#so he asked “okay how does your brain work?” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The Tumblr office adopted Tommy, an 11-year-old Pomeranian.

#so he asked “okay how does your brain work?”

punkshort · 22 hours

Text

i know who you are | 8. the return

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You help Joel recover from his injuries and you finally confront your feelings for him.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, mutual pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, descriptions of wounds/injuries, some smutty situations but nothing very explicit, dare I say fluff?

WC: 8.2K

Series Masterlist

"Joel, wake up."

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

"C'mon. You gotta get up."

"Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"Joel," you tried again, your voice sounding so far away. Why did you sound so far away? "Joel, please wake up. I need you."

You needed him. Okay. For you, he would wake up.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Joel?"

Your voice didn't sound so far away now.

"Joel? Can you hear me?"

Fuck, his head hurt. His side hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

Then he remembered.

He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly as his pupils adjusted to the bright light until he focused on you. You.

You were so pretty. So, so pretty, standing next to his bed with that little worried crease between your eyebrows, leaning over him. You didn't need to be so worried. Don't be worried.

Your eyes brightened when he saw you and he slowly began to recognize where he was.

He was back in Jackson. At the infirmary, in a bed.

You jumped up, calling over your shoulder for Nick and Tommy before turning back to him and grasping his hand.

"Are you in pain?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at you, dumbfounded, his brain struggling to catch up. He squeezed your hand and you gave him a shaky smile.

Tommy and Nick barged into the room and you dropped his hand. Nick began to take his vitals while Tommy tried to stay out of the way, but Joel's focus remained on you. He watched as you drifted around the room on autopilot, handing Nick instruments and supplies from a table, then disappearing out into the hall when he asked you to get some medicine he had no idea how to pronounce.

"What's your pain like, Joel?" Nick asked, reading the blood pressure cuff.

He opened his mouth to answer but immediately started coughing. Tommy twisted around to grab the water bottle next to the sink and Nick lifted it to his lips. "Slow," he reminded him, so Joel sipped slowly then sat back with a sigh.

He was so tired.

"Your pain?"

Joel took a deep breath and winced.

"Ain't great," he croaked, voice all gravelly. You came back into the room and handed Nick the medicine, giving Joel a reassuring smile. God, he missed you so much.

He heard Nick ask you to fill a syringe for him and Joel watched you work, your hands steady and your breath even as you concentrated on getting the dosage exactly right.

"Joel? Did you hear me?"

"Huh?" he asked in a daze, dragging his eyes to his brother.

"I said, what the hell happened out there?" Tommy was pressed up against the wall, making himself as small as possible while you and Nick worked.

"Ran into some raiders- fuck!" he exclaimed when the needle entered his skin.

"Sorry," Nick murmured before pulling it out.

"Where?" Tommy asked, and Joel shook his head.

"Not 'round here. Out in California."

Everyone in the room paused to look at him.

"You got this fucked up out in Cali and you made it back?" Tommy asked in disbelief, and Joel slowly nodded his head. "Fuckin'... how?"

Joel's eyes found yours again, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a half smile.

"Had a guardian angel," he said, his eyelids beginning to droop.

"The hell does that mean?" Tommy asked. Joel pointed to his pack on the floor.

"Side pocket."

Nick lifted the blanket covering Joel's bare torso so he could inspect his wounds, which had been freshly cleaned and patched up in his sleep. Then he heard the telltale sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle.

"You found meds out there?" his brother asked, rolling the bottle around in his palm before handing it over to Nick.

"Mhm," was all he said, then watched as you looked over Nick's shoulder to read the label. Your eyes went wide with surprise then looked up at him.

Your lips parted like you wanted to say something, then your gaze darted to the other two men in the room and you decided against it.

"This probably saved you from getting sepsis," Nick said before placing the bottle on the small table next to his bed. "I'm gonna need to keep you here for a bit," and as Joel began to protest, Nick held up his hand. "Just for a bit, I said. Til you get your strength up and I feel confident you don't got any infection or serious internal damage. Then you can go home and recover."

You could see the turmoil in Joel's face. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be in the comfort of his own bed after a week of putting himself through hell.

"I'll stay here overnight, keep an eye on him and come get you if anything seems off," you said, and all three men paused to look at you in surprise. You shrugged and cleared your throat. "Unless you don't-"

"No," Joel said, cutting you off. His throat felt so tight all of the sudden. "Please stay."

Nick and Tommy exchanged glances before shifting around the room, gathering used instruments and picking up Joel's discarded, bloody clothes.

"I'll grab the cot for you," Nick said on his way out the door.

"Do you need anythin' from home?" Tommy asked and you quickly shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

Joel wanted to tell you everything, but he could feel himself fading. Another time, he thought as you rolled out the cot on the floor next to his bed. You turned off the light before he drifted off to sleep, finally being able to properly rest now that he was back with you.

It took five whole days until Nick finally agreed to let him go home. You stayed with him every night, only going back home to shower and get fresh clothes once a day. It seemed like he was always surrounded by Tommy or Ellie or Nick and there was never a good time to talk to you. He wanted to tell you why he did what he did, he wanted to give you some comfort. But any time the two of you were alone, it was always too brief or he was asleep.

Unbeknownst to Joel, you were struggling with the same issue. You wanted to get some time alone together so you could talk to him about everything you had a chance to reflect on while he was gone, but you knew it would likely be a long and emotional conversation and you really didn't want to do it at work.

There was so much that needed to be said, but the rare few minutes you had alone together you spent holding his hand or feeding him or gently wiping the sweat off his forehead and chest with a wet washcloth. You hoped your actions spoke louder than the words you weren't brave enough to say.

Nick helped you restock your first aid kit at home while Tommy got Joel settled back in his bed. You could hear them talking from the hallway, Tommy scolding his brother when he didn't listen to him and he ended up wincing in pain.

"So you're gonna want to make sure he takes this twice a day with food," Nick said, handing you a bottle of orange pills. "For inflammation. Til you run out, then he should be good. And this is only if the pain gets intolerable," he handed you a small baggie of four white pills and narrowed his eyes. "Use them sparingly, we don't have much."

"I know."

"He shouldn't need any more antibiotics but be sure to take his temperature throughout the day and push the fluids. If the numbers get over 102 for more than four hours, come get me right away."

"Okay," you nodded, hoping your sleep deprived brain was absorbing everything.

"Maria agreed to help out at the infirmary for the next couple days, so take as much time as you need. You know I can manage without you," Nick said, and you gave him a feigned look of hurt. "I can manage, I said. Doesn't mean I prefer it," he told you with a roll of his eyes and you had a stifle a laugh. Tommy stepped out of Joel's room and joined you at the top of the stairs.

"All good?"

"I think so," you said, looking back down at the pills Nick gave you.

"You need anythin', you just holler, sugar," Tommy said and you gave him a tired smile in return. The two men walked down the steps and saw themselves out while you filled a glass with water from the sink in the bathroom, bringing it to Joel.

"How are you feeling?" you asked him for what felt like the millionth time in a week.

"Not bad," he said truthfully. You handed him the water and although he wasn't thirsty, he still drank it because it seemed to make you happy and he really liked when you took care of him.

You shifted your weight and glanced around the room awkwardly.

"Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you a book or something?"

Joel smiled and dropped his gaze to the floor. You were so fucking cute and it was killing him.

"I'm good."

"Good," you nodded, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find another reason to stay. When you couldn't think of one, you sighed and hitched your thumb over your shoudler.

"I'll be right next door and I'll leave the doors open. If you need anything or if you're in pain-"

"I know," he said, giving you a soft smile as you tried your best to not stare at his bare chest peeking out from the top of the sheets.

"Okay, then," you said, backing out of the room. "Good night."

You had no idea how long you laid in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while your mind raced and your fingers tapped anxiously against your chest. You couldn't sleep. It must have been hours because the light flicking off in Joel's room felt like ages ago and you hadn't heard any shuffling since.

It's this bed, you thought to yourself. It was the first time in a long time you slept in your own bed and you just couldn't get comfortable.

Or maybe you were too worried about him, even though it seemed like most of his strength was back. The color returned to his cheeks and he was able to stay awake most of the day. Deep down, you knew there wasn't a need to be concerned about him at that point. In all likelihood he was out of the woods. But you still felt the urge to check on him. Just in case.

You slid out of bed and tiptoed quietly out of your room, walking the few feet to Joel's door and leaning against the frame. You tried to observe him from a distance but it was hard to see in the dark, so you crept closer.

He was sound asleep, his hands resting peacefully over his soft stomach, his lips parted ever so slightly as he lightly snored. You bit the inside of your cheek and looked at the other side of the bed. Deciding not to overthink it, you closed the door and silently made your way around the foot of the bed and slipped underneath the covers with a quiet sigh.

Just for a minute, you thought. You had just grown so accustomed to sleeping in his bed, that's all. But before you knew it, his steady breathing and soft pillows lulled you into a deep sleep.

The sun bled through the curtains, inching across the floorboards and slowly made its way up the sheets until it found your face, but you didn't wake. Instead, you buried your face deeper into the warmth underneath you, far too comfortable to bother waking up just yet.

Joel, however, had been awake before the sun even rose.

He had felt your arms wrapped around his waist at some point towards the early morning. He had managed to turn so your head rested against his bare chest while you continued to sleep so peacefully. It was far too tempting. He fucking ached for you for so long and to wake up and find you in his bed caused his heart to flutter wildly in his chest and all his blood to rush directly between his legs.

He had been doing okay. He was content with just holding you, feeling you, pretending things were back to normal, if only for a little while, but when you nuzzled into his chest and tightened your grip around his waist, he couldn't resist burying his nose in your hair and breathing in deep. He missed you so much it fucking hurt. It was torture, fighting the urge to pull you into him every day and crawl into bed with you at night. He knew it would backfire one day, all his pent up emotions. When Angie caught him during a particularly low point at the Tipsy Bison, drunk and sad and missing you so fucking much, it all blew up in his face. Kissing her was a mistake but he was just so goddamn lonely. He didn't realize how much he had come to depend on your touch to soothe him until he no longer had it.

He wouldn't make that mistake ever again.

He thought he ruined everything in one moment of weakness, but here you were, tucked safely into his side, sound asleep in his arms and he didn't even dare question what brought you into his bed because all that mattered was you were there now. And you made that decision yourself. You sought him out. You wanted to be with him.

Testing the waters, he carefully pressed a kiss on the top of your head, and when you didn't react, he did it again. Sliding his eyes closed, he dragged his lips a little lower, kissing your forehead while he savored the feeling of your breath fanning over his neck. Other than your fingertips fluttering slightly against his stomach, you still didn't move, so he kissed your forehead again. You were so warm and you smelled just like him that he quickly felt himself getting lost in his desire. His kisses became faster and more urgent, finally causing your breathing to change and your body to stir. He knew you were waking but he kept his eyes closed, too afraid of seeing apathy in the face that used to be filled with such love for him.

He was just setting himself up for more heartbreak but he couldn't seem to stop.

His lips traveled a little lower, pressing tenderly against your temple, bracing himself for when you would inevitably push him away. Maybe you weren't fully awake yet because you remained perfectly still, so he continued to take and take, his kisses becoming feverish as he brushed over your eyelids. God, he missed this so much. He missed these lazy mornings with you. They were rare, but on days neither of you had any other commitments you would lounge in bed for as long as your stomachs would allow, holding each other close, getting lost under the sheets.

His time was coming to an end now. Your arms loosened around his waist and soon you would realize where you were and who you were with and it would all be over. He breathed deeply, as if he could bottle you for later. Maybe his sheets would trap your scent. He really hoped they would. He could use another good night's sleep and having you at his side had always ensured that, but he could pretend as long as his pillow still smelled like you.

With his lips still roaming over your brow, you stretched your legs and let out a breathy little noise that made his cock twitch and his stomach tense. He kept his eyes screwed shut, hoping you would assume he was half asleep and therefore unaware of his lips dragging across your face. He didn't want to lie to you again but his heart could only handle so much rejection.

He felt your eyes flutter open, your eyelashes tickling his neck and he really should have stopped kissing you at that point, but it felt like he was spiraling out of control. Like his body had enough of constantly being denied what it craved.

You paused for a moment, giving your brain a chance to catch up. Figuring out where you were and why you were there. Any second now, you would pull away. He kept bracing for it, his heart thundering in his chest now that it knew time was running out, that this feeling of bliss was about to end and it was scrambling to hold on to every split second.

Thinking it would be the last chance, he kissed the corner of your eye and then your cheek. There was no way he would be able to pretend he was still asleep now, but he didn't care. He was growing frantic, his need for you overwhelming, even if this was all he could get, it would have to sustain him until he could figure out how to earn back your trust.

His eyes flew open when your lips pressed wetly against his neck. He froze, his mouth hovering over your ear, waiting to see what you would do next.

Then you did it again. Only this time, you sucked on a bit of his skin, leaving the beginnings of a red mark he would cherish for days.

Before you could blink, he rolled over, his body caging you in underneath him as he examined you with wide and hopeful eyes. You gazed up at him, your breath shallow and your lips parted as your eyes roamed over his face, taking in every freckle and every wrinkle up close. His beard was getting grayer in spots you hadn't noticed before, somehow adding to his appeal. His lips looked dry from the cold but his eyes looked bright and clear and the way the sun was beaming in through the window behind him, his messy curls sticking up every which way made it look like he was wearing a halo.

With a shaky hand, you reached up to thread your fingers through his hair. It was so much softer than you expected. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your touch. You watched his throat work as he swallowed nervously and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to taste the skin there again, so you did. Leaning up, your lips suckled at the spot between his jaw and neck, his pulse strong and fast under your tongue. A reminder that he was alive and healthy and finally back home. Your nails raked against his scalp and you sucked at his skin a little harder, a little more urgently, a little more desperately and then he was the first to break.

He whimpered.

He fucking whimpered and that was all it took for you to maneuver slightly under him and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him close.

Fuck. He was hard. You felt it in the loose confines of his sweatpants, bobbing against your center when you pulled him down further and it set something on fire inside of you.

You brought your other hand up to get lost in his hair, giving it a tug to pull his head back just a bit so you could angle your mouth over his and you latched onto him hungrily, the contact sending a jolt through your entire body. He slipped his tongue past your teeth and finally allowed himself to touch you, hand cupping your jaw at first, then dropping to grip your ass under the sheets before sliding up your shirt, rough fingers skating up your stomach, then brushing over your tightened nipples, drawing out a sweet little moan which he swallowed down eagerly.

He flattened his hand over your heart, leaving it there as he licked into your mouth, both your jaws pried open as far as they could go, as if you were trying to swallow the other whole. He could feel your heart pounding through your chest, like it was trying to break free and jump into his palm. Like it was saying here, take me, I'm yours. And if you were to untangle your hands from his hair and place one over his own racing heart, he had no doubt you would hear what it was screaming in his chest.

I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much, I'm so sorry, please forgive me.

And of course you forgave him. He was in just as much pain as you. Both of you had been mourning the same person without even realizing it.

And none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not in that moment, anyway. The two of you tangled together, the early morning glow from the sun washing over you, wrapping you up safe and sound in each other's arms.

You dropped your hands, abandoning his hair, nails dragging over his broad shoulders and leaving little red trails in their wake. His own hand slid down from your chest to grab your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him, forcing you to feel how hard he was for you. All for you.

His facial hair burned your chin but you didn't mind. In fact, it felt good. You chased the feeling, pushing your mouth even harder against him, wanting to make sure you would feel that burn for the rest of the day.

Then you heard a knock on the front door.

Joel didn't react.

Either too lost in the moment or unwilling to allow it to end. Your hands drifted lower, over his relatively smooth chest and over his ribs, your fingertips dancing over each one like piano keys, careful to avoid his wound.

Another knock, louder now, made you pause. Breaking free and turning your head slightly to the side to open your eyes, you tried to listen, but Joel's mouth just slid down your jaw, nipping playfully as he went before biting gently on your earlobe. You gasped softly, momentarily forgetting about the door, your back arching underneath him. His tongue flattened against the hollow of your exposed throat, his exhale tickled your skin and caused a wave of goosebumps to emerge and he smirked, tongue still lavishing your neck as his fingers dug harder into your hip, like he was afraid to let you go.

Now you heard the front door unlock and carelessly swing open, but Joel still didn't stop.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice raspy from disuse. He only hummed in response, then his mouth latched onto your clothed breast, his tongue flicking against the thin material and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out because you heard Ellie's voice now, along with Tommy's, making their way up the stairs.

"Joel!" you said, firmer this time and pushing him back. His dark eyes snapped up to yours, his parted lips wet and swollen as he gasped for air. Thankfully, it sounded like they had tried the master bedroom first. You heard Tommy's heavy steps enter your bathroom before walking back out into the hall and it finally clicked with Joel that you were no longer alone.

"Fuck," he muttered right before the door swung open. He dropped his upper body to cover yours best he could, protecting your modesty even though you were still fully clothed.

"Shit! Sorry!" Tommy exclaimed, backing out of the room. You squeezed your eyes shut as embarrassment flooded your veins, tucking your face into Joel's neck to hide.

"What-" you heard Ellie say from the hall, then the door slammed shut, leaving just you and Joel. The two of you stayed frozen, his body still pinning yours into the mattress under the covers, legs still wrapped around his waist as you listened to Tommy and Ellie's hushed voices trail down the stairs.

"Fuck," he sighed again, dropping his head against your shoulder.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as the both of you slowly regained your senses. Your hands drifted lightly over his back as he nuzzled into your neck, and you were perfectly content to remain just like that, but unfortunately he pushed himself up on his elbows with a sigh.

"I should go see what he wants," he murmured, giving you a heated look that told you talking to his brother was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Okay," you squeaked, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something else but decided against it and instead sat up with a grunt. You pulled the covers back over you, the cool morning air prickling your skin now that you didn't have his body heat to keep you warm, and watched as he fumbled around the room for a discarded shirt. When his back was turned, he tried to subtly tuck his throbbing cock into his waistband, but you noticed and bit back a grin. Secretly, you were grateful for the interruption. As much as you wanted him, you needed to take things slow.

He walked down the stairs, his pace slower than usual as he favored his side with the wound. When his eyes met Tommy's in the kitchen, he saw the flash of guilt across his face for interrupting what was shaping up to be a really good fucking morning.

"Sorry," he said again, glancing quickly at the back of Ellie's head as she rummaged through the pantry for something to eat, completely oblivious to what they almost walked in on. "The kid let me in."

"Yeah, I got that," Joel grumbled as he made his way to the coffee maker and flipped the switch.

"Hey Joel, can I take this?" Ellie held up a box of granola bars and he nodded. She ripped into one and practically shoved half of it into her mouth. "How's it feel to be back home?" she asked with a mouthful of sticky oats. Joel made a disgusted face at the visual and she smirked at his reaction.

"Good," was all he said, turning away before the heat crept up his neck. It felt really fucking good to be home. "So what's goin' on?" he asked Tommy, who was leaning up against the kitchen sink.

"Couple of guys found some tracks this mornin'," Tommy began, and the hairs on the back of Joel's neck stood up.

"Tracks?" you questioned as you appeared in the doorway in a fresh set of clothes. Joel tried not to let his gaze linger on you, noting with a sick sense of pride that your neck still looked a little pink from his mouth, but it was hard. He should have just stayed in bed with you.

"Doesn't look like a big group," he said as Joel's face fell. "It ain't your fault-"

"They followed me here, Tommy," Joel rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"We'll handle it," Tommy replied calmly while you and Ellie sat down silently at the table to listen. "Shit was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Goddamnit," Joel growled angrily under his breath. "I shoulda been more careful. Stupid fuckin'-"

"Joel, you were passed out on the back of a horse," Tommy reasoned, "it's a miracle you even made it back at all. The tracks were a few miles south, I'm gonna get a group together later this mornin' and see what we can find."

"I'll go with you," he said but before Tommy could respond, you piped up.

"No, you're not."

Joel twisted around, taking in the alarmed look on your face. He held your gaze for a moment, your eyes pleading with him. Please don't. I just got you back. He immediately caved.

"Okay," he agreed, and you visibly relaxed with a smile. You desperately wanted to go to him, pull him close and thank him for listening to you, but your audience held you back.

Ellie glanced between the two of you with a knowing grin, finally sensing the change in the room.

"I wasn't lookin' for volunteers, anyway," Tommy said, breaking the heavy silence and pushing off the counter. "Just comin' by to tell you what's goin' on. We're headin' out in an hour, I'll stop by later and let you know what we find."

The coffee maker beeped and Joel grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. "Be careful out there," he told his brother as Tommy slid on his boots and swung open the door. "Don't do anythin' stupid."

"That's rich, comin' from you," he replied with a chuckle and Ellie snorted. Joel shot him a glare before he left, pouring coffee into each of your mugs. He took a grateful sip before bringing yours to the table and sat down. The both of you sipped your coffees in silence, eyes glued to the table while trying to ignore the obvious tension building. Ellie began to connect the dots and stood up.

"I should get going," she announced.

"You don't have to-"

"Stay and warm up a bit-"

She cut you both off. "I got shit to do. Homework and all that," she said, lying through her teeth as she headed for her boots. "Don't worry, I'll lock it behind me," she teased, slipping out the front door while your cheeks burned hot with embarrassment.

"Jesus," you muttered and Joel had to hold back a laugh. He stared down at his coffee, the mug now half filled with the dark, steaming liquid as he struggled to come up with something to say. There was so much he didn't even know where to start.

"Oh! Your meds!" you exclaimed, jumping up from your chair to retrieve the little orange pills Nick gave you the night before. "He said you need to take these with food. Let me make you something," you told him while you shuffled around pots and pans, looking for anything to keep yourself busy.

He sat back in his chair and watched you move around the kitchen with ease. Pulling oatmeal out of the pantry, measuring it out, boiling the pot with water.

You looked nervous. The thought made him smile. He made you nervous.

Right as you turned the burner off and grabbed a bowl you felt his hands circle your hips. You sighed and couldn't resist melting against him, closing your eyes for a moment and resting the back of your head against his shoulder while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Thank you," he whispered while pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear.

"It's just oatmeal," you whispered back. He swallowed and shook his head before planting another kiss in the same spot.

"No, it's not."

You knew what he was trying to say and it made your heart swell. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for giving me a chance. Thank you for staying. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"You're welcome," you replied, your voice wavering a bit as you turned around in his arms. You laced your fingers together behind his neck and gazed up at him, examining every wrinkle and scar, fighting the urge to kiss each and every one.

"I love you," he said softly while his thumbs tucked underneath the hem of your shirt, searching for any bit of your soft skin he could find. "I know you can't say it back yet and that's okay. I just really needed to tell you."

You blinked back your tears and nodded, pulling him down to your level and slotting your lips together once again. He sighed as his shoulders relaxed and for the first time everything just felt right so you tentatively flicked your tongue over his lower lip. You felt him smile before he allowed you to deepen the kiss, your tongue slowly and deeply massaging his as he pulled your body closer, pressing you firmly against him.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest when you raked your fingers through his hair, your knees practically buckling at the sound. He walked you backwards until you felt the counter pressing against your back, his kisses growing hungrier and his fingers gripping your hips tighter.

"Your food's getting cold," you mumbled, turning your face towards the oatmeal cooling on the stove.

"Don't care," he said, his lips grazing over your throat. He missed you so much and now that he finally had you, he couldn't get enough. When he dropped to his knees, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans and his mouth ghosting over the apex of your thighs, you gasped and grabbed his hair, stopping him.

"I-I'm not ready for all that yet," you admitted as the warmth of embarrassment flooded your cheeks and chest. "I'm sorry, I know you've been waiting for so long-"

"Shh, it's okay," he said sincerely, then stood back up with a grunt. He cupped your face and gave you a gentle kiss. "I can wait. I'll wait forever, I don't care," he still cradled your jaw as he nuzzled his nose alongside yours.

"This is all I ever want, anyway," he whispered, and you smiled.

It was the first day of your fresh start.

Nick had offered you time off to care for Joel but it quickly became apparent as the day went on that he was doing far better than any of you expected.

He only had a little trouble going up the stairs so the two of you spent the rest of the day in the living room. You had thought he was going to try and nap so you busied yourself with a book, his head resting in your lap as your fingers absentmindedly carded through his curls while you read on the couch, the fire crackling next to you. It wasn't until you lifted your hand to flip a page when you noticed his eyes on you and you grinned.

"I thought you were going to try and sleep?"

"Not very tired," he replied, gently reaching up for your wrist and putting your hand back in his hair. "Feels real nice," he explained. You put your book face down, the spine spread open to hold your place, and began playing with his hair again.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

"Did you go to my parents' house?"

Shit. In all the chaos since arriving back in Jackson he never had a chance to tell you.

"Yes," he said, staring up at you from your lap, watching as the shadow from the flames danced across your face.

"Is that where it happened?" you asked, your eyes traveling to the side where he was stabbed. He nodded and you sniffled, dropping your gaze to the floor. "I thought so. Because of the pills," you said quietly, "my name was on the bottle."

"I know," he replied, watching as your eyes clouded with guilt. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me," you said, lower lip trembling. "If I hadn't been so immature we could've talked about it but instead I pushed you away and you almost died trying to prove a point-"

"Hey," he cut you off and sat up next to you, "it's not your fault, don't you dare think that, alright?" He cupped your face but you still refused to meet his eye. "I fucked up. It was on me, okay? I fucked up with Angie and I fucked up out there."

"You could've died," you said, two tears trickling down your cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs.

"But I didn't."

You took in a shaky breath and finally looked at him. "Don't do something like that ever again," you told him, an undercurrent of anger in your voice, and he smirked.

"Yes, ma'am."

He dropped his hold on your face and leaned back, stretching his arm across the top of the couch. "Can't deny it got results, though," he teased after a moment and you shot him a glare but he could see you biting back a smile. You picked up your book, leaning into his shoulder just a bit as you continued to read and he stared into the fire, his mind still reeling to catch up with how fast things changed. It felt like a dream.

"What did you go there for, anyway?"

Joel rolled his eyes. "It sounds so stupid now."

You put your book back down and twisted to face him. "I'm sure it's not."

With a groan, Joel pushed himself up from the couch and began to rummage through his backpack, which remained idle next to the door since the day before. You tucked your legs underneath you and watched curiously.

When he pulled out a familiar looking binder, a faded beige color with a black trim, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

"I wanted to give you somethin' that you would recognize. Somethin' that felt like home," he began, holding it out to you. "Maybe bring you some comfort or... I don't know. Like I said, it sounds stupid now."

"No," you whispered as you carefully took the album from his hands. "Not stupid, Joel." You pursed your lips as you stared at the cover, your fingertips gently skirting over the fabric. Your family was right in your lap. So many wonderful memories... right fucking there.

The tears welled up without warning and began to pour down your cheeks.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Yeah," you said, laughing through the tears. "You... you gave me my family back, Joel. How-" your voice cracked and you averted your gaze, doing your best to compose yourself but you knew it was no use. "How could you think this was stupid? This is everything to me."

He gave you a shy smile and shrugged. "Then it was worth it."

He had been listening to you for the better part of an hour as you walked him through each photo in the album and his only regret was he wasn't able to stay long enough in California to find more pictures. He loved hearing you talk about your family, about your childhood, about everything you loved. The look on your face and the tone of your voice was all he ever wanted. You were so fucking happy, so content and at ease that he knew without a doubt if he had to go through it all over again, he would do it in a heartbeat.

"Oh my god, so this was taken the day Matty tried to teach me to surf," you said with a giggle, dragging his eyes from your face to a picture of you and your brother on the beach in wetsuits. "He had learned in college because he went to school on the coast. I told you that, right?"

"Yep," he said with a warm smile.

"Anyway, it went as well as you could imagine. I have no coordination whatsoever. I fell, like, every single time, no matter how small the wave... Oh! This must have been his graduation," you said, pointing to the next photo of the four of you all dressed up in front of a regal looking building. "He was so smart, Joel. He was going to be a chemist. Who does that? Who majors in Chemistry? I absolutely hated chem," you said with a shake of your head. Your eyes hadn't stopped shining since you opened the album and the smile never left your face. Your gaze softened and you quieted down as you stared down lovingly at the pictures, your fingers tracing over them delicately. Occasionally you would tell him a story and other times you would grow quiet and thoughtful. He sat by your side and just listened, letting you work through your feelings and memories at your own pace.

"I miss them so much," you eventually said softly.

"I know," he replied, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

"Thank you, Joel," you said, voice thick with emotion when you turned to look at him. Your eyes were wide and wet with unshed tears, and he saw your throat bob when you swallowed tightly. "This means so much to me, I don't know how to put it into words."

"You're welcome, baby," he told you. He pinched your chin and leaned in to kiss you when a sharp knock sounded from the door.

He stood with a frustrated huff and you hid your smile, setting the photo album down on the sofa next to you.

"Hey, come in," Joel said once he opened the door. Tommy stepped through and shrugged off his coat, locking eyes and giving you a nod. "What'd you find?"

"There were only four. Two of 'em were half frozen and the other two didn't have much fight in 'em."

You made a face and looked away as Joel led Tommy into the kitchen.

"Who were they?" Joel asked, and you heard the telltale sound of liquid pouring from a bottle. You stood and made your way towards the kitchen.

"Don't know," Tommy admitted, tossing back the whiskey. Joel gave him a refill right as you were entering the room. "We questioned the two that were conscious but they didn't give us much. Said they were alone. Said they were part of a bigger group that got picked off."

"The men I killed?" Joel asked, brow furrowed as he took a sip of whiskey.

"They didn't say, but they did tell us a few of their guys were out scavenging and never made it back, so maybe."

Joel nodded and you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

"You think they were tellin' the truth? That there ain't any more of 'em?"

Tommy shrugged. "Didn't have reason to think otherwise. We scoured the area. Couldn't find any other tracks-"

"But the snow coulda covered it up," Joel offered anxiously. He scratched his chin, staring blankly at the floor while the gears turned in his head. "They probably followed the horse tracks and when the snow got to be too much, they lost their way. They were comin' for me, Tommy."

For some reason it never occurred to you that those men were looking for revenge. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Or they were just lookin' for someplace warm. You don't know, Joel. Besides, it don't matter now. It's dealt with."

Joel didn't look convinced but he kept his mouth shut, for your sake. He could tell he was worrying you and he had already put you through enough as it was.

"Listen, I oughta get back to Maria. I'm sure she's got her hands full," Tommy said after a brief silence. He handed Joel his empty glass and shot you a look. "Don't worry, sugar. We got this under control."

You gave him a tight smile and moved out of his way so he could gather his things.

"Thank you," you told him quietly while Joel rinsed out their glasses.

His eyes flicked up to yours as he laced up his boots. "Don't mention it. Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen, I promise."

You wished his words brought you some comfort but you couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of your head.

"C'mon. Why don't you show me more pictures," Joel urged once Tommy was on his way. It was clear he was trying to get your mind off things.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna go to bed," you told him. He was in the middle of picking up your photo album when he paused and glanced up. His eyes scanned your face, clocking the anxiety you were trying to hide. He could tell you still felt responsible, even though he had insisted what happened wasn't your fault, and now the raiders following him back into the mountains just made matters worse.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice sounding more confident as you tried to shrug off the bad feeling Tommy left. Your eyes flickered to his awkwardly. "Do you... need help getting up the stairs?"

He frowned and shook his head, too lost in his own head to pick up on what you were too nervous to really ask. "I'll be alright. Go get some rest, I'm gonna stay up for a bit."

After you went to bed, he tried to distract himself from the possibility he put the entire town, but more importantly, you, at risk. He poured another glass of whiskey and picked up a book, but he found himself rereading the same paragraph over and over for half an hour.

What a stupid fucking thing to do. He pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking himself for being so careless. Maybe he could convince you tomorrow to let him go out with Tommy. He trusted his brother, but he knew he would feel better if he explored the area himself. He knew he had to be careful. He made so much progress with you, he couldn't risk fucking that up, either, and based on the way you looked at him earlier, it was clear the prospect of him leaving Jackson again so soon scared you.

Warmth bloomed in his chest and the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. The idea of you scared didn't please him, but scared for him? Well, that was different.

The way he woke up that morning still felt like a dream. Your arms wrapped around him, your face nuzzled into his shoulder, your scent invading his senses. It felt strange for a split second until his memories came flooding back from a time when he woke up like that every single day and he foolishly wondered if you had finally remembered. Once you opened your eyes he knew instantly you hadn't, but somehow he was even more excited that someone as perfect as you found your way into his bed twice.

Bed.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes before tossing back the rest of his whiskey. He was procrastinating now, tending to the fire one last time before dragging himself back to his empty bed. How was he going to sleep when he knew you were right in the next room? God, what he wouldn't give to curl up in bed with you.

He froze, the poker hovering in the air halfway towards the fire as he thought back to your words when you went to bed, now hours ago.

Do you need help getting up the stairs?

You sounded a little strange but at the time he just chalked it up to Tommy's news about the raiders. When you asked if he needed help, were you trying to get him to come up and sleep with you?

"Oh, you fuckin' idiot," he growled to himself under his breath before slotting the poker back in the stand. Was it too late?

He crept quietly up the steps, hoping to see your light on under your door but unfortunately, your room was dark. Shit.

Changing into his sweatpants, he mentally chastised himself for being so goddamn thick and missing his opportunity to go to bed with you. After he washed up, he paced around his room, anxiously chewing his nail and wondering what he should do. Should he just go to sleep? Should he slip into your bed the way you did the night before? Would you be upset if he did?

Just when he thought he was about to wear a hole into the thin carpet he heard a light tapping on his bedroom door. He froze and held his breath, wondering if he imagined it until he heard it again.

He rushed to the door and whipped it open where he found you standing in the hallway wearing a thin T-shirt and sweatpants of your own. You didn't look like you had just woken up, your eyes didn't look like they were clouded with sleep. You were waiting for him.

Your gaze darted quickly over his bare chest, like you were trying not to look but couldn't help yourself. His cock twitched, excited by the notion that you could be fighting your own arousal, same as him.

"Can I stay with you?" you asked, your voice impossibly small and fuck, his heart squeezed in his chest at how sweet you were in that moment.

"Yeah," he breathed, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. He widened the door and stepped aside, watching as you slipped past him and curled up underneath his sheets.

Neither of you said a word. He just flicked off the light and slid into bed beside you, turning onto his side and pulling you against him. His face nuzzled the back of your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist and he heard you sigh. He held you close and with tears in his eyes whispered how sorry he was, how he would never hurt you again, how he was weak and stupid and he loved you so much.

You didn't say much in return. Just the occasional nod or sniffle or squeeze of his hand in acknowledgement.

All of the stress and anguish from the past several months were the furthest things from both your minds as you fell asleep that night, each of you finally assured that everything was going to be okay.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #ikwya fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou

540 notes · View notes

scientistservant · 3 days

Note

I'm sorry for sending in another ask 🙈 But I need to know your opinion, as I haven't had a chance to read it. Sooooooo, why is Long Live The Pumpkin Queen, bad? Did they fuck up the doc and Sally that badly? Like are we talking about Love Never Dies level of shitty? (musical sequel to Phantom of the opera that most of us fans loathe.)

Oh boy, okay

This is gonna be long, please bare with me 😭

So the book completely changes/“fixes” Sally’s origins. She wasn’t a creation, or never even FROM Halloween Town.

She’s a special princess of dolls from “Dream Town” and has parents who are also dolls. She was kidnapped from her bedroom when she was like 12 by Finkelstein.

This is fucking bullshit.

How she even physically ages or how dolls can even conceive is never brought up or explained. Nor is how Fink even kidnapped her in the first place. The book and author just expects you to accept this new canon, which conveniently comes out like three decades after the source material.

Because the book is in first person and in Sally’s point of view we NEVER hear any perspective or proper explanation from Fink or any other character about anything.

Fink is just reduced to a one-dimensional villain who kidnapped Sally all because he apparently can’t create life or bring things back to life via science. You know… HIS FUCKING JOB.

He despises that Jack and Sally get married, despite that Fink would be ecstatic at this (Sally’s his creation and Jack one of his very old friends.)

Sally is also reduced to a one-dimensional protagonist who never questions anything and every third word from her mouth/brain is either “sad”, “ragdoll”, or “stitches/seams”.

She just believes these two doll people who she’s never met before, and doesn’t bother to leave “Dream Town” to ask the elderly scientist she’s known for her entire existence about this (not to mention everyone in the entire world including the holiday realms are dead asleep at this point at this part in the book anyway…)

Oh yeah, the book has a main villain too, surprisingly. It’s not Fink, even though the book certainly treats him like it.

It’s the fake ruler of “Dream Town”, Sandman, who’s actually kind of cool and creepy. But his reasoning for his villainy is bullshit, just like everything else in this damn book.

He’s just tired.

Yeah.

The Sandman is tired because he can’t sleep and his sand doesn’t work on him so he can’t get to sleep. You’d think a being as powerful and seemingly dangerous as this guy wouldn’t need sleep, but apparently he does. He’s cranky and needs a nap with his blanky, boo-fucking-hoo.

The ONLY thing I actually sort of enjoyed in the book was the bit where Sandman was stalking Halloween Town, putting everyone to sleep, and Sally was hiding from him. That was actually kind of suspenseful and I wish Sandman was that threatening throughout.

And does Sandman get any punishment for taking over “Dream Town” and putting everyone in an eternal sleep?

Nope. But FINK gets punished! Firstly, Jack completely believes these two random doll creatures he has never met before and that say they’re Sally’s parents. He yells at Fink, without asking his dear old friend if any of this is even true. And then Fink gets 100 years of prison and community service, which is stupid because why the fuck would Holiday realm laws, much less HALLOWEEN TOWN laws, function the same as the real world’s?

Speaking of which, apparently Halloween Town’s an actual monarchy, and the Pumpkin King isn’t just a cool title for the face/mascot/figurehead of the realm. The book even lampshades this, but doesn’t take this anywhere further aside from Sally complaining she has to wear a crown and Jack doesn’t.

This whole book is stupid and I will never accept it as canon, ever.

What sucks about this is that I fucking PREORDERED the book! I thought it was gonna be a story about how and why Sally was created, and get some backstory/lore for Fink, as well as explanation of why his relationship with his creation got so bad. Maybe a little extra plot of how Sally and Jack met.

But it didn’t. I fucking cried. This book made me cry my fucking eyes out, out of anger and betrayal because my favourite character and his creation/daughter was butchered.

After reading the whole thing I threw the book in a little library and never looked back.

I’m still working on a complete and total rewrite/fix-it-fic, it’s just gotten put on the back-burner because of other projects I’m currently working/fixated on. Apologies for that. But I promise it won’t be forgotten!

EDIT: Oh yeah, and the Holiday rulers have a meeting about climate change. Because Holidays have super importance with the weather or some shit. I’m not fucking kidding.

EDIT 2: The author is also a New York Times best-seller which is already pretty suspicious since that is basically a huge scam. The book has hundreds of 4-5 star reviews that don't even really get into the specifics of WHY it's good. They're all either extreme Jack x Sally fans (the book starts off with them getting married and Sally's main dilemma is worrying about being "a good enough queen") that like anything tnbc/Jally related OR a bunch of people were paid to give this book glowing reviews.

#the nightmare before christmas #tnbc #long live the pumpkin queen #sally finkelstein #sally skellington #dr. finkelstein

17 notes · View notes

tojipie · 6 months

Text

toji x crybaby reader <3

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut under the cut !

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji is a flawed man.

short-tempered, married to his money, slow to show affection. but the one thing he does excel at is comforting you.

he knows you’re a sensitive girl, knows just how easy it is for you to get teary-eyed and red in the face over comments that otherwise seem like nothing to the untrained ear.

you have a kind heart is all, too giving to a world that only knows how to take. he tells you that every time you break down in his arms, thick hands rubbing circles into the small of your back.

his father would have slapped him across the face for crying. called him soft, whiney like a girl. put him to work for the rest of the day to shape him into a man.

he wasn’t his father though, and you weren’t a zenin.

you were soft in the best way, tender-hearted and too trusting. a daisy among weeds, swaying idly in the too-strong wind. nothing like a zenin, nothing like him.

he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do the first time he’d seen you get upset, standing there in the kitchen like a fool while you babbled on the phone with his bank.

it was a fraudulent charge, small, maybe only 10 dollars. probably dropped his card while paying for gas again, not the end of the world. the customer service rep assured you that much.

it was the principal, you sobbed. you’d lost his card and hadn’t even noticed. why wasn’t he upset with you?

he doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell you it was okay. that he didn’t have it in him to ever be cross with you, be it a ten-dollar charge or a thousand-dollar charge.

instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling your body flush with his to press soft kisses to the crown of your head.

you were warm there, warm everywhere really. the thrum of your blood heating your skin from the inside out. toji liked that about you, how you offset the perpetual cold of his much larger hands.

physical touch was something he knew well. toji wasn’t—still isn’t good with words, opting to stay silent and just hold you while you sniffled into the receiver. he got the message across, he always does.

his methods are unorthodox for that very reason. he doesn’t comfort you with his tone, he does it with his body. whether it be thick arms squeezing you until you get your breathing under control, large hands tracing shapes into your tummy until you stop spluttering, or toned legs splaying wide to let you crawl into his lap, resting on him until your bodies reach the same temperature.

toji fucks you on your good days, likes to tease you, get you squirming. the key difference is that he makes sweet love to you on your bad ones. holding you flush to his chest while he rocks into you under the safety of your shared blankets.

you feel like a furnace under him every time, heat radiating off your body and into the deeper parts of his soul.

he gets mouthy once the feeling of you wrapped around him flicks that little switch in his brain. turning off the mental barrier between him and his inability to use his words.

“sweet girl,” is what he calls you, eyes never leaving yours.

“gotta stay close to me, gotta keep you safe, huh?”

and keep you safe he does, tucking your face into the curve of his neck so you don’t have to look anywhere but him. letting you moan, and pant, and sigh into his skin while he rocks against that special spot situated deep in your core.

he goes harder when you ask him to. not faster, but harder—he knows the difference, letting the resistance in his hips subside so he can sink to the hilt over and over.

the juxtaposition makes his head spin. how do you manage to sound so sweet while asking for something like that? able to melt his heart even on the brink of orgasm.

you kiss him when he fills you up, letting him sink on top of you with a huff and a shy laugh. he listens as you open up about the good parts of your day, his soft hums of agreement spurring you on.

toji wishes he was taught to articulate himself better. he’s trying, he really is. though the “i love you” he says into your skin seems like his best shot at a start.

8K notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 10 months

Text

miguel can’t help it when you’re wearing his clothes

summary: miguel o’hara x f!reader

warning: 18+ stuff but not too overboard

miguel is trying really hard to concentrate. he really is.

being a superhero and the leader of spider society is not an easy task. sometimes he’d go days without sleeping. you can either find him at his office or the gym doing his daily workouts because that’s the only place he can take his stress out.

days of scanning over reports and the hours he put in to enhance the new spiderman suit should not go to waste. his eyes are tracking back and forth to the amount of papers scatter all over the table. not to mention a kid he has to take care of named ‘miles morales’ added to his list is almost enough to make his brain explode.

but how could he focus on his work when you’re standing five feet away from him? fixing yourself up a small snack in the kitchen with nothing but his t-shirt and his boxers.

his greedy eyes running through your body shamelessly, finding himself getting lost in his thoughts and he has to snap himself out of it a few times otherwise he won’t be able to finish off all the reports that must be done that night.

yet, he can’t help but admire the way your curves are accentuated by his shorts. how your thick thighs and plump ass filling them in instead of it being too big on you. the way your soft cheeks are slightly peeking underneath the grey cotton material,

he grunts a low ‘fuck me’ when he sees you bending over to put the cookies in the oven. are you doing this on purpose?

had enough of the distraction you’re giving, he slams a folder down and turns his attention on you. “mi vida, can you please don’t stand like that?”

“huh?” you cock an eyebrow, confused to what makes this grumpy man scolding you at this hour. “what’d i do?” you crane your neck to look over at him, with a frown look on his handsome features.

“you! ay dios mio you’re making me hard to focus here! i have so much work to do and you’re being a distraction.”

licking off a cookie dough off your finger, you put your hands on your hips. “how am i being distracting?! I’m literally just standing here making cookies!”

“you know what it does to me when you’re wearing my clothes, mami. I can’t control it. please please stand at least ten feet away.”

“oh?” your voice sounds playful. a small smirk graces upon your lips as you tip toe around the counter to get closer to him.

he knows what you’re up to.

shaking his head in disapproval, he put his large hand up and looking away. “para por favor, cariño. i know what you’re about to do and i cannot afford any distractions right now. stay right where you are.”

“hmm, no.” you giggle, walking towards where he is and you can hear him groan slightly. “whatchu doooing?”

he smiles a bit at that. no matter what you do, he can’t get mad at you. it feels like you put a spell on him or something, he can’t work it out. but he doesn’t complain at all.

he’d break jaws and tear down the fucking universe for you.

he admires the way your thighs rub against each other when you walk, jiggling slightly before you manage to sit yourself comfortably beside him. tucking your legs underneath your butt and make your legs look even thicker

miguel lean himself back a little while his fingers go up against your cheek, grazing it ever so softly. his smile grows when you peck him on the lips.

“how you doing, papi?” you ask, removing a strand of hair from his forehead. “are you feeling okay? you’ve been working far too hard lately, I’m worried.”

he sighs in pure bliss when you run your fingers softly underneath his scalp. feeling himself melt away against your touch.

“always better when you’re around me, mi amor. but you know you can’t be wearing that anymore when I’m working.”

he has to hold back the urge to pick you up and fuck you against the wall when you pout at him.

“you like seeing me in your clothes”

“que sí, baby. but your ass is distracting me far too much in that when I’m working, you know how i get when i see you wearing my boxers. I can’t contain it.” he responds, large hand coming up to rub your exposed thigh, finger toying with the loose hem of his shorts,

“theeen, maybe it’s a sign you should take a break” you suggest, tilting your head lightly. “come play with me, miggy,”

he swears he almost cum right there and then when you say it.

“i will, baby. i promise. but i gotta finish this first, yeah?” his eyes bore into yours as he promises. he wants so badly to leave his work but he knows he can’t. not right now.

with a small huff, you nod. “fine. I’ll wait.”

“good girl.” he leans forward to kiss you again on the lips. “just a few more minutes, yeah?”

“yeah yeah.” you say, “don’t forget to eat. please don’t skip it this time. dinner is on the table, I’ve prepared it for you. also there’s some leftover brownies for dessert if you want it, papi.”

“what do you mean? I’m looking at my full course meal right now, cariño.”

you roll your eyes playfully, blushing a bit as you smile at him. he’s giving you that infamous smirk of his with his eyebrow raising. showing you he’s not playing when he says that,

“aish. such a sweet talker you are. be quick baby” you shake your head, standing up from the couch before heading to the bedroom with your fingers fixing down his shorts to cover it more. your ass moves from side to side as he watches.

god, he fucking loves to see you walk away.

a/n: i will give him kids enough to create a football team

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara blurbs

9K notes · View notes

luveline · 6 months

Note

spencer one shot where he’s angry at somebody else [bc he so does look so kissable when he’s angry >:(] maybe someone at one of the precincts they’re working at said something rude about r and he defends u and maybe he gets a lil kiss <3

im thinking “this is calm and it’s doctor” vibes bc that scene does things to me 😭

ty for requesting ♡ fem, 1.1k

cw for sexual harassment

"Jesus," Spencer says, rushing to stand behind you as you bend over.

"Mm?" you hum. You're fishing for your dropped change unsuccessfully by the precinct vending machines. "They have your chips, did you see?"

"Your pants are ripped," Spencer says, hand ghosting your thigh.

"What?" you ask, shooting up. You turn on the spot to hide, hand leaping back. You feel at the seam. "Where?"

"Top of your thigh."

"Shit, really? Can you see my–"

"Yeah," he says, meeting your wide eyes while you locate the rip. "How did you do that?" He laughs.

"Don't laugh!" you demand, though you're giggling as you do, hand covering your thigh and the bottom of your butt inefficiently.

"Do you want my jacket?"

"Don't cover it up, toots."

You and Spencer both blink. There's a crowd of grinning beat cops by the door of the cafeteria who've obviously witnessed your misdemeanour. "Toots?" Spencer asks.

"Sorry, boys, that's the end of the show," you say with a grin. Not because you particularly enjoy having been oggled, but it's always been like this. Men will always make weird comments to you, and you've learned to play nice until they're out of your jurisdiction.

"Turn back around," one says bravely, though you aren't sure which one.

Spencer stands in front of you subtly. "Do you know that thirty eight percent of women experience sexual harassment in the workplace?" he asks, quick but measured. "Thirty eight percent, but I'm sure a much smaller number of those women are federal agents, and a smaller number again have the capacity to break your arm. I've seen her give serial killers radial fractures. I've seen her do worse."

"We were just messing around," one says.

"No need to get defensive," says another. "Don't get mad, boy."

"I am defensive, but I'm not mad."

His tone attracts the attention of a precinct sergeant who barks at them to stop messing around and get back to work. "Were they bothering you?" he asks after they've filtered out with their heads down.

"No," you say swiftly. "Everything's fine."

Spencer frowns, worse when the sergeant leaves, turning to you to take your hand. A few weeks ago at a company picnic, when the sun was high and your spirits comparatively lower, you'd apologised to him for flirting. You love to flirt and especially with him, puppy eyed Spencer with his head of brown hair and his big brain, but some of the team suggested you were taking it too far. You apologised, but Spencer didn't really get what you were saying sorry for and took your hand to lead you out of the sun. He protects you.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" His voice fries.

"I'm sure," you say. His hand is an interesting thing on yours. He has long, long fingers that seem to possess their own willpower, moving even as they're sewn through yours. "I don't know what to do about my pants."

Spencer's eyebrows pinch together. "Well, I'll take care of that. I'll find you something. I can't believe those as–"

"Oh," you interrupt, taking your hand back in want of a better thing to hold, his cheek a mix of soft and scratchy against your palm. "You're still mad."

"I'm not mad," he insists, though eventually he relents, "Alright, I'm angry that they'd think it was okay to objectify you."

"What else?" you ask, letting your voice drop in pitch, the sound smooth as angora silk.

"I'm thinking about if I hadn't been here."

"I can protect myself," you murmur, endeared by the heat in his gaze. "You said it yourself, handsome. Radial fractures."

"You shouldn't have to."

"We both already know that," you say, the side of your hand slipping down his cheek reverently. He squints gently, his lashes dark triangles, his irises a browned sugar. His jaw clenches under your touch. "You're handsome."

"Right now?" he asks dryly.

"Are you handsome right now?"

"Are you really flirting with me right now?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You draw a line under his ear whisper soft to curl a longer strand of his hair around the tip. "You look hot when you're winning."

"What did I win?" he asks, like he doesn't want to know.

You grin at him, stickying. "Would you like an itemised list?" you ask, rising on tiptoes to speak into the shell of his ear. "What do you think you deserve, handsome? For such a fearless defence?"

He's not immune to your whims, but he is used to them, planting his hands on your shoulders to ease you back on sure footing. "I don't want anything. I'll always defend you."

"Can I give you a small token of my gratitude, at least?"

His pinking cheeks practically emanate heat. "We don't have time for this," he says regretfully, "I still have to find you a coverup."

"Just a small token," you say.

He hums and haws. "Alright. Okay, whatever you want."

"You sure?"

He nods once, his jaw working with something unsaid. You touch his neck, fingertips trailing along the underside of his jaw until you're sure it's what he wants before you brace your hands behind his head and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, close enough that the corner of his lips align with yours but don't overlap. His neck is hot in your hands, his hair soft, his breath hooking as you lift your lips just a touch and your nose digs into his cheek. "Thank you, Spencer," you whisper.

He pulls you closer.

You shudder as his hand presses into the small of your back, wondering what it is he wants to do. His fingers spread. Your thoughts turn to white noise. Like he can sense it, he breathes out and steps away, but any sense of urgency is gone.

"As much as I might tease, I really do need some pants," you say. "I'm not very interested in anyone else seeing my panties today."

He rushes off to find you something and you press the backs of your fingers to your cheeks, feeling the heat there with a resigned embarrassment. He has no idea how much power he has over you, in his stony anger and his eager reception. The phantom of his hand warms your back until he returns, his sweater in hand. "Sorry, this is it."

"If you want me to wear your clothes, just say so."

"Hotch is pretty pissed at us."

"Ah," you sigh, tying his sweater around your waist, "another day in paradise, baby."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

5K notes · View notes

eddiernunson · 13 days

Text

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist For I Can Do It With A Broken Heart:

@mopeymopeymouse @fracturedarkness @mmunson86 @capricornrisingsstuff @georgeweasleyslostearhq @gagasbee @birdysaturne @empathyroad @unsureofthe-future @remuslupingf @evacraft1 @eddiebanishedmunson @mewchiili @trixyvixx @take-everything-you-can @streamafterlaughter @tlclick73 @fhsbsvy @micheledawn1975 @munsonmecrazy @harrysgothicbitch @honeyedstar @sadangeltingz @ali-r3n @hereforshmut @cooljadejacksonthings @emma-munson @bl1ssfulbaby @costellation-hunter @mysticpeachobject @thisisktrying @idcandimscared @mel119g @them-cute-boys @bl0ssomanddie @baileebear @luahmeeks @shaybahs @ribbitribbitquack @stephanie-nicks76 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @kennedy-brooke @ezzynf @pretendthisnameisclever @padf00ts-l0ver @boinkybarness @maedesculpaeusoubi @skyfullofsong123 @cruwushes @cloudroomblog @yourdailymemedelivery @daisy-munson @wolfstarsimpxx @haruari

bold means it wouldnt let me tag you so I DM'd you in private to you know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

honey-on-your-tongue · 7 months

Text

Nsfw/smut

Part 1 here!!

You don't know how to work with Miguel. You can't meet his gaze, can't talk to him. How are you supposed to just keep going on with your life when you heard everything? When you took a peek and saw what he was doing while calling your name?

He was jerking off to you! How are you supposed to just keep going as if nothing were wrong?!

You can't stop thinking about it, the way he'd groaned, the thick breathing, the look on his gorgeous, gorgeous face...

You shake yourself out of it. You've got work to do. The spiderverse won't protect itself...

...Maybe just for a minute?

As the memories of Miguel rush through your mind, you can feel your body grow hot. You can't stop thinking about how he'd bitten his lower lip, or how big he is. Granted, Miguel is huge in every aspect, you were just curious about that last one. And now you know.

An uncomfortable little bubble of arousal grows between your thighs, your pussy pulsating with desire.

You glance around your small corner office. No security cameras, no one else around, door closed...

Miguel did it. Why can't you?

You slide your hands down your body, between your legs, tracing your middle finger against your clothed cunt. You add pressure on your clit, shuddering at the slight relief and pleasure that flows at the touch.

You spread your legs some, adding more strength, more need to each movement. Soon, you're sweating, panting, images of Miguel invading your brain.

You can hear his breathing, see his eyes shut tight, his fist around his enormous cock...

You touch yourself until you're close. So close. Your orgasm is right there, just a few seconds away—

A knock sounds on the door before it unexpectedly swings open.

You manage to pull your hand away at the last second. And there stands the man himself.

“Miguel!” you just about squeak, trying to keep your breathing regular.

He eyes you suspiciously. “You okay?” he asks. When you don't answer immediately, he glances around your office, searching for something.

You look flustered, nervous. You're sweating and he could hear you panting across the goddamn hall.

And then he smells it. The scent of your sweet, thick arousal.

He turns back to you, not a doubt in his mind about what you were doing. His eyes sharpen, grow dark. The tips of his fangs peek between his lips.

You find yourself pressing your thighs together involuntarily.

“What's going on?” he demands, voice thick and rough.

You swallow thickly. “N-nothing. Nothing's going on.”

His eyes grow impossibly darker. “No me mientas.” Don't lie to me.

“I'm not!” you insist.

He doesn't buy it. After a long, tense pause, he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Don't make this harder on yourself. I know what you were doing.” The firmness and unwavering belief in his voice lets you know he really does know.

“Well I-I know what you were doing,” you blurt. Your eyes widen and your cheeks blush when you realize what you've said.

He frowns, putting his hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

There's no taking it back now. “I saw you,” you say. “Yesterday afternoon. In your office. I saw you and I heard you.”

By the expression on his face, you know he's aware of what, exactly, you're talking about.

“Mierda,” he curses. You just kind of sit there, eyes on his. “Mierda.”

For some reason, you can't shut yourself up. “I...I heard you say my name,” you admit, blushing as if you had any reason to be embarrassed. Well, maybe you shouldn't have stayed and watched but...still, it's not your fault he's jerking off to you.

“La puta madre,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Fuck. I...I'm sorry—”

“It's okay—”

“I didn't mean—I didn't know you were listening, obviously—”

“Miguel, don't worry about it—”

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

You keep fucking talking. “If it makes you feel any better, I was thinking about you while I did it too.”

That shuts him up. He stares at you, blinking. “What?”

You feel the need to explain. You keep fucking it up. “I-I was thinking about you while I touched myself,” you tell him. “I...don't know if that makes you feel any better, but I thought you should know.”

He takes a few steps until he's standing in front of you. “Tienes idea de lo que te va a pasar?” Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you right now?

You shake your head, terror spreading through your veins. Are you...fired? Is he going to send you back to your universe? Is he going to ban you from the spider society?

“Bend over the desk,” he instructs, his voice low and quiet, sending a shudder up your spine.

That takes you by surprise. “W-what?” you stutter.

He picks you up and roughly bends you over the desk, pushing your chest against the wood and kicking your feet apart. “I only say things once. I don't like repeating myself. You won't get warnings with me.” His hand grips your hip roughly, squeezing it hard. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you whine.

He grins; you can hear his smirk. “Atta girl.”

-----

@yagirlheree @sukioyakio @obi-mom-kenobi @celestia80s @manlikemilesmyguy @zaunsin @naniiiii12 @everlastlady @avatar-lover @siidmm @dhollandhs @spikedhe4rt @missing2socks @itzraven101 @miguelspookiebear @mochikomochisoft @sunset-euphoria @kishibeswh0re @m4dyy @icreatedthisat317am @keiva1000 @jakescumdump @ravisinghs-wife @tengens4th--wife @oceancerulean @pookiesmookie69 @juwandiko @aisyakirmann @ninebluehearts @vampireluvvr @saturnstringz @4imhry @iheartlinds

-----

Blog masterlist

#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara smut

3K notes · View notes

leclsrc · 7 months

Text

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

3K notes · View notes

inkskinned · 2 months

Text

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

#warm up #writeblr

2K notes · View notes

scap34 · 13 days

Text

sugar baby!toji x rich! dom! mean! sadistic! manipulative! male! Younger! sugar daddy!reader

Turning your contract fuck buddy into your sugar baby <3

warnings: degrading, cussing, fingering, mild daddy kink, slight feminization, lingerie

Toji was getting too close to you.

Maybe it was how you fucked him. Your sadistic nature shining through when you edged him for hours and fucked him roughly after. Or the way you treated him.

Of course you did treat him like he was yours. But you also pampered him, petted his head, and sang praises into his ears until he came.

The more he was with you, the more spoiled and lazy he got. With you, all he had to think about was how to please you. Sometimes after you played with him for hours he’d forget everything, acting exactly like the brain dead cock whore you called him.

The money with you was stable. You paid him well, too well maybe. You also covered all his expenses when you were together. When he was with you, he had no worries.

But he couldn’t always be with you.

“I quit.” He said suddenly to you. You and him were sitting on the couch. The tv was on, playing one of those ridiculous horse races Toji liked to gamble on.

Your hands paused typing and you looked over at him. He looked back at you, seriously. His legs were up and he rested against the couch comfortably.

He was fond of the couch, you knew that. That’s why you’d brought a new couch. It was just for him and you would even work next to him to make sure he had company.

“You quit?” You repeated back confused. He nodded, uncharacteristically serious. You knew he could be serious but with you, his coldness fell away. You thought you were past this point already.

“Why?” You asked.

He shrugged. “I’m bored.” He wasn’t. You could tell. You could see it in the way his eyes flicked away guiltily. He drummed his finger against his thick thighs.

Cute. What a liar your baby was.

“Okay.” You said agreeing. He immediately looked at you surprised by your quick agreement. You forced your lips to not move, suppressing a smirk.

You nodded at him, copying his seriousness. “I understand. You can move out whenever you are ready. I’ll send the last check as soon as you leave.”

His mouth parted in surprise and the hurt in his eyes was hard to hide. It was adorable. He was the one who wanted to leave and yet he was hurt by your agreement?

He slumped a bit and nodded looking downcast. “Okay.”

Poor baby. You cooed in your head. You wanted to take him into your arms and kiss his head. You wanted to tell him that you never cared about him and see his reaction.

“Okay.” You echoed pleased. You turned back to your computer, fingers resuming work.

Toji wanted you to protest but you nonchalantly agreed to let him leave. He thought you’d put a bit of resistance against his decision. However despite your initial surprise you agreed so readily.

Despite wanting to leave, he couldn’t help but regret his decision.

Whatever. He would be fine. After all you were just a good fuck that paid him well. He was sure he’d find something else. …

“Who was that slut?” He demanded. You gave him an unimpressed look. Both of you could hear the note of pain in his voice.

It’s been days since he quit. Days since he’d seen you and now he finds you shopping for that slut with the black card you used on him? Did you move on that quick?

“He’s my sugar baby.” You replied calmly.

Sugar baby?

You smirked at his confusion. “Yeah, it’s like the contract between us, but instead of paying him, he lives with me, sleeps with me and I take care of all his needs.”

You what?

He immediately glared at you. “Why did you pick that slut?”

You moved closer to him. Inches away from him, he could smell your coconut shampoo. A dazed look crossed his eyes for a second. He missed your scent.

Your lips tugged into a smirk, immediately noticing his reaction. “I thought he was cute.”

Cute? He did look more feminine. Blond hair, soft features and doe eyes. Was he your type? Did you like that slut more than him?

“I thought he’d look really pretty dressed in lingerie.” You added thoughtfully, tapping a finger against your chin.

He almost regretted not killing the slut when he saw him. He should have. Torn his limbs off and asked you how pretty the slut looked then.

“No.”

“No, what Toji? This isn’t your decision.” You grinned cruelly. Your words were targeted and made to hurt.

He was sorry, okay? So stop being so cruel.

“M’ sorry.” He mumbled out. His head was hanging low. His hands uselessly clenched into fists. He couldn’t brute force his way through his.

“And what should I do about that?” You said smirking. Toji looked at you betrayed. Didn’t he already admit his mistake?

“Take me back.” He muttered under his breath. You smirked like that was what you expected him to say.

“I have a few conditions.” He gulped at your words. Your tone sounded wrong and there was a cruel smile on your lips. But he knew he’d agree to anything you said. He needed you. He missed you.

“You will be my sugar baby.” …

You’re a manipulative piece of shit. Toji realized as he hissed. Hands desperately clutched the sheets, his face was burned with heat. His throbbing cock begged for attention, hitting his stomach each time you thrusted that damn toy in his ass.

You had everything planned out didn’t you? You’d used that fucking blond slut to make him jealous. And now you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Face down on your bed, hips raised up, exposing his hole, and all dolled up in red lingerie for you. Lingerie that he wore because you liked it when he was dressed all pretty for you.

He choked out another moan when you rubbed his cock, rubbing it slowly before you let go again.

“F-fk yu, fuckin’ a-ah!” He slurred out, crying out as you shoved the toy further into his hole. His body trembled, his cock pathetically leaking drops of precum.

“What were you saying slut?” Your voice stern laced with traces of amusement. A hand roughly smacked his ass, sending a jolt up his spine.

His mind filled with pleasure as he let out a sob into the mattress, clenching the silk sheets with a white knuckled grip. His cock was so fucking hard. Everything you did to him only made him harder.

He could barely think. The plug pressed against his prostate, driving him crazy. You were a sadistic bastard.

Another slap to his ass knocked him out of his trance. This one was aimed a bit lower, right against the plug. He cried out louder, cock spurting out watery white cum.

His knees gave out as soon as his third orgasm in 2 hours hit.

Too blissed out, he didn’t notice when you pulled out the plug, and turned him around.

He didn’t move, keeping his legs spread, eyes closed,and cheek pressed to the mattress.

A second passed then another. You sighed and moved away from him. His eyes snapped open, and he looked up at you in confusion. His eyes went to your hard cock that strained against your zipper.

He looked up at you, confused. You didn’t acknowledge him and used a few tissues to clean him up. Tossing them away you draped a blanket over him.

This is what you did after you were done with him, and yet you still hadn’t come once. You were clearly still hard. Why weren’t you fucking him?

Was he really not enough for you? The thought was like a bucket of cold water that poured over him. The orgasmatic bliss he’d been floating in, disappeared, throwing him back to reality.

He disappointed you.

You were walking away from him. A whine left his throat before he could think. He got off the sofa, his legs weak but stable.

“[Name],” he bit his lip. “D-daddy p-please.” He called out, a pink flush in his cheeks. You froze in your steps.

You turned around slowly, your eyes drinking in Toji’s lingerie and disheveled state with clear arousal. You liked him dressed like this. He hesitantly reached up and pressed his bra clad pecs together.

Your eyes immediately zoned into the movement.

He was right.

Ignoring the burning blush of embarrassment he played with his chest, that way he’d seen you do it to him. He squeezed them, and rolled his nipple between his thumb and index, moaning when it sent heat straight into his cock.

You’d covered his cock with the lacy red panties after he finished. His hardening cock, bulging against the soft fabric. The friction only intensified his arousal.

He panted softly, his exposed skin flushed with humiliation. He must have looked pathetic, dressed up like a slut. The feminine lingerie that barely covered his body, clearly wasn’t made for him. But under your lust blown eyes, he felt so fucking wanted.

“Fuck me, daddy. I want your cum in me.” He whined looking up at you with half lidded lashes. Like expected you fell for it.

Your face split into a grin. Taking two strides forward you closed the distance between you and him. Your hands roamed across his chest, squeezing his tits and ass.

“Gladly.” You purred, fingers slipping into Toji’s loose hole. He sucked in a breath, a moan slipping from his lips. He eagerly grinded down onto your fingers, like he was scared he wouldn’t please you.

You licked his neck and smiled where he couldn’t see it. Your sweet baby. So pretty, and ready to please. You didn’t feel bad about manipulating him.

Dolled up in lingerie, playing with his large tits, cheeks flushed with shame. He looked so fucking erotic. So willing to do whatever it took to make you happy.

You turned him around, hands on his small waist. He gasped but easily spread his legs, bending over obediently. Your smirk grew, as you lined your cock up to his entrance, pushing in and bottoming out.

Your baby cried out, still sensitive from his last orgasm. You pulled out and thrusted back in without mercy. The sound of skin hitting skin mixed with both of your moans.

“My perfect slut. So fucking pretty. Gonna make you my cock whore.” You muttered thrusting into him. Toji, already fucked stupid, eagerly nodded along. His useless cock, spilling beads of cum.

“Yes, yes, your slut. Want your cum. Please pl’se.” he slurred out, gasping when you buried you hand in his hair and yanked it roughly. Tears bit the corner of his eyes, his expression was aggrieved.

You chuckled and rubbed the head of his cock in apology. His eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, small whines, pleas falling from his pink lips.

Who were you to deny your beautiful baby anything?

You fucked into his tight ass, his greedy hole clinging to your cock as you pulled out even slightly.

“P’ease plea-hic,” he sobbed. “M’ w’nna cum, please.” You thrusted into him harder, holding his waist. Your own orgasm building up. Your baby wanted you to use him, so you will.

When you finally cum, Toji collapses forward. His hole was leaking with cum, his body still trembling from his orgasm.

You tucked your cock away, smiling when Toji’s eyes landed on your softened cock with delight. He was proud that he made you cum. A-fucking-dorable.

You couldn’t wait to spoil this man rotten. Your precious sugar baby.

#sub toji #male reader #dom male reader #mean reader #sadistic reader #toji smut #top male reader #toji x reader #sub male character #age difference

1K notes · View notes

tacticalprincess · 1 month

Text

a/n i need him in ways that wouldve gotten me lobotomized in the 50s…

himbo!könig wanted your first time together to be special. after all the months of work he put in getting you to take him seriously, all of his dumb attempts at courting you, he wasn’t going to fumble his chances with you now.

he’s usually pretty confident in himself, almost to the point of delusion, but something about you makes him so nervous, and he can’t wrap his head around someone like you genuinely being interested in a goofy guy like him :( that’s why he misses all of the opportunities you give him to fuck you, always taking your hints and attempts at seducing him the wrong way…

“it’s so hot in here, köni.” “are you getting sick, liebchen? should i turn the air on?” “no, i think i’m wearing too many clothes…” “…you don’t look overdressed to me.”

at some point you start to question if he actually does want you in that way. but the way even the slightest touch from you has him popping boners is enough to shake you out of those doubts. everything about you seems to turn him on. he’s convinced you were plucked straight from his wettest dreams, and he can’t stand to be in close proximity to you for too long without being affected. but he thinks he hides it well enough— always covering the proof of his arousