttered, curled up on the foot of his brother’s bed, beginning to unpack the kit he had brought with him with determined but still unpracticed hands.

“That’s fine,”

“It’s so dumb. I’ve done way scarier stuff than this. It doesn’t even really hurt that bad,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but I do most of the scary stuff you do, too, and I’m still freaked out by puppets,” Raph countered, shrugging a bit. He hated to bring it up, and if anyone besides him said it, he’d smack them, but… sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for your family. “So I kinda think it probably doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Leo sighed, biting the tip of his tongue as he fiddled with the syringe, occasionally stopping, stumbling, and starting again. Raph waited patiently. It wasn’t like he had any idea how to do any of this stuff, anyway, so he didn’t have much room to judge. He watched silently as his brother tore open an alcohol pad to wipe down his own thigh, scrunching his pajama shorts up ever-so-slightly to give himself more room.

“You ready?” Raph asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Alright. I’ll count down from three.”

“Okay.”

“Three.”

“Mmmm…”

“Two.”

Leo adjusted his grip on the needle slightly.

“One.”

There was just the second of delay, Leo’s hand hoovering for just a second, like he was still thinking about backing down.

But just for a second.

He hissed a bit at the sting, but about three seconds later, it was done, the needle capped again and ready to be disposed of, and everything was finished.

“All good?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Raph said, turning in his chair to face his desk again. And he meant it. He liked doing this kind of thing. He liked it when his brothers could come to him, when his family could rely on him-- he liked feeling needed like this. He was sure that Mikey would psychoanalyze the shit out of this, but he really did want to protect them. He wanted to be the one who kept them safe. Even when it was difficult.

And when it was easy, too. Just like this.

“”S not like I was really doin’ homework, anyway,” Raph added in with a chuckle, glancing over his shoulder at Leo again.

Leo made a face at the thought of homework, no doubt having his own, but he laughed a little, too.

“You want me to count you in tomorrow, too?” Raph asked, keeping his tone as casual as he possibly could, turning his head back to face the desk again as he spoke, leaving the other to consider the offer without eyes on him. And he could tell that Leo was thinking about it for a while, waffling for a moment before he answered.

“... Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

---

“Dad, is this a touch screen?”

“No, it is not, so do not touch it.”

“DAD! Dad, look! There’s a dog over there!!!”

“Yes, Mikey, I see it.”

“Can I go--”

“No. Stay here with me.”

“Dad! Look! I can see the security guys!”

“Yes, and they are all very busy doing their jobs, so we probably should not distract them by screaming and pointing--”

“Do they have guns!?”

Their father sighed very deeply, not looking up from his current task, rummaging through his bag.

“No, they--”

“Do they have katanas?”

“Why would they have katanas?”

“‘Cause they’re cool,” Leo said, “I wanted to bring mine! This is sooo not fair”

“Well, you’re not old enough to compete in that event yet, so you’ll have to suck it up,” Dad replied. “And you do not have to worry about what weapons the security does or does not have, because you would not break any rules and give them any reason to use any of them. Right, Blue?”

“Right!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!!! I’m for sure sure!”

“So if I go through your backpack right now, I will not find any cans of Jupiter Jim Comet Cola in there? Because I specifically told you not to bring any?”

Leo scowled.

“Go throw it out.”

“What!? But it’s limited edition!!!”

“Then you should have left it at home like I told you. Go.”

“I’ll drink it so fast--”

“Leonardo.”

Leo groaned loudly, flinging his head back dramatically as he slunk off towards the nearby trash can.

This had been about the energy pretty much all day.

“What kind of cameras are those?”

“Purple, I have absolutely no idea.”

“Can I--”

“Whatever it is, no,” Dad said, finally fishing their boarding passes from his bag. “Alright, come on, let’s go. That way, to the security check-- the blue sign over there.”

“I wanna hold my own ticket!” Leo demanded.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not!?”

“You will lose it. Come on. Let’s go.”

“No I wouldn’t! I swear!”

“Well, we will never know,” Dad said. “Come on, or we will be late and miss our flight. Move. Shoo,” he insisted, nudging at the nearest child’s ankle slightly with his foot, as if to herd them. Mikey gave a short squeal in response, hopping away and giggling as he took off in a jog towards the blue TSA sign. He bobbed and weaved past all the hoards of people and their suitcases, his backpack bouncing about with each step.

Raph frowned a bit, hurrying his pace so he could catch up with Mikey, sticking close by his side. There were a ton of people here. What if he got lost or something? Then they’d definitely miss their flight. He picked up the pace slightly so he could catch up.

“Mikey,” he called, reaching out towards him and wriggling his fingers. “Hold hands?”

“Okay,” Mikey agreed easily, happily reaching over to grab Raph’s hand in his own, and Raph breathed out a very quiet sigh in relief. Mikey was always willing to hold hands when he asked. At least this way, he knew he wasn’t gonna get lost.

The five of them slowly snaked their way through the long, roped-off security lines, their father following after them, occasionally saying things like, ‘stop unhooking the lanes,’ or ‘do NOT touch the AED machine,’ or ‘Orange, get off the floor.’ Raph and Mikey took turns seeing who could walk on their hands the longest, and they only fell a few times, with their father grumbling at them to cut it out each time he caught them by their legs and prevented them from crashing into any fellow travelers, which they of course ignored. Eventually, they shuffled their way through the entire process, having all the boarding passes and documents checked by the security man up front, and then passing through the physical security check as well. Dad grumbled about how much more complicated flying had gotten since he had last done it, forbade Leo and Mikey from climbing up onto the conveyor belt for the X-Ray machine, and had, one by one, coaxed them all through the entire process until they were on the other side.

“Dad, can I have one of those?” Donnie questioned, pointing back at the equipment at the checkpoint.

“Ask me again when we get back home,” Dad said, letting out a long breath.

The rest of the process was actually pretty easy. They eventually made their way over to their gate, their dad sat them all down and put on a Jupiter Jim movie for them to watch together, and they waited until it was time for boarding. And the entire day had been very chaotic so far, with Raphael’s anxiety spiking and waning throughout it all in frantic little bursts, but now, it didn’t really seem so bad.

It wasn’t until they actually started to board the plane that some of the fear started to come back.

He and his siblings were arguing about who would get to sit in the window seat, their Dad hoisting carry-ons up into the overheads, when Raph kind of glanced outside through said window and came to the startling realization that they were on a plane.

And it was huge.

And it was gonna go up in the air. With them in it.

His carefully calculated talking points about how he was the oldest, and therefore, he should get the window seat sort of died in his throat, and he swallowed hard, balling his hands up into little fists.

They had never flown in a plane before.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, Red…?”

“Are we… Are we, uhm…” He kind of broke off, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. The air in here was so stale.

Their dad paused, glancing down at him for a moment, quickly finishing his task before kneeling down next to Raph, seeming unconcerned about the other people trying to walk down the aisle.

“What’s wrong, Red?”

“Is it…” He hesitated a little. “Are you sure planes are safe?”

“Yes, my son. I am sure planes are safe.”

“Oh,” he said, biting the insides of his cheeks. “And it’s not gonna be… I mean. Nothin’ bad is gonna happen?”

“I’m sure,” Dad assured. “It will be fine, Raph. I have flown many, many times before, and nothing bad has ever happened yet. At least nothing worse than my bag getting lost,” he said, chuckling a bit, and Raph wrinkled up his nose slightly. (Wait, what if their bags got lost? It had a bunch of their stuff for the tournament they were going to! They needed that stuff…!)

“Here,” Dad said, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it slightly. “How about you sit here next to me? So if anything happens, I can explain it to you?”

Raph’s eyes widened a bit, his head immediately turning to glance over at his siblings.

“But what about--”

“They will be right there the entire time. You’ll be able to see them and talk to them the whole flight if you want,” Dad assured quickly. “And so will I. Just in case. Does that sound okay?”

Raph chewed quietly at his knuckle, considering this for a second before he nodded.

“Okay. Good. Here, sit down,” he bade, getting the two of them settled in their seats to clear up the aisle, giving a quick order to the other three to ‘sort it out.’ It took five games of rock-paper-scissors, but eventually, the others figured out what order they were sitting in. (Mikey in the window seat, Leo in the middle, and Donnie in the aisle.)

“Are you excited to go to the competition, Red?” Dad asked, settling down easily in his seat. Raph breathed in deeply, hesitating a second before he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty exciting, going to the National Tournament for the first time,” Dad continued. “I am looking forward to watching you four kick everyone else’s butt when we get there.”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

“And for you to see Colorado. I have never been there before, but I heard it’s very nice.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, not yet. So it will be new for me, too,” Dad said with a nod. “But I’m sure it will be lovely. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

Raph blinked thoughtfully, his shoulders slowly untensing a bit as they discussed.

“I thought you said you used to fly everywhere,” he challenged, and his dad laughed.

“I did! Just not to Colorado.”

“Well then that’s not everywhere, though!”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “But I have flown to many places. I enjoy flying. It’s relaxing. A good chance to catch up on my beauty sleep!” He laughed.

“It is?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Dad confirmed with a hum. “When we are taking off, the plane will go very fast so it can get up into the air. It is like, uh… A roller coaster. But in reverse order,” he explained. “And then once we are in the air, we just go straight in the direction we want to go, and it’s very calm. So I like it.”

A reverse roller-coaster?

Raph blinked in surprise, leaning over slightly as he considered this. Well, he did like roller coasters.

“How high are we gonna go?”

---

It’s really true what they say. You never really appreciate something until it’s taken from you. Absence and hearts growing fonder and all that. And really, they hadn’t been separated for very long-- no more than a few days.

But god, had Donnie missed his lab.

His dad had only kept him from the space for a few days before he was granted re-access, though only after a long discussion and several promises not to try to perform any more blood work on himself. And Donnie had relented, though perhaps a bit reluctantly. It was an interesting project, but he supposed he would have to put it on hold for the time being.

(Also, Dad had confiscated all his syringes.)

Besides, it wasn’t as though he didn’t have about half a dozen other fascinating things that he could throw himself into right now. He had a hard time picking one thing to focus on right now, quite frankly, with so many different things calling for his attention now that he finally had the energy to offer it.

The one thing that called the loudest, however, currently sat in his gloved hand-- held up closer to the light beneath several magnifying lenses.

He really had no idea what this little pink crystal that he had stolen from Draxum’s lab did. But if it came from him, he had a feeling it must be important. He was still in the early data collection stage, but already all the readings he had picked up were, quite frankly, baffling in the very best of ways, and he was already certain of one thing.

It wasn’t any kind of mineral that had been documented in human records before.

(Even just thinking that made him shiver with goosebumps. This was totally uncharted territory! Research that no one in documented modern science had done before! And here he was, holding this little stone in his hands, his own two hands, preparing to dive into unknown and crack open its secrets and lay them out and untangle them--)

“Dude!”

Donnie startled slightly, his head bobbing about to glance over at the entrance of his lab.

“Quit putting your phone on silent, it’s annoying,” Leo huffed. “Do you have any idea how many stairs are in between you and the kitchen?”

Donnie blinked slowly beneath his goggles. “... What?”

“We tried calling you!” Mikey added, poking his head into the lab as well. “Dinner is ready!!! Come on!”

Donnie floundered for a moment, looking sadly back at his research. “But I--”

“Family dinner. That I made myself. For my whole family to enjoy,” Mikey added in swiftly, batting his eyelashes. “Together.”

Right. Donnie sighed softly, reluctantly setting the crystal down, stripping himself of his safety gear and getting to his feet. It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate the new emphasis on sit-down family dinners that they had recently developed…

But dang it, did it have to be at the expense of scientific advancement!?

“I’m coming. Put the eyes away, Michael,” he muttered, making his way across the lab to join them at the door. Mikey just grinned in response, seemingly perfectly pleased with himself as he spun around to begin making his way back down the stairs. Donnie, admittedly, smiled the tiniest bit.

Fine, fine. He supposed that the crystal would still be there when he got back.

The kitchen was already bustling by the time they all re-joined the fray, with Dad and Raph finishing up setting the table, which was already filled to the brim with Mikey’s cooking. Luckily, with the size of their family and the size of the appetites in it, there was never any concern about overabundance.

“‘S April coming?” He questioned, easily joining the organized chaos, slipping neatly into the familiar thick of it. He rapidly took inventory of the scene and moved by instinct to fill in any gaps, reaching into the cupboard to grab glasses for the table before fetching the Brita filter from the fridge. The rest of the family moved around him seamlessly, darting around and between one another as all the last-minute meal prep was completed.

“Yeah, she should be here in a few minutes. She said she was on her way,” Raph reported, tossing a stray backpack left on the back of a kitchen chair into the living room, letting it bounce off the couch and onto the floor to be fetched later.

“Guys, where’re the salad tongs? I can’t find them!” Mikey complained, shuffling through drawers.

“Mikey, no one except for you ever uses those,” Donnie scoffed in response, raising a brow. “They’re wherever you put them last.”

“But I can’t find them!”

“Did you check the dishwasher?” Raph questioned.

“Yeah!”

“Did you check all the cabinets?”

“... No.”

“... Do you want me to check the top ones?”

Mikey scowled.

“Yeah,” he muttered. And Raph grinned, but he didn’t say anything further, reaching up to the upper cupboards inaccessible to the rest of his family, beginning to search.

“Are they still in the fridge?” Leo questioned, raising a brow.

“Why would they be in the fridge?” Raph questioned.

“‘Cause Mikey was using them for those chocolate-strawberry-nachos he made the other day, and there’s still leftovers in the fridge.”

Mikey gasped, his face lighting up as he darted across the room.

“Oh, yeah--!”

“It’s a miracle we are able to keep track of anything in this house,” Dad scoffed softly, though he seemed more amused than anything, shaking his head as he dried a last-minute addition to the dishware lineup, dinner plate in one hand and hand towel in the other.

“That’s an understatement,” Donnie sighed.

“APRILLLL O’NEIL!!!”

Donnie would admit it. He had missed her dramatic entrances. He smiled a bit as his sister flung the front door open, bursting into the Hamato Household, grinning wide despite looking just a tiny bit frazzled. He suspected she had rushed her way over here-- she was still wearing her work uniform.

“Sorry I’m late,” April laughed, kicking the door shut behind her as she made her way into the kitchen. “This guy got one of the kiddie sandals stuck on his foot and I had to--”

Donnie was sure that whatever April was about to say would have been a good story. He would have been interested in hearing it. But he didn’t get the chance.

The sound of a ceramic plate shattering on the tile floor brought all conversation to a shrieking, shuddering halt.

---

Raphael’s conversation with his Dad, which had been going on for several minutes now, discussing the longest flight their father had ever been on, was cut off when he suddenly felt the entire plane jolt beneath him. His eyes widened as they began to taxi forward.

“We’re moving!”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Dad confirmed, steady and calm, leaning back to rest his head against the seat. “We’re going to the end of the runway, so the plane can get a running start and go fast enough to take off.”

Raph gaped slightly, glancing across the aisle to look over at his siblings-- and they were all wriggling with anticipation, too, straining to try to crowd around Mikey’s little window and see outside. Raph shifted a bit, glancing in the opposite direction, and realized that he could kind of see the window a little bit, too. He could see the world begin to shift around them. And Raph tensed a little bit, because he knew that things were about to start happening.

His dad shifted ever so slightly, moving to casually lay his hand on the armrest between them, and Raph immediately took the unspoken invitation and grabbed it. He could hear his own heartbeat.

“Here we go,” Dad hummed softly, and Raph nodded a tiny bit, biting the insides of his cheeks.

It was starting.

[ next ]

233 notes · View notes

valmare · 3 months

Note

For your birthday celebration dear friend! Alter this however you need to make it work for you (you had to guess I would pick Maverick though):

TGM Maverick with “is it too late for a birthday kiss?” in this scenario (if possible!!): taking a bit of icing off the cake and putting it on their cheek.

Happiest of birthdays Mare, I’m so excited to read anything you come up with!!

Rad, my friend. Look at you hopping into my inbox to remind me of all the reasons I love Maverick. And I am SO SORRY but I totally missed the fact you asked for TGM Mitchell, when I in fact wrote him as 1986 Maverick. Oops. I am so sorry I spaced that, I hope it's okay!

Certifiable

“Yo! Hey, hey–I’m late, I know I’m late! Don’t close the–”

Late is the probably the most understated adverb that Pete Mitchell could pull out of his ass, even taking the porch steps in two long strides. Those offensive western boots that he so adores catch the planks of the porch something terrible; you can feel him practically lunge for the front door you’re more than happy to slap closed in his face. Your heart bounces against your ribs when his thick arm braces the door open, the sharp smack of his palm on the sun-fading wood enough to make you blink. So much for locking him out.

“–door,” bright smile, you bite the inside of your cheek. Put some daylight between the two of you as your hand tightens around the knob of the door. “Hi.”

Crooked smile twisting up his lips, his chin lifts a little in an effort to peer down at you—an effort that is fruitless, ultimately. You’ve got a solid inch on Mitchell, even though those boots work hard to give him some height. But that really doesn’t mean anything, and hasn’t, since you’d first smacked eyes on him on the golden California sand, all suntan and hard lines and confidence.

And while the Navy’s infamous Maverick made a show of being truly irked by the difference in your heights; buddies ribbed him the wrong way and teased him mercilessly, deep down you knew he was truly nonplussed. Didn’t make a stitch of difference, actually—he still managed to get whatever you needed from the cupboards in the kitchen. Top shelf of the garage. That one time he practically climbed the shelves at K-Mart to get that last box of Kix for that mama and her sweet toddler. So what if he used a stepladder? Creative problem solving.

Aviators low on his slightly-sunburned nose, Maverick’s tongue fills the pocket of his cheek. Skates along his bottom teeth. He’s out of breath, chest rising and falling in little, shallow puffs. And the pearled perspiration over his top lip speaks to the absolutely hellish humidity that hangs in the air like a wet blanket. You blink, he removes the aviators and slips them up into his hair. Upsets sweat you didn’t notice clinging to his ebony locks for dear life. They hit the wood of the porch beneath your bare feet, leaving fat stains. And he shifts his weight a little, boots catching on the porch again. Doesn’t move his arm, like it might shatter the moment that balances on the precipice like tettering crystal.

“Maverick.” Tone cold, venom sits there on the back of your tongue. You wait.

Pete may have a really good excuse for being two hours late to your birthday dinner. There’s a choice few things a now-cold, twelve dollar New Your Strip can forgive—an assassination. Invasion. Aliens touchdowned in Mission Beach. Christ splitting open the sky for His second coming. And you’ve always been pretty understanding—Pete was a Naval Aviator. He belonged to the Navy. Or, rather—his talents belonged to the Navy.

Long ago he’d confessed that he belonged to you. With thick, deep kisses that made your head spin and your heart nearly flatline between his hands he’d told you that he loved you. That you were it, the only one. The original thing called love. His. You threatened his world, all his best laid plans–if he could do it over, he’d find you first. All such sweet casanova little things that made your blood flare with toe-curling, delicious heat only the greats ever knew. Pete took your breath away, every and any time he even looked at you.

You’d known things could never revert. From the first kiss, from the first time he’d laced his fingers through yours you’d seen smoke in the air. Letting him go was never an option. As if he’d planned it all along, from the jump of that first toothy smile. Knowing twinkle in his eye. It was like a calculated game of chess. And like cats and mice, you played. Loved playing. Wouldn’t ever play with anyone else.

Muscle in his jaw flexing, he chuckles a little. Nervously—like he does when he’s nervous. Taking an easy stance against the door jamb, his foot kicks over the other. Balancing on the toe of his western snips. Adjusting his arm on the door to rest his head in his hand, his eyes search yours. Looking for forgiveness, for any of that familiar love you so easily give. And, you hope he can see the disappointment that’s been flooding between your ribs like a sinking ship all night—you hope he can see the robbed moments. The memories you can’t get back. The missed opportunity, because you’ve been planning this for two weeks.

“Baby, I know I’m late—and I’m so sorry for that, but Goose—” And there it is. The excuse. Prefaced with nothing more than a blush of embarrassment on his face, you know. The world didn’t come to a screaming halt to keep him away from dinner. Nobody burned in. It’s just an excuse, another man-child lame-o reason he didn’t come home.

You’re rolling your eyes and turning away from him before that gut-punch of a smile can shake you all the way down and make you forget the now-cold dinner sitting on the table. Turning on the ball of your foot, you lift a hand as if to stay the explanation. Excuses—he always has them. Maverick is the king of talking himself out of the repercussions for what he talks himself into, you’ve seen it a dozen times. Little changes with Pete Mitchell in the year you’ve been going steady, and it’s becoming a trend.

“Save it, Mav,” your tone barks cold as you stalk into the kitchen, “I really don’t wanna hear it.” The hem of your dress floats around your ankles in such a way that almost burns. Anger skirts through your blood like a jetstream. Waiting to take-off, you slap the dish towel you’d thrown over your shoulder to the counter with a sharp crack! and you hear Mav flinch as he comes soaring into the kitchen.

Pete’s eyes quickly take in the kitchen. “Oh fuck.”

That little muscle in his jaw twitches again. You can see the oh, shit moment on his face as he takes in the scope of dinner—and just what all went into cooking. It’s all his favorites—asparagus. Sweet potatoes, wild rice. New York strip steak grilled to an absolutely perfect medium enough to make even Gordon Ramsey himself smile. Cake and ice cream for dinner, a rare treat considering that Pete never indulged in dessert. You’d intended to coerce him on the couch, straddling those deliciously tight Levis. Asking so sweetly what he thinks about a locked-in recipe that’s been reducing men to gelatinous piles of goo for half a century.

“Yeah, Pete. ‘Oh fuck’.” Your arms cross. “Two weeks—for two weeks I’ve been reminding you of tonight. Begging you not to make plans, asking you to be here. With me. I have spent all day in the kitchen, Mitchell! All fucking day.” Hands finding the counter, you lean slightly over it, brows furrowed into a hard knot. “I turn thirty, one time in my life, Mav. Once. I wanted it to be special—you should’ve been here!” Shouting is the only thing keeping you halfway held together. Emotional tears well like hot acid in your eyes, Maverick’s befuddled features slightly askew. Turning, you heave a sigh and roll your eyes, swiping at the wet.

And it may sound like a selfish argument. It could be. But you don’t care, not really. He should’ve been here, damnit. Home. With you. Not with Goose, not with Viper, sure as shit not with Kazansky or Slider. He should’ve been home, kissing your temple as you swing together on the front porch, watching the sun paint devastatingly stunning colors through the sky over the ocean.

“Baby, I–”

“–no, Pete. No. I don’t want any excuses,” you pout, face exploding with hot color. Working yourself up, you backpedal away from his careful approach, “there aren’t any that’ll make me less pissed at you.” Around the counter, you trip over your own feet. Stumbling, you catch yourself at the counter, trembling hand swiping at the tears now dropping down your cheeks.

And Pete bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep from snorting. You can see his body recoil with the effort of trying not to laugh at your clumsiness. “It’s not funny!” Your voice lifts into a crackled squeak as you slap the counter, “You didn’t even call, Pete Mitchell. You could’ve picked up the damn phone and called!” And he dares to stop, kick to a lean against the island. Slips out of his bomber jacket, and lays it across the counter as easily as anything you’ve ever seen. You don’t miss the ripple of corded muscle as arms fold over that brawny chest of his. “You’re….you’re—”

Immediately, your mouth is emptied of any and all moisture. Finger tapping against his arm, you see him watch you begin to unravel. The hinge of your mouth releases as you try to stumble for the continuation of your rant. And your mouth shifts with unintelligible attempts which only make his smile grow.

“I’m sorry,” twinkle growing in his eye, he steps forward. Which prompts you a step back. “I tried to get away as fast as possible, baby, I hope you can understand that sometime. And you have every right to be pissed off at me,” hands slipping sheepishly into the pockets practically painted on his body, he bites the corner of his bottom lip. Wolfishly, temptingly. “Would it help if I told you I haven’t stopped thinking about you today?”

And all at once the anger in your blood flatlines, running ice cold in your veins. Fading under the way he looks at you, the way his eyes fall over the cut of your hip in this dress. How he studies the details only ever talked about in the pages of fiction. How he fills up every molecule of air in this house in such a way that strangles the sense right out of you. Like the crack of a whip you can’t breathe evenly, the shaking breath that steadies out of your nose hitching just enough to paint flushed color on your face. Mitchell shoots you that smile, the very specific one that shakes you all the way down. You gasp a little.

Panicking, your fingers reach for the first thing they find on the counter that’ll help you win back control of the situation. Heart racehorsing in your chest, you fling asparagus at him like it’s the only thing keeping daylight between the two of you. Bouncing off his face harmlessly, his features twists up at the exact moment you lose your cool with a chest-rattling guffaw.

Hand slapping over your mouth, Pete looks at you. Slack-jaw for all of a few seconds, his flash of mad disappears beneath a quicksilver grin that’s so wild it may as well be fire. Silence bleeds between the two of you, and you try to wrangle your anger back up into your blood—but you don’t get the chance. Pete is already dashing around the corner of the island, hand reaching to pluck your wrist before you can twist away with a girlish squeal.

“I don’t think so, honey,” his tone is playfully rough as he wrestles you into compliance against the counter, feet braced on the floor as he pins your hands behind you, lightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to render your giggling frame all but defenseless as he hovers in your personal space. “You think that’s funny? Launching projectiles at me? I’ll have you know that’s the kind of thing that starts wars in my line of work, sweetheart,” he’s trying not to laugh again. It’s written in the bounce of joy in his eyes, the mock seriousness in his tone.

Leaning in close, his chest brushes against yours as his hands tighten up around yours still pressed behind you. “How about it, sweetheart? You still wanna fight?” The way his eyes flutter to a lusty half mast makes your spine nearly burst into flame, the swirl in the low of your stomach enough to remind you of just how lonely you’ve been today.

“I’m still mad at you,” you hiss between attempts to stop giggling incessantly, “dinner’s cold.”

His brow furrows a little as his gaze skips beyond you. It’s a second before his jaw clamps closed. Then, “Can always warm it,” he concedes, his eyes cutting back to you. “I’m not above reheating a steak made with all the love and attention of a good girl,”

“Kiss ass,” you mutter.

The pout on your face is dramatic. He offers a small, apologetic smile. “You say it like it's a bad thing.”

And it’s out of character for Maverick, who would sooner take a bullet than take a moment of humility, but it’s enough to soften the blade of disappointment still wedged between your ribs. Huffing, your fingers flex a little behind you as you quietly tell him it’s beginning to hurt. Immediately releasing your hands, his float to either of your hips. Jutting his forward a little he gently pins you into place, a thumb rubbing slow, steady circles into the bone of your hip.

Lifting a hand to brush the air from your shoulder, Maverick angles his head a little to brush his lips along the line of your jaw. His nose tickles the soft of your neck as he inhales a sharp, full breath of the vanilla perfume clinging to your skin. And his pleasurable little hum of approval sends goosebumps across your entire body, which bristles as he pulls you forward a little. Snug against all his hard planes, against the cut of him that seems God-inspired for only you. Biting the inside of your cheek, it takes monumental willpower not to allow your head to rest against his.

And before you can get lost in the way he’s open-mouth kissing your neck, he pulls back, takes your chin between his fingers, and pins you with an unreadable look that knocks your heart against your esophagus for a minute. For a second you can’t breathe, and when he lifts his chin a little, you sink a little against the counter.

Reaching beyond you, you hear a pan skitch along the counter. And before you can even think about looking to see what Maverick’s managed into, there’s a dollop of homemade frosting on the tip of your nose. Drawn into a cross-eyed attempt to see it, his smile grows as he licks what’s left on his finger, brows bouncing. Pleased with himself, the low chuckle rumbling around his chest sends a bolt of lightning down the length of your spine.

“—there.” Pleased, he gives a little nod. “For the asparagus. We’re even.” Clucking his tongue, his brow piques to a cavalier you suddenly resent. “Looks good enough to eat.” Oh, no. No way does Maverick get the high ground in this situation. Dinner is ruined because of him—and if he thinks some flirty little looks and some salacious innuendos is enough to undo all your upset, he is dead wrong.

He hasn’t released your chin. But your eyes find the cake, now with a more-than-apparent Maverick line marring it’s beautiful frosting. “So now that we understand each other,” his fingers tighten a little at your chin, and you manage to bite the corner of your lips a bit. “Is it too late for a kiss from the birthday girl?”

Your lids drop to half mast, unphased. “That’s two things that’re too late tonight, Maverick,” stressing the irony of his name never fails to rile him up. Your hand fumbles for a lightning second across the counter, until fingers curl into your birthday cake. You can feel the thick, creamy frosting between your fingers, cake burying under your nails. Perfect.

Plucking a handful of the baked good, you waste no time in smearing it across his face—hard enough to send him backpedaling, but good-naturedly enough to produce an entertained squeal from you. “I guess it’s a happy birthday after all,” your uncontrollable laughter matches the gobsmacked look on Maverick’s face.

“I see how it is,” he nods, popping a fingerful of cake and frosting into his mouth. “Shit, this is good.” Licking his upper lip, his brows bounce as he takes your face between his hands, eyes focused on your mouth for a second before finding yours again. “I love you, babygirl. And I’m sorry. You know that, right?”

“I know that, Pete,” you say quietly, hands slipping down the muscle of his arms, encouraging him to hold you close. “I just wish you’d remember me once in a while while you’re out playing GI Joe with the boys.” Corner of your mouth lifting, he nods his understanding and snorts a little. “Besides, I can’t help but love you when you do stupid shit like this.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Certifiable one, yeah.”

taglist @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @radical-sky @bisexual-watermelons @mongoosesthings @gothidecorem @philcoulson-redtapeninja @itsgoghtime

#pete maverick mitchell #pete maverick mitchell x reader #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #top gun fanfic #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #tom cruise #maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #answered asks #ask mare #fic writing #maverick x reader

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makosworld · 11 months

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Corporate Struggles

╰┈➤ hobie brown x gn!reader

Synopsys: rockstar!hobie is struggling; he comes to Walmart for a new job where you work. ~1.8k words Notes/warnings: pet names for the reader. he’s taller than the reader. maybe ooc?

On your regular Monday afternoon, you clock into your shift at Walmart. "8:01 am, good enough." You mutter, walking to the back, where you're assigned to be taking items from, so you can shelve them, where needed. Suddenly, a shockingly tall man bumps into you.

“Ah- sorry, mate, oh- wait, you work here, right?” He says gesturing to your obvious Walmart uniform.

“Yeah, I do, how can I help ya?"

“Well, I’m in need of a job, whole rockstar deal ain’t working out for me too well, ya see.” He tells you, leaning down slightly to face you better.

“Oh, that sucks mate, but yeah I could lead you over to someone to get you an application and all, shouldn’t be too difficult to land a job here, I don’t think.” You reply, gesturing at him to follow you with your hand.

He follows, “Thank you, doll, I appreciate the help.”

Although you’re a bit flustered at the pet name, you keep your cool, “It’s nothing really, don’t worry about it!” Leading him over to the manager’s office, you open the door and greet the lady working there. “Hey Janet, I have this guy who would like to get a job here.”

“Sure thing, come in both of you,” she greets leading you two to take a seat on the chairs facing her desk. She conducts a normal questionnaire, Hobie answering her questions and you feeling like you should probably leave, but not doing so because you feel it’s too awkward at this point. After finishing up her questionnaire, “Alright, you seem a good fit to work with us, just fill out this information form and you’ll be set to come in to work tomorrow!” she says to Hobie. “And thank you for helping Hobie here find me, y/n.”

“It’s no problem, Janet,” you reply.

Hobie interjects, “Hold on, I can come in tomorrow, that soon?”

“Yup! You see we’re a little short staffed, so the extra hand is needed as soon as possible.” Janet replies a little sheepishly.

“Well, thanks. I’m... looking forward to it.” Hobie says beginning to make his way out the door.

Following him you give him your goodbyes, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I s’pose.”

“Ughh, yeah I guess so…” he grumbles in a voice stark in comparison to his cheery tone earlier.

“Ay, not to excited for work tomorrow, I take it?”

“No, of course not. I’m devastated that I have to turn to the point of working for a capitalistic system like Walmart...” The very name seemingly giving him shivers down his spine. “I really didn’t want it to come to something like this. But I’m left with no other option, with the bastard cops shutting down all my concerts, and background checks… getting in the way of most other jobs, it seems that the corporate society we live in has won once again. Landing me at Walmart, the only place they’ve left that I can turn to to get a couple bucks, so I don’t starve to death.” He, to some, rambles incoherently, but you understand his words and can relate in some ways to his struggles, even though you’re not a rockstar, like he apparently is.

“I understand the struggle, mate-”

“-Hobie, you can just call me Hobie, unless you prefer love, of course.” He cuts you off. “And I understand that it may be tough dealing with this harsh reality that I face, at least there’s a pretty face to keep me some company.” He says, and this time looking up at him, you can see the playful look coming onto his features, as he speaks, smirking down at you. Before you can get a word in, he starts, “Well, I’ll be off now, see you tomorrow!” he calls walking away.

‘That was odd,’ you think to yourself, but continue on your day, like a good little corporate worker, anyways.

…

You come in 30 minutes early to work the next day, via orders from your boss, who decided that you would be perfect to help situate Hobie to his new job. ‘He’s hot though, so I’m not too upset about the loss of some sleep, I guess,’ you think to yourself.

“’Ello, doll, pleasure seeing you here, today.” Hobie says coming over to you, in his casual attire.

‘Speak of the devil.’ You speak, “Hey, Hobie, come with me; I’ll show you to the employee changing room to get you a new uniform, and all.” Walking to the back, you lead him into the room and pick up his uniform shirt and vest. Turning to hand them to him, you see him there, looking at you, shirtless. “W- what are you doing,” you ask, dumbfounded, staring at his exposed torso.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’ I’m going to change. Isn’t that what we came back here for?” He asks you, tilting an eyebrow up.

“Um- I s’pose so. Yeah, here, go ahead. I was just thinking you would’ve liked to change in the bathroom or something,” you tell him trying to avoid staring at his lean chest, and slutty little waist.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, doll. I don’t mind letting a cutie like you ogle at my handsome build.” He says, giggling a bit at his own words. He puts on the shirt and vest, “Alright, whadya think, sugar?”

“You look perfectly ready to labor away for the big-name corporations,” you reply with a smirk.

…

You’ve introduced him to most of the back machinery, and how to do the job and he’s actually pretty helpful. Leaning up to place something onto the tallest shelf, you swear you could’ve reached it (maybe with some climbing if you’re short.) But Hobie decides otherwise, plucking the can from your hand, to lean against your back and place it at the top of a stack. Looking up you can see that he’s at eye level with the shelf. “Ahm… um.. thank you,” you mumble out, looing away from him, who hasn’t moved from his spot behind you.

Leaning down into your ear, he knows, he whispers, “I don’t mind, doll. You can always ask for my help.” He pulls back and continues on with his job, a barely noticeable smirk playing on his features.

‘Finding love at Walmart? Wild, typa shit you only find in fanfics. Haha.” Pushing aside the thought, you continue stocking the shelves.

…

You get home after another day of work, tired as you usually are. Throwing your stuff where it goes, you strip down and change into some cute pajamas. You heat up a pizza and sit down to eat it. Your window is open, and you admire the view outside your apartment. Spider-punk passes by- wait what? You hop up to look outside your window and see Spider-punk, in-the-flesh. He’s fighting some... thing and you can only watch as he finishes up a battle with it and throws it through some kinda portal. ‘It’s him. It’s spider-punk I gotta say hi.’ “HEY, SPIDER-PUNK!” You yell out your window and he actually hears you, to your surprise. ’He must have some super hearing power or something. Oh, he’s coming over here, omg.’

Spider-punk comes over to your window and flinches with what seems like surprise at seeing you, it’s hard to tell with the mask. “’Ello, love, fan of mine I see?” He asks in a teasing tone.

‘He sounds familiar,’ but you brush it off because that’s not too important right now. “Yeah! You’re amazing! I really appreciate all the good you do for our communities, you’re a hero,” you all but gush to him.

“I’m glad to know someone so pretty appreciates my work, although I’m not a hero, calling myself a hero would only be self-absorbed and narcissistic.”

“Well, you’re a hero to me,” you tell him. Noticing him glance down at your pajamas for a few moments too long and you look down, realizing your current choice of attire. You’re only wearing some tiny, mildly revealing, pajamas. “Oh- sorry, I was going to head to bed soon,” you bashfully mention, gesturing to your pajamas.

“Don’t apologize, who said I don’t appreciate the view,” he says sending you a wink. You try to stumble out a response, but he stops you. “Listen, love, you’re very cute. And you’ve got a charming vibe to ya. How ‘bout you let me come inside?” Sensing he wanted more than to share your heat up pizza, you couldn’t say you didn’t feel the same. You nodded and gestured at him to come inside.

He looks around, “Nice place you got here, doll.”

“Thank-“

“Listen I have to tell you something.” He interrupts you. He pulls off his mask letting his hair and face be revealed.

That’s… “Hobie? Like new Walmart co-worker, Hobie?”

“Yes, sadly that’s me. You see with the whole Spiderman thing I’ve been too busy and had to cancel too many of my shows or just had to downright flake on everyone, to the point where no one really shows up anymore. And I can’t blame them as I’ve been a shitty wannabe rockstar lately, but I’ve just got no time for both jobs. But Miguel, that ass, has been refusing to pay me for my Spiderman stuff. Saying some, ‘the real reward of this job is knowing you help people.’ Well obviously, but we live in this capitalistic society, and I need food to survive. And the part about my record is true, cause I’ve tried to get by stealing from these corporations but they’ve caught onto me. The hair is a little too easy to recognize,” he stumbles to a stop. “Sorry for goin’ on and on but I kinda needed to get that off my chest.” He finishes his monologue and looks up at you seemingly a little embarrassed.

Not knowing how to comfort him you open your arms to him for a hug. “Seems like you’ve had quite a bit going on, and I’m not so great with comforting but, uh, do you want a hug?” He smiles at your words and wraps his arms around your shoulders and you around his waist. He’s pretty tall so he puts his head on top of yours and you stay like that for a bit. “Hobie,” you whisper not wanting to ruin the moment. “Want to move to the couch, um, or my bed if you want?”

“That’d be nice,” he mumbles into your hair letting you lead him. He didn’t specify where he’d prefer, but saying as he’s so tall it may be best to go to your bed. You shuffle over there, still hugging him, when your legs hit the side of the bed. Before you can move to climb onto it, Hobie picks you up and places you on the mattress. He climbs up on top of you and snuggles his head into your shoulder. Not long after, you can hear him snoring. Hugging him tighter you begin to drift off as well to the comfort of cuddling with Hobie Brown.

#hobie brown #hobie #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x male reader #spider verse #spider punk #spider man: across the spider verse #writing #fanfic #walmart #L capitalism

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Rebound 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The village talks. Anyone passing through might see Hammer Ford as a sleepy hamlet nestled amidst rolling hills. They might call it quaint, they may even mistake the whispers for wind. But the town is anything but quiet.

As loud as any tongue are their eyes. You know their names and they know yours. They watch as they pretend not to, looking for fuel for the mill.

You know that Lynette was staring at your ring finger, barren but marked with the imprint of a band. As much as you want to just forget the past, it's not quite over yet. The papers are signed but it's not sealed away. Back to square one, almost.

But there's no starting over here. There's always reminders. Familiar faces, listening ears, and loose lips. You put your head down and ignore them. It's about time you live for yourself and not anyone else.

The library drones with the noise of the ventilation and the hushed voices of those browsing the shelves. The soft click of the outdated mice on their pads and the flutter of pages fill the din. You stamp the returned books and set them on a cart.

The job isn't very much. It's never busy. Not so dully and lifeless as the years you spent at home living a lie.

You close another cover and slide the book aside. A tread squeaks and draws your gaze up. You greet the man approaching the desk as he offers a single book.

"Find everything okay?" You ask. You know him, just like everyone else. Curtis works down at the lumber mill.

"Sure," he answers as you stamp the book and write in the due date. Everything in Hammer Ford is antiquated and dead.

"Alright, three weeks," you say as he offers his library card. You key it in with his name and the call number into the old PC. He watches silently and you hand back the book. He accepts it with a soft thanks.

"It's a good one," you say.

"Hm," he furrows his brow before looking down at the book in his hand.

"Yeah, I read all his stuff when... well, I had a phase," you shrug, "anyways, have a good day. Sorry."

He pauses and considers the book, "I read at the yard. On my lunch."

You're surprised. You don't know much about Curtis, no one does, but he's never been very talkative. You don't even know why you tried.

"Hard work," you comment, "lot easier than this place."

"Eh," he claps the book in his hand and looks away, "well, have a good night."

"You too," you echo back.

You watch him go and don't think much more of it. You assume it's the same pity everyone else treats you with. Your husband left you and now you're working in the library, living in your sister's basement, and all alone. Compared to your ex, you're not exactly thriving.

And who wouldn't feel bad for you? You're over the hill, you're used, and you have a bit too much love in your handles. You feel bad for yourself.

You huff and carry on sorting books. No use dwelling on it all. You're no one's problem but your own now so it's up to you to do something about it.

🌲

On your day off, you wake up at the same time. You're already conditioned to working hours. You have your coffee on the small sofa and watch the local news. Not anything exciting.

This is the first day of your new life. You made up your mind as you lay sleepless at midnight. You're going to make a change.

So, you put on a pair of sweats and a loose tee and that ratty old pair of sneakers you've worn to tatters. It isn't a big leap forward but it's a start. Just a walk. You'll make an effort to go every day, after work during the week, and in the mornings on the weekends.

And the food. You have to rein that in. Just a little less pie and no sugar in your coffee. A decade of bad habits won't be put to rest in a single day but you'll at least try.

You leave out the basement door, mindful not to make too much noise as you do. You woke up your sister's kids once and haven't heard the end of it. You put in your wired earbuds and hook the tiny mp3 player to your waistband. You don't even think they make these things anymore.

You head off down the country road, hills sprawling before you. Just up the rise and you'll turn off into the woods. There's a walking trail that circles back around near Mr. Howland's. It should be too far.

You're proven wrong as you're breathless by the time you reach the treeline. You slow and find a stump to sit on just a few feet down the path. You fan yourself and mourn your own thoughtlessness. You should've brought water.

You get up and stretch your legs, already tired from the walk. You press on. You'll feel even more rotten if you turn back now.

You follow the winding trail around the trees and through the brush. Twigs snap under your soles with a peculiar echo. Critters rustle in the leaves and scurry into burrows. The sunlight shifts above as a shadow ripples over you.

You turn suddenly and look around, paranoid. It could be a bear but they don't often show themselves. Nothing. You're being stupid.

You turn up the music and fall back into step. You see the clearing just ahead and Mr. Howland's rotting shed. Halfway there. You don't think you'll be doing much more when you get home. You might just have a nap.

#series #au #curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #drabble #backwoods au #the rebound

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

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Authors Note: I am so excited about this. I've been brainstorming all last night and today and I think it's going to go well, I think it'll either be a 4 or 5 part series atm, we'll see how it works out. Thanks for reading, please reblog if you enjoy it or leave a comment if you wish to kept up to date with future parts! 🥰

Summary: You’d set your sights on him and he on you. It all started with a visit to a newly talked about bar which kept you coming more regularly, in the end not just for a drink but yet the inevitability of a creeping flame set alight by a stare which kept dragging you back. After all, lust shouts and love whispers and in the end, only the heart knows the difference.

Under 18's DNI. Warnings: Slow burn, intimidating meets intrigue, a little bit of sexual intension if you look close enough Word Count: 2.6k

Taglist: @eddiemunson-mylove @joeschains @daleyeahson @itsfreakingbats @etherealglimmer @kayleeelena97 @xlilithb @live-love-be-unique @lma1986 @shawnamae87 @fluffysmutmnstr @ches-86 @aysheashea @definitionwanderlust @palomahasenteredthechat @figmentofquinn @harringtonfan4 @chrissy-mj-stan

Part 1 ✨ Part 2 ✨ Part 3 ✨ Part 4

To you it was a regular Friday night, you'd just finished work and you were heading through the hustle and bustling streets of London with your colleague. Pub Friday was a heavy reoccurrence, much needed after a long week of 9 to 5, it was the only excuse you had to let your hair down and tonight you'd planned to head over to a newish bar that had opened just shy of a few weeks ago, a huge recommendation by one of your other work friends saying that they'd been and it was a pretty decent place to go to.

Truth be told it was tiresome going to the same place every time, seeing the same faces drowning their sorrows in their drinks, the same couples having the same boring arguments and the same old men staring at you from their non owned and practically unreserved tables in the corner of the room.

You move through the double doors which lead into the unfamiliar space, quieter than what you're used to to say the least. You're faced with the beautiful scenery of a long bar, shelved behind it are at least 100 different bottles of spirits. Tables sprouted around the large room with borderline fancy décor set around the walls to compliment them, it was a vision to behold, a pretty penny had clearly gone into this business and it showed, you were truly mesmerised by the care that was given from a clear renovation, that was until he caught your eye.

Originally he'd had his back turned to you and was nothing but a shadow in your field of vision but the moment you caught a glimpse of his side profile, you almost felt a sudden state of nausea, a strange attraction to someone you'd only spent checking out for practically a millisecond. Then he looked over, it all happened in slow motion. You and your colleague still stood in the doorway like a couple of idiots. The bartender smirked a grin your way, welcoming but intimidating all the same.

"Welcome ladies." The most beautiful sound you'd ever heard came out of him, it was simple yet effective enough to have you swooning, your friend had elbowed you back into reality by the time she'd caught your jaw falling to the floor.

Your friend dragged you over to the bar, the mysterious man was drying down a couple of glasses previously owned by customers which had been handed in once they were leaving.

"How do you like my place?" his eyes remained on you, it was like your soul was being ripped apart by his retinas and he'd stolen all ability for you to even respond.

"It's nice here yeah." Your friend spoke for you, removing his eye contact you for the first time since he'd spotted the two of you at the front of he bar.

"This is your bar?" You said it in a way so sarcastic that you made him scoff. Nice one. His eyes rolled back to find your features reflecting through the beautiful brown colours that sparkled in his iris, a slight darkness added to them through the dimmed lighting, was that intentional or not because it only seemed to be clear enough to see when he was looking right at you.

"It's my bar indeed darling, what or who were you expecting?" The skilful chat this man had in giving you back the response you had quickly spirted out and alighted what looked like an irritation in him. Your thumbs twiddled together as you perched yourself onto the stool next to you, unnerved and excited.

"Never mind." He shook his head. "The name's Joe. What can I get you?"

You both ordered yourselves a large glass of white wine, offering the money over to Joe before he smacked your hand away.

"This ones on me." You tried to offer it again, an almost silent refusal that you would be paying for the drinks you'd been given. Joe took the £10 note out of your hand and put his hands under the bar, acting as though he was fumbling around under there, making himself look busy, slight confusion hit you when his hands eventually came back to eye view he was cupping a pint glass which had the note he'd just taken from you firmly rolled inside of it.

"I said this one's on me." You bit back on your laughter, taking out the money from the glass and slipping it back into your bag, accepting defeat, sipping on your wine you offer him a warm smile, his lips were firmly pressed into a line, you couldn't exactly read him very well, he played a poker face that you couldn't quite shake. You were subdued and it had only been 10 minutes in his company.

Your friend made it feel the most awkward of moments when she announced she was going to the toilet and left you alone with him, luckily he got to serving someone else so by the time he was done, she'd probably be back, but obviously to your bitter disappointment that wasn't the case and Joe was straight back over to you, arms leaning against the bar as he bent down to meet you at your level, the towel he was once cleaning the glasses with now lazily laid over his shoulder like an accessory. There was something so soft about his features, something so brutally innocent which lead you to believe that it was all a façade with the tone in his voice when speaking to you, a completely dissociated difference.

"So you never told me your name?" Why in this stupid time and place did you forget your own name, did you mean to stutter through the saliva that was circulating quickly, stumbling over your own tongue.

"It's uh- it's Y/N."

"Pretty name for a pretty lady." That made you bite your lip and he for sure noticed, his eyes made their own way to watch you do it, his own world now moving in slow motion from the deep breath he partook in once you'd shot the flirtatious body language back at him.

"Did you mean to do that?" Your cheeks released a flush of deep red, realising that you'd actually just done that to a complete stranger, a stranger you were obviously completely hot for.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." You felt like you'd knocked him for six with your response, you were in sudden guard of attempting to faulter his clear confidence in talking to women. It didn't work.

"Only when I mean it." Your friend saved the day when you felt her presence right back at your side again, he shot a wink at you and walked away to serve someone who'd just come through the door.

You completely drowned out the conversation you were clearly not involved in with your friend, watching everything that Joe was doing so intricately, he looked so beautiful doing the simplest of things and that was so threatening to you, your heart and head were speaking completely different languages at this point. Even if this was the first time you'd met him, you were to make sure it wouldn't be the last because there was something about him and you knew yourself, once you were intrigued by something or someone; you were determined to find out.

With the bar getting slightly busier through the evening, he was pre occupied elsewhere, the glances were often yet short, shotting the last one of your wine you left without saying goodbye, imagining his disappointment and creating a fantasy for yourself of him feeling cast down that you'd left so quickly without getting to know him. Why were you kidding yourself? He probably wouldn't of remembered you the next time you went in anyway, but your imagination was throwing that version of future events to the side because it wasn't just a normal look you'd been given, that wasn't how normal hello's were exchanged. You were probably overthinking the whole ordeal, but you had to go back and see. If he remembered, then your heart was right, if he didn't your head was just playing tricks on you, the first option sounded better but the second was probably more feasible.

You prepared yourself for the boring Saturday evening up and coming close, no plans made you took the spontaneity that was lingering in your every being to get ready and go to the bar, after all the mystery man named Joe was all you could muster to think about.

You dressed up to the nines for someone that probably wouldn't shoot their eyes your way again. Not something you'd usually do since your anxiety ridden body wouldn't normally let you, but there was a form of excitement in you so powerful that kept you going for tonight, it would probably be deflated as soon as you found out you were wrong and foolish for going back for the reasons you were and for all intense and purposes you made sure you were to stand out from the crowd.

Entering the bar, it was slightly busier than the previous day, the weekend truly in force and the people of London ready to party until the early hours of the morning. You suddenly felt out of place, all alone in the middle of a bar attempting to see the man who only flirted with you for all of half an hour yesterday, there were more staff located behind the bar, you wandered over, eyes prying all over the place just to even witness a peak of him.

Both a hot and cold sweat came over you when you couldn't see him, all but a crowd of bodies scattered around the room, you felt slightly dizzy in your wake and moved over to step to the front door, quickly deciding it was probably better to give this a miss and accepting you were probably wrong in what you'd been thinking for the last 24 hours. Before you even put your hand on the door, you felt a hand grip to your arm, pulling you towards them with brute force, swerving yourself around to take a look, a slightly older man stood before you, immediately looking you up and down, making your whole body shudder and not the good kind. He leaned down into your ear.

"Lost?"

"No I was just leaving, was trying to find my friend."

"I'll be your friend, come have a drink with me."

"I'm good thanks."

His grip had remained on your arm, you'd attempted to step back but the wall had gotten in the way and you suddenly felt trapped.

"Come on. I won't take no for an answer, one drink."

"I said no, thank you." You tried to be as polite as you could before you were on your way to losing your tether, moving your hand over his you attempted to get him off you, but he squeezed tighter. What kind of creep does this in this day and age, the obvious answer was the entitled pricks that thought they were gods gift to women and didn't like nor understand the word no.

His other hand brushed your hair off of your shoulder, making you squirm disgustingly from his calloused fingers.

"Please let me go."

"When you have a drink with me."

You began to panic when all at once, time and space moved in the blink of an eye and the man was pulled backwards by your now knight in shining armour. You looked up to see Joe, clinging to his shoulders, ragging him towards him, instantly releasing you, you gazed down at the red marks from the way his hand had held you so tightly.

"She said no, mate. Think it's time you were leaving, think you've had enough." The man stormed out in a huff after looking at the seriousness of the pupils that were dilating Joe's eyes from the spout of anger of seeing someone handle a woman in that way; the wrong way.

"Thank you." You felt Joe's hand move over to inspect what could of only been described as a minor injury to your skin, his thumb soothed over making goose bumps reappear over his strokes.

"You're welcome pretty girl. What brings you back here?"

"Just for a drink."

"Alone?" Joe raised an eyebrow, that same shit smirk hitting his lips which made you feel pure infuriation yet made you want to jump him.

"Alone."

"To see me more like." You gulped your saliva back, a heavy breath inhaled when you felt him move closer to you.

"In your dreams." You rolled your eyes.

"No darling, in yours." Joe glared at your movement, taking your hand and bringing you over to the bar.

"So what will it be? Wine?"

"A shot of tequila bar boy."

Joe barked laughter at you, taking out two shot glasses and pouring the lethal spirit into them.

"Two?"

"Cheers Y/N." You picked up your glass, clinking them together you took the shot in unison. The burn felt good at this point but all your brain could muster was that he remembered you. Your heart was pounding and you couldn't even decipher word in the English language to describe how you were feeling right now.

"Before you go and try handing me the cash again, I've got a better idea." You were so predictable to him by this point, you felt instant defeat because your next move would of been to find the money to pay him for the shot. Intrigued by his words, you took a deep breath again, completely wrapped around his little finger to find out what he meant by that.

"Okay?"

"Just to put it out there, you're really fucking attractive darling." He leaned further, your faces inches away from each other. "I know you came here to see me again. I know the feelings mutual. You give me your number and once I get off work tomorrow, you come here and I'll show you what you came for tonight." He moved back, tapping his fingers against the bar. An offer, is that what it was?

Pulling out his phone, he offered it to you to tap your phone into the keypad. You were too flustered and shaky to even respond by this point, but you did it any way. This guy could of been anyone, but you really needed to explore his proposal, after all it's not everyday you feel this down for someone so quickly, you're not losing out either way.

"Good girl." Joe saved your number into his phone. His way with words had you tingling in every crevice of your body, you weren't sure if it was the tequila making you feel this way or whether it was the way he clouded your thoughts with his fiery look.

"Do I get to find out what's happening tomorrow?"

"All in good time."

The bar had gotten even busier by the time you'd managed to look away from him since you'd got to the bar with Joe. He was pulled to the side by one of his employees and when he came back he had a look of annoyance in his face, made softer once again when he saw you sat minding your own business.

"You going to be okay getting home?"

"Yeah, fine. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself." You rolled your eyes again.

"We'll see about that."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" You bit your lip.

You felt his throat strain, a low grunt emerging.

"We'll see." His game was being played twice as hard as yours, you could of cut the tension with a knife.

Joe's hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, leaning down he placed a brief kiss on your cheek, the sensation travelled to your core and you were suddenly hooked.

Fuck.

"Until tomorrow." Joe moved away slowly, the now familiar smirk crossing your line of vision once more.

Double fuck.

#joseph quinn fan fiction #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn angst #joe quinn x reader

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shy-urban-hobbit · 8 months

Text

There it was again; Aiden’s fingers tapping out a now familiar rhythm against Lambert’s bicep before sliding down to rest on top of his hand as they dozed in the sun. It had started shortly after they’d been reunited on The Path, a scarcity of jobs forcing them apart for a few weeks in an effort to cover more ground to find paying work (a gamble which ended up paying off as they both found pretty lucrative contracts in opposite directions).

Tap – pause - Tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

Lambert mentally shrugged, too comfortable to think on it too closely.

Lambert could feel himself slowly going crazy. He’d finally asked Aiden about his new habit after he’d been tapping against Lambert’s chest incessantly during their drawn out goodbye. The Cat had merely smirked in response and told him “You’re a smart pup, figure it out.” Before kissing the end of Lambert’s nose and mounting up, turning his horse Southwards. Lambert had stayed where he was until the other was just a speck on the road.

That was how he’d found himself in Kaer Morhen’s library, surrounded by books and paper and tapping the rhythm out again for the thirtieth time that hour.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d be met with. Lambert reading. Should I be checking you with silver about now?”

“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert sighed like an exasperated parent.

Jaskier merely grinned impudently from where he was leaning against the back of one of the chairs, “What’s all this?”

“Research.” Lambert answered curtly.

“For....”

“Nothing.”

“Research for nothing. Melitele’s bosom you must be bored.”

“Jaskier. Either sit down and shut up or go and bother Geralt.”

Jaskier mimed locking his mouth before taking a seat opposite the youngest Wolf, making a show of leaning back and looking around at the overcrowded shelves, “Soooooo....how was Aiden when you parted ways?”

“Fine.” Lambert put down the old journal he’d been flicking through in an attempt to find clues (maybe it was some old Witcher thing Vesemir had forgotten to teach them seeing as it wasn’t directly linked to monster slaying) before tapping the rhythm out again.

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked.

“Something that damn Cat told me to figure out and when I see him, I'm throwing him to the nearest drowner.”

“Oooooh, a riddle!” Jaskier gave an excited wiggle, attention well and truly caught, “Perhaps I can help? I am a master wordsmith after all.”

“No words involved in this, master wordsmith.” Lambert said, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be too sure.” Jaskier leaned forward slightly, “Humour me.”

Lambert tapped it out once, and then twice again at Jaskier’s request before the human’s expression morphed into one of childlike glee.“I do know this! Oh, I haven’t used it since I was at Oxenfurt, but I know it.”

Lambert felt his eye twitch, because of course it was just his luck Geralt’s bard would know it.”

“Well, what is it?”

Jaskier’s smile shifted, “Aiden told you to figure it out. I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you the answer. Oh, Lambert.” The Wolf swallowed. He'd had no idea the bard was capable of looking devious as he continued, “I think you’ve just become my main source of entertainment for the winter.”

Lambert shared a look with Eskel as Jaskier left the hall, throwing another declaration of love towards their white haired brother as he did so. They had nothing against the casual displays of affection per se, but you knew it was becoming a problem when even Eskel the not so secret romantic was starting to find it a bit much. Geralt had merely shrugged in the way that meant he was just as clueless as the rest of them when his brothers questioned him about it.

“Alright, what are you playing at?” Lambert had asked him one night, the bard blinking up at him guilelessly, “You said you’d help me with, you know, and all you’ve been doing is swooning over Geralt.”

“Lambert, love. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Jaskier replied slowly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The other day in the library.”

The bard sighed through his nose petulantly before walking away, muttering something about how he was this close to pushing certain dumb Wolves down the mountain.

Lambert stared at the note. It was actually for Geralt but was it his fault Jaskier had left it out on the main table in the hall for the whole world to see? He blinked as he took in the last three words, the thick black line of ink underneath them making them impossible to miss. Melitele’s arse, now that he was seeing it written down, Jaskier wouldn’t have to push him: Lambert would quite happily throw himself down the mountain, cursing himself the entire time for missing something so simple.

“You’re early!” Aiden exclaimed happily as he leaned down to throw his arms around Lambert, letting the other man pull him down from his horse and into a proper embrace, the taps quickly following, as expected.

Lambert tilted the Cat’s face up with a whispered, “You too.” Feeling Aiden grin into the kiss as Lambert tapped gently against his temple.

Tap – pause – tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

I – love - you

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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mycurrent-hyperfixation · 2 years

Text

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Two (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: Okay so the first chapter kinda flopped but that is okay, we shall persevere. I’ve already written half the chapters so there’s no going back now. Thank you so much to those who commented and supported the last chapter, I’m so glad you liked it. Let me know if you want to be added to either the series taglist or my main taglist!

“Well, well, well,” Robin began as soon as you walked into the video store. “If it isn’t my favourite customer.”

“You might want to cool it a bit there, Buckley. Vicki might get jealous,” you retorted, a blush instantly erupting onto Robin’s face at the mention of her crush.

“Have you still not asked her out?” Steve called from where he was re-shelving video tapes in the ‘new releases’ section.

“It’s not that easy, Harrington, she does have a boyfriend, remember? Plus, last time I checked you were just as single as I am.”

“Woah, woah, woah, why are we attacking me now?” Steve approached the counter, smiling as he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. You guys were really great last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that? I am in the band too in case you’ve forgotten,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want the compliment to go to your head. It’s already big enough.”

“Says you.”

“I saw you talking to a pretty girl last night, Steve,” you interjected. “Any luck finding the love of your life?”

“Oh yeah, Samantha,” Steve reminisced. “I don’t know. She’s pretty, but I just don’t know if she’s for me, you know?”

“It must be so hard for you,” you responded with a smile. “Having to reject girls left and right. Should I get you a stick so you can beat the hordes away?”

“Excuse me for taking my love life so seriously. It’s not all about sex for me, you know.”

“How chivalrous of you,” you said before wondering over to a nearby shelf. “Do you guys have anything new in? I feel like watching something different.”

“You? Different? Please,” Steve responded. “I’ll recommend something and you’ll still take out something you’ve already seen.”

“Ghostbusters?” Robin interjected.

“Hmmmm,” you said.

“Sixteen Candles?”

“Hmmmm,”

“Back to the Future?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“You’ve seen that film like 8 times!” Steve protested.

“You just need to be more in tune with the customers,” Robin teased as she rung up the tape for you. “What are you doing tonight? Did you wanna come to the movies with Vicki and me?"

“No can do,” you said. “I’m working tonight. Plus, I refuse to third wheel.”

“It’s not a date!” Robin quickly clarified. “At least I don’t think it is.”

“I promised Henderson I’d drive him somewhere,” Steve added.

“You two are boring!” Robin whined.

“And I thought I was his babysitter,” you said with a smile.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve flipped you his middle finger which caused you to let out a loud laugh just as the bell above the front door chimed.

“Speaking of the devil,” Steve said as you turned around to see Dustin, Mike and Lucas entering the store.

“Y/N!” Dustin exclaimed.

“What do you want?” you responded with a quirked eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed to be excited to see my friend?”

“You’re never excited to see me,” Steve interjected. “And I’m the one volunteering my time to drive to Eddie’s place tonight.”

“Stop being a martyr, Steve,” Dustin said before turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Working. Why?” you said suspiciously.

“By yourself?”

“I’ll be with Meg for a little bit but I’ll be closing by myself. Why?” you asked again.

“Oh no reason. No reason at all,” Dustin said as a wicked grin spread across his features.

“Is it just me or did that sound super sinister?” you asked, turning back to face Robin and Steve.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Robin responded. “I’d prepare for your shift to be eventful.”

“I swear to god if you guys rope me into another one of your prank wars I will not show mercy this time,” you said, pointing a finger at all three of the boys. Mike and Lucas turned to look at each other, something close to fear passing between them.

“No, no. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise,” Dustin said. “Just another boring night at the record store, I’m sure.”

You squinted your eyes at Dustin suspiciously. “You’re a weird kid, Dustin.”

He simply smiled back.

---

As much as you didn’t want to, you had to admit that Dustin had been right; your shift was indeed exceptionally uneventful.

It had been tolerable at first when Meg’s shift had overlapped with your own, for even though the girl was not the chattiest of people, you had grown to find comfort in the long stretches of silence that would often ensue when you were in her company.

“Did you read over those lyrics I gave you?” you asked, calling across the empty store to where Meg was tidying by the door.

“Yeah,” she called back. “I like them, but I made a few changes so that they fit in with this chord progression I’ve been working on.”

“Cool. You can show me at practice tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

And then the silence was back, interrupted by the sound of the record that was turning slowly on the record player by the counter. It was the first album of The Smiths, the melodic tune of Morrissey’s voice flowing throughout the store. You hummed along as you reorganised the sale’s bin, your finger tapping away subconsciously to the beat as it skimmed over each record.

“I’m off,” Meg said suddenly from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound of her voice.

“Jesus! How do you walk so quietly?”

Meg shrugged her shoulders, her face emotionless.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and keep me company? I’ll be ever so lonely here by myself,” you continued.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m not,” Meg responded with a curve of her lips that could almost be considered a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, though.”

“Ugh, fine then, leave me to my loneliness!” you cried as Meg exited the store with a half-hearted wave.

The music continued to float lazily throughout the store as the sun continued to set, the little bell above the door periodically chiming every now and then as customers wandered in. You assisted the ones that looked lost and left others alone, their ears usually covered by the headphones of a Walkman so that it was clear they didn’t want to be disturbed. When the store was empty you allowed yourself to linger by the counter, lazily flipping through your notebook. The cover was black, the book looking wholeheartedly uninspiring from the front but containing almost all of the songs you had ever written. With a pen held in one hand, you idly scribbled within its contents.

When The Smiths album had finished you searched through the racks for something more upbeat to finish off the night with, pulling out an album whose cover had been worn down from excessive use. You smiled before pulling the record free, placing it gently upon the turntable before guiding the stylus into place. Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the store as you found yourself unable to stop from swaying to the tune. You looked towards the clock that sat just above the desk and smiled; merely half an hour left of your shift to go.

As you began packing up the store, you sung lazily here and there, oftentimes glancing around to make sure no customers had somehow wandered in unnoticed. With the broom in your hand, you made your way throughout the aisles, pulling the bristles along with you as you slowly began to accumulate more and more dust. At the familiar notes of the opening of one of your favourite songs, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Can anybody find me somebody to love?” Freddie’s voice sang, resounding throughout the store.

In one swift motion you leant the broom against one of the racks and hastily made your way over to the counter, hoisting yourself up and over it so that you could just barely reach the record player. With a twist of your wrist, the volume was turned all the way up, the music now blasting throughout the store.

“Each morning I get up I die a little,

can barely stand on my feet.

Take a look—take a look in the mirror and cry,” you sang, trying to cover all the different parts and failing as you meandered your way back over to your broom and picked up sweeping where you had left off.

Whether it was because the volume on the record player was turned up to its maximum or whether it was because you were completely consumed in the song, in the end it didn’t really matter. Either way you still failed to hear the chime of the bell above the front door.

“I work hard—he works hard—every day of my life

I work till I ache in my bones.”

The sound of shoes tapping against the floorboards was again drowned out by the sound of the music as a figure drew closer to you, the footsteps slow and hesitant until they eventually came to a stop a few feet behind you.

Eddie couldn’t quite help the smile that erupted onto his features at the sight of you. He thought it wise that he should probably make his presence known to save you any more embarrassment than you would likely already feel. But then you were singing once more and Eddie could no longer bring himself to do so. Your back was to him as you swept, your pulls of the broom languid and half-hearted so that you missed several spots upon the floor. And although Eddie could not see your face, he knew that you were smiling.

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray,

‘til the tears run down from my eyes.”

You continued to sweep as you sang, slowly making your way backwards as you dragged along your pile of dust. You were getting closer and closer now, Eddie realised, although as much as he knew he should, in that moment he seemed incapable of moving. It could have partly been because his legs had slightly turned to jelly now that he was back within your presence, but it could have also been because, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted you to run into him, if only to feel you against him for the briefest of moments.

“Lord, somebody, ohhh, somebody.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

You were belting the note now, smiling as you did so, quite positive that you would have sounded far better had you taken the time to warm your throat up properly. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care as the music blasted throughout the store. Banging your head to the beat, you pulled the broom backwards quite forcefully this time to gather the mound of dust you had accumulated.

“Oof!” sounded from behind you as your elbow connected with something.

The sound that left your throat was somewhere between a scream and a choked cough that was wholly embarrassing as you scrambled away from the figure. Your heart was pounding now, thumping so loudly and so forcefully that you had to hold a hand up to your chest to make sure it didn’t rip right through your skin. Your eyes were wide, your breaths ragged and heaving as you glanced to the figure before you who was bending over, clutching at their stomach.

The mane of hair was the first thing you saw, and then it was the large brown eyes staring up at you from under it, paired with what appeared to be almost an embarrassed grimace.

“Hello,” Eddie said, his hands still clutched to his side where you had undoubtedly elbowed him.

And then it was your turn to be embarrassed as a heat crept up onto your cheeks.

“Jesus…fuc–sorry! I didn’t…you weren’t…the bell, I-”

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him, your heart still pounding, the urge to bring your hands up to cover your face almost overwhelming. Instead, you rushed quickly past Eddie and headed towards the counter, scrambling quite unceremoniously over the top of it until you reached the record player and moved the stylus until the music stopped. When you turned back to Eddie, the corner of his mouth was curved slightly upwards.

The silence was deafening.

“I-” you tried to begin again, the heat from your cheeks having in no way lessened. “I didn’t hear you come in. The bell…I didn’t hear the bell.”

Eddie was failing quite miserably at hiding the smile that threatened to consume his features as he watched you stumble, quite thankful that you wouldn’t meet his gaze lest you think he was laughing at you. He watched as you shook your head slightly to yourself, bringing your hands up to rub briefly at your temples.

“B-but anyway, sorry for all the trouble but we’re actually clo-” you began, looking up at the clock only to find yourself stifling a groan.

8:55PM.

You sighed, forced a smile onto your face before finally bringing your gaze up to look at Eddie.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Eddie swallowed a laugh as the tone of your voice changed; rising in pitch with a hint of fake enthusiasm mixed among it. But then he noticed that you were looking at him quite expectantly and he realised that although he had extensively prepared himself for this meeting, he had not quite thought this far ahead.

“Ugh…yeah! Yeah, I’m looking for...” Eddie’s gaze scanned the store. “I’m looking for…Metallica. Yeah! They’re new album!”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly at Eddie before turning your gaze from his.

“That’ll be in the rock section,” you said, before rushing off unexpectantly so that Eddie found himself scrambling to keep up with you. You weaved expertly through the aisles before stopping abruptly, your fingers instantly coming up to flick through the rows of records that sat before you until you eventually found what you were looking for. “It’s a good album. Got some great tracks although the last two songs aren’t my favourite.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie questioned, not being able to help himself. “They’re the perfect way to end the album. They’re like the fusion of the savageness and beauty of all the other songs.”

Your eyebrows furrowed once more just as Eddie’s eyes went wide, the realisation of what he had just said hitting him all at once. He averted his gaze from yours, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“That’s…ugh…that’s what I’ve heard anyway,” he quickly tried to rectify.

“Uh-huh,” you responded to break the silence that had erupted between you. “Soooo…do you wanna buy it or…”

“Um,” Eddie stumbled again, not knowing what to say. He did not particularly feel like paying for an album he already had sitting upon his shelf back at his trailer. But then he looked up towards you once more, the record still held within your hands, and he could not quite allow himself to be weirder than he had already been. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Cool. I’ll ring it up for you at the counter,” you said before rushing away from Eddie once more. Eddie followed you to the counter, watching as you concentrated on the large computer before you, clicking away absentmindedly on the mouse and periodically typing something into the keyboard. The silence between you had returned now and Eddie so wished you hadn’t turned off the record player even if you had been playing Queen.

“I’m, ugh,” Eddie said hesitantly as he tried to break the silence. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“I know,” you responded, not looking up from the computer. “I was in senior year with you. We had Mrs Click’s class together.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to furrow his brows. “You remember me?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your gaze looked up towards him, suddenly serious. “Of course I do.”

“I-I just thought,” Eddie stuttered, feeling a heat begin to creep up his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

You turned your attention back to the computer a small smile perched upon your lips that Eddie found himself unable to look away from. “You’re a hard guy to miss, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, his blush now so vibrant he had to turn his head downwards in an attempt to get his hair to cover it. He cleared his throat and forced himself to stand up straight as he looked at you.

“I saw your gig last night,” he tried to say with some semblance of confidence.

You smiled again. “I saw you at my gig last night.”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant. “You guys were alright.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze back towards him. “Alright?” you questioned, acting offended. “That’s quite the scathing review.”

“Yeah, well, if you limit yourself to ABBA covers I can’t really rate you any higher.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?”

“Oh, I don’t know, their music.”

You smirked upwards at Eddie now, crossing your arms in front of you as you leaned onto the counter; leaned closer to him. Eddie tried to keep his composure as the scent of your perfume suddenly encompassed him; something sweet and yet smoky that for some reason had his mouth starting to salivate.

“Just because somethings popular, Munson, doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Eddie said, bending down so that he was also leaning on the counter. For just a moment, he swore he saw a tint of red appear on your cheeks, but then you were rolling your eyes and turning away as you returned your attention back to the record that sat between you.

“So I suppose you think these guys are musical geniuses?” you questioned.

“Of course they ar-”

“Why?” you interjected.

“W-well,” Eddie fumbled, trying to think of a response. “They’re manipulation of music is legendary. They create art.”

“Art. I like that,” you said so softly it was almost a breath, another smile encompassing your features. “Do you want to know what I look for in the artists I choose to listen to?”

“Is it whatever’s on the popular rack at the time?” Eddie said with a smirk. He nearly laughed as you rolled your eyes, pulling away as you began to place the record into a bag.

“A story. Music is just another form of storytelling, and I think the addition of instruments only enhances the story more when it comes to the listeners emotional response.”

“Emotional response?” Eddie scoffed as he unfolded himself back to his normal height.

You looked up at him. “Have you ever heard a song that makes you want to cry?”

Eddie furrowed his brows at your sudden serious tone. “No.”

“Well then you’re missing out on the real beauty of music.”

Eddie found himself at a loss for words as he looked down at you. He thought he should probably say something profound, maybe disagree with you whilst he was at it. But as he opened his mouth nothing came out.

“That’ll be $15.”

Eddie blinked. For just a moment he wasn’t quite sure whether the conversation had even ensued between the two of you as you smiled at him, the bagged record extended towards him. He grabbed it tentatively.

“R-right,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to extract his wallet. As he handed you the cash, he made sure to do so in a way that would have your fingers brushing against his. And even though he was expecting the contact, he couldn’t quite help the racing of his heart as your soft skin brushed against his.

You hesitated slightly as you took the money, and as you realised what you were doing you tried to compensate by hastily shoving the money into the till. A silence settled between the two of you as you continued to look up at Eddie and as he continued to look down at you.

“Were you guys entering the Battle of the Bands?” Eddie questioned.

“Ugh, yeah,” you said. “Took me a while to convince the others since they’re pretty sure the judges won’t score us high cause we’re girls but-” you paused, realising that you were rambling. “Were you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards, surprised that you were even aware of his band.

“Y-yeah! We are!” he exclaimed. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you responded. “So what does that make us then? Enemies?” you said with a laugh.

Eddie smirked. “I suppose it does. We probably shouldn’t be seen fraternising with each other then. Some people might think I’m giving you tips.”

You scoffed. “Who said we needed tips from a mediocre rock band?”

Eddie shot his hands towards his heart, pretending to be wounded.

“Mediocre? Now that’s a low blow.”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

“You said we were alright.”

“That’s still better than mediocre.”

“Well that’s because we are better than you.”

Eddie leaned down towards you tauntingly. You refused to pull away.

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to let the competition decide.”

Eddie smirked down at you and you smirked back.

“May the best band win.”

And then you were pulling away, leaving behind the scent of your perfume that had Eddie urging to follow you. He inhaled deeply before leaning back himself, slinging the bag of the record over his shoulder.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Munson. We did technically close three minutes ago and I have places to be.”

Eddie smiled, walking slowly backwards towards the door. “You know I might just have to start coming here instead of the store across town.”

You smiled back. “And why is that?”

“Well, here I get great service and a show.”

A deep blush crossed your face, your smile dropping. “I swear to god, Munson, if you tell anyone what you saw tonight, I’ll murder you.”

Eddie smirked. “Next time if you switch the broom for an actual guitar I might leave you a bigger tip.”

“Next time it might be the broom I hit you with!”

Eddie couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him.

“Night, princess. Have fun with the sweeping.”

And then the bell was chiming above him as he left.

---

Eddie couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face as he walked back to his van with a skip to his step, a record he already owned held within the bag slung over his shoulder. A mop of brown hair stared at him through a pair of binoculars from the front seat of his van as he walked, a toothy grin situated upon Dustin’s face as he noticed Eddie’s smile. At the sight of him, Eddie’s smile faltered, remembering all at once the purpose of the outing.

“So it went well then?” Dustin asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows as Eddie hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Eddie mumbled half-heartedly.

“So she said yes?”

Eddie turned to look at Dustin, confused.

“What?”

“When you asked her out? She said yes, right?”

“Ugh,” Eddie stammered. “No. Well, not yet. I didn’t actually ask her.”

Eddie turned his keys in the ignition and backed out of his spot with slightly more speed than was strictly necessary.

“What?” Dustin exclaimed. “That was the whole point of this mission!”

Mission. Eddie flinched.

“Yeah well, it didn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t feel right. The competition’s a week away! You don’t exactly have time for everything to feel right.”

“Well then we’ll just do a cover for the first round. It’s not the end of the world.”

Eddie kept his gaze fixated on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles went white. Dustin, noticing the silence in the car, turned his attention to the bag that sat beside him, the label of the record store clearly printed on the front.

“Ohh, what did you get?” he questioned, not waiting for Eddie to answer as he opened the bag and rummaged through. “Wait,” Dustin hesitated. “Don’t you already have this album?”

“Shut up.”

---

Songs Used:

- Somebody to Love by Queen

---

Main Taglist:

@alicetweven @juggernort @theh3aven @manamitoyota @mimiluvsualot @cherrypieyourface @kaqua @c0untryclub @goldencherriess @emotionaldreamer @givemethesleep @milkiane @miscreantsnopossoms @legendaryfestsoul-blog

Series Taglist:

@grungegrrrl

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #season 4 stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things s4 #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #joseph quinn #Joe Quinn

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stargazingcarol · 1 year

Text

Into the blue, out of the blue.

Part one: Into the blue

Pairing: Jake lockley x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader

Summary: You meet your neighbor and you're pretty sure he's American. But why is it that the next times you see eachother he speaks in a British accent. As you keep meeting you start falling for Steven. And then he disappears for a while and he's back and he tells you about Marc. But he also tells you about Layla. You really like Steven but now he's kinda married? What now?

Trigger warnings for the series: mental health problems, angst with a happy ending, fluff, slowburn. (A/N: i may add more warnings as the fic procedes).

A/N: i don't do taglists. Sorry about that. I'm so excited to keep writing for this story, hoping it doesn't disappoint. Thanks for all the love on the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one all the same! 🤍

Part 1 / Part 3

Chapter 2

It had been a week since your tipsy incident and you hadn't gone through with wanting to bake something for Steven. Until today. You were just putting the sprinkles on some cupcakes and you were a bit scared of how he will react. What if he doesn't like cupcakes? What if he's vegan? You had no idea how to know this. But everyone loved cupcakes. You think, at least.

You had seen Steven in the hall a few times this week and you both either said hi or nodded in greeting.

One time you had heard him talking on the phone and you still couldn't believe he was British. You were so sure he was American...

Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, it's not like that first time Steven said so many words to you. You just worked in silence.

Trying to clear your head you decide it's now or never. It was morning on a Sunday and you had baked the cupcakes the night before. Deciding to put frost on it in the morning.

You hadn't baked in a while. Not since Mr. Ripley's death and you had to admit you had missed baking for someone. Steven could be that someone now.

As you got out of the apartment you hoped it wasn't too early to wake him up. One look at your phone suggested it was like ten am. Most people are awake at that hour. You could wait to go a little bit later but your anxiety and overthinking wasn't doing any good. Now or never.

When you knocked on the door, nothing happened. You couldn't hear anything from his door and thought maybe he wasn't inside. Knocking again you finally heard movement and when you opened the door your breath catched in your throat.

Steven was standing in front of you, one of his arms was still holding the door and he was wearing a white t-shirt with sweatpants and his curls were all over his forehead and he was blinking at you as if trying to adjust his eyesight to you.

He seemed to finally noticed it was you and he smiled while scratching his eye and you tried not to scream. He was so cute.

"Hi love. Do you need anything?" He asked and gosh his voice sounded like he hadn't talked to anyone for a while. Deep.

Your eyes widened. "Did i wake you up?"

His smile turned sheepish. "No"

"You're lying Steven. Oh my god I'm so sorry i didn't mean to. I'll come back later, you should sleep." You had started to back away but he gently grasped your arm, still smiling.

"It's okay, i swear. Is that for me?" He pointed to the box with cupcakes.

"Oh! Yes, yes. I made cupcakes. I thought it would be a good house warming gift. Or apartment warming gift." You laugh and his smile seems to go wider.

"Why thank you so much." He says and you just stare at him.

Blinking out of your trance you hold the box out for him and he takes it.

"Do you want to come in?" He asks and your face warms.

You weren't expecting to get invited inside to see how he had accommodated everything after helping him the first day.

Rubbing your hands you nod softly. "Yes, i would love to." As he steps aside you enter to his apartment.

Your eyes take on the sight of his place. It's similar to yours but not quite. He has a lot of books on some shelves and lots of different artifacts laying around.

You see the unmade bed and you can't help but think it looks cozy.

Finally spotting a fishtank you walk over to it. There's a one finned goldfish just swimming there.

"You have a fish!" You exclaim and he walks over to you.

You had lowered yourself to see the fish better and he did the same, next to you.

"His name is Gus."

"Have you ever thought of having more fishes? He looks lonely."

Steven hums. "Maybe someday i will." He looks over at you and you smile. "Make yourself at home. Have you had breakfast?"

"I did. Did i really wake you up?" Pursing your lips you stand better and so does he.

"Yes. But it's okay. I don't mind." Steven wasn't about to tell you that your knocking woke him up abruptly from a nightmare. He doesn't remember the nightmare anymore and he is grateful for that. You're making the start of his day the best thing to happen to him this week. "Like i said, make yourself at home. I'll be right back" he says and starts walking to a door, you guess that's the bathroom and when he closes the door you start to walk more around the apartment.

He still had a few boxes with stuff in it still but you were surprised about how he had seemed to put the books on the shelves as a priority. Looking at the spines of the books you could see he had a lot of Egyptian themed books. Was that his hobby?

His bed seemed to call you again and you just wanted to curl up on it. You bet it smelled nice.

"You seem to have a lot of books" you comment as soon as he gets out of the bathroom.

"Yeah, i have a thing for Egyptian mythology." He grabs one book and hands it to you.

It's a big book, blue on the cover with golden letters. As you skim through it, he walks away.

"Would you like some tea?" He asks from the kitchen and you grimace a little.

"No thanks. Not a big fan of tea." You look over at him for a moment, too immersed in the pretty pictures from the book.

You see him nod. "Water, juice?" He asks and you respond with: "just water please".

Steven and you talk for some time. About Egyptian mythology. He told you about different gods and their meaning. He seemed to like talking a lot about this and you had a great ear, or so he thought. You would sometimes ask questions or tell one of your own random Egyptian facts. You didn't know much about mythology, any in general, but you had gone to the museum a few times in the past year and you have learned a few things here and there that had stayed with you, not intentionally at all.

"I've gone to the museum a few times this year, so whatever i remember it's because I've seen that exhibit so many times it has probably stuck in my mind." You chuckle and take the last sip of your cup of water.

"The London British museum?" He leans forward.

You both had sat down while talking. He was on his bed and you were on his desk chair.

"Yeah!"

"I work there." Steven smiles and you gasp.

"Really? Are you a tour guide?"

He grimaces and you think you may had asked something badly. "I wish. I work at the gift shop." He shrugs like it's nothing.

"Oh... The gift shop is cool though. Lots of people love going to museums just for the gift shop." You grin, hoping it doesn't look like you're trying to make him feel better. Even though that's exactly what you're doing. "I actually bought a Tawaret plushie a few months ago."

He seems to spark at the last sentence and he leans back a little. "Oh! I have one of those." He gets up and he goes to a box next to his night stand and he grabs a Tawaret plushie from it, it looks just like yours and you make grabby hands.

Steven chuckles and gives it to you. "It's exactly like her! I can't believe we both have a Tawaret plushie." You pat Steven's Tawaret's head and then hand it to him.

He takes it and he looks deep in thought. "I don't remember how i got her if I'm being honest. Like i know it's from work because i have to put prices on them all the time but i can't, for the life of me, remember when i got it."

You just hum, not knowing what to say. And Steven seems to get out of his trance and clears his throat.

"Sorry, i just, i have bad memory of things. I can't remember big chunks of the past few months. I have bad sleeping habits and I'm thinking that's probably it."

You just nod, again, not knowing what to say. He finally speaks. "Do you have trouble sleeping?"

"Sometimes. There was a year not too long ago where i will have nightmares a lot but it's gotten better. I have them from time to time like every other person but it's not too bad." You interlaced your hands and Steven rubs his knee.

"What do you do when you can't sleep?" Steven seems to look right into your soul at his question.

"I either play videogames or read. Maybe watch a series."

"Sometimes i feel like some parts of my life are missing. I can't remember what day it is most days and i feel like I'm slowly losing control of my life." He admits and you gulp.

You never had too deep conversations with Mr. Ripley. Your old neighbor. Well sometimes you did, but so so rarely. Mr Ripley wasn't so open about his life most of the time. So having this too deep conversations with someone you kinda just met was throwing you off. You didn't mind them, you loved that Steven was opening up to you so fast to tell you something so deep within him.

"I feel the same sometimes" you look at the floor, not wanting eye connection at the moment.

"Really?" He asks and you look over at him, he has this soft look on his face. A look that demonstrates that he feels comforted in you.

"Yeah" Smiling a little, you let out a breath.

***

In the next three months, you and Steven had become really good friends. You were still neighbors but you also hang out so much, your situation had to have a name, and that was friendship.

You learned that Steven sometimes tried to stay awake because he still felt like he wasn't in control of his life.

He will ask you if there was anything weird about him, about the times you had gone out but nothing stuck out to you. It seemed just like his normal self. Steven. Steven Grant.

Sometimes he would miss some hang outs you had planned the days before but you only mentioned it once. And when you saw he got really upset you thought maybe not telling him about the missed friend dates was for the best.

Maybe lying to him wasn't a good idea. your psychologist told you, he should know what's going on, especially since you were friends with him. But you didn't wanna see him sad. Upset. Mad with himself. So you didn't. You didn't tell him. Maybe someday you will. Maybe.

Steven would occasionally invite you to hang out. And you didn't mind. You loved that he had become a friend.

So far you either went out to eat, go out to the movies, play pool and you would even frequent arcades.

Right now, you were both playing pool. Steven had teached you how to play the last times you had gone and you were basically a pro.

A game of football was on TV and Steven would look behind him at the television to cheer on the game. And then he will do his play and drink some soda.

"Your turn" he says with his extended hand.

You look at the TV, not even caring to know who was playing. And then you did your own play. It wasn't a good one but it was there.

Suddenly Steven and half of the bar seemed to cheer so loud it made your ears ring.

"They won, they won!" He left his stick on top of the pool table and went over to hug you.

He jumped a little while his arms were around you and you felt suffocated in the best way possible. You could die like that.

He separated a little from you and his arms were on your shoulder. Steven was looking deep into your eyes and you felt your face warm at his stare.

People were still cheering and suddenly you felt Steven lean over a little. He was closer than you've ever had him and you were sure your skin was scolding hot.

Was this gonna be your first kiss ever?

Your noses touched and you felt your eyes heavy and awaiting his mouth to touch yours. But like a bucket of cold water you felt him move away from you.

You opened your eyes confused and Steven was looking at you with a blank expression.

"I should get you home." He clears his throat. And that's when you notice. American voice.

Crossing your arms you say: "you're american again, how do you do that?" You squint at him.

Steven rolls his eyes. "We should go home." Steven walks away, leaving the pool table and you behind and you look after his back.

He looks different but you can't put your finger on why that is. And why is his voice American?

You run after him, getting out of the bar you see him hauling a cab.

It's cold outside and you wrap your arms together trying to get warm. You squint at him when he gets on the cab. He leaves the door open and you walk over.

"Are you going to leave me now?" You sound mad. This feels like you're dealing with a whole different person. Who is this? Is it actually Steven?

"No. I knew you were gonna follow me." He gives a sarcastic grin and your eyebrows furrow further.

" Yeah. Okay. And how did you know that?"

"You're a good girl. Very smart. Now sit." He moves out of the seat and into the other and your mind runs blank.

The way he used the word good girl. Like it's nothing. And here you are, finally feeling warm all over just by a few words.

He pats the seat and crosses his arms.

You finally sit.

It's quiet in the car as Steven gives the man the address to both of your apartment complex.

Steven is looking out the window now and the only words on your mind are good girl good girl good girl. Very smart.

Steven had never complimented you like that. He has told you you are great. A great person. A great friend. But this? This was all new. And you didn't know how to feel. You still felt warm and you cleared your throat and moved on your seat to get comfortable.

Remembering the almost kissed and how much you craved it made you realize that there's probably more feelings than just friendship for Steven. Does he even like you back? He did back away. But now it's like you're dealing with a whole different person. You're definitely not dealing with this now and are going to ignore it. You don't like him you don't like him you do NOT like him like that.

***

When the both of you get into your apartment complex you get in the elevator and he's silent and so are you. You feel awkward. What the hell happened?

Walking out of the elevator. Steven turns to you with serious face. "See you tomorrow okay?" He grimaces softly and then goes back to his blank stare.

You are left speechless. Not knowing what to say. Nodding, Steven walks over to his apartment, fishes out the keys and enters without saying anything else.

Now you're going to be thinking of this night over and over again. What is going on?

***

The next time you see Steven he tells you he doesn't remember what happened after his team won.

There's something fishy going on and you're going to find out but you need to know a bit more. Maybe this other Steven will make an appearance again and you can ask him what happened? Who is he?

Lying seems the way to go. Which will probably make you go insane but you do see a psychologist for something. She will have to do for now.

You just tell him that he took you home. And nothing else happened.

He seems troubled and you try to cheer him up by asking if he wanted tea. That you will make it for him. He did showed you how to make it a few weeks ago. Nothing out of this world but since you don't like tea it was something completely new for you.

He nods and looks far away. Like he's not with you anymore and you, once again, decide to ignore it. It will do. For now.

#Marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #moon knight x reader #my writing #moon knight fanfic #marc spector x reader

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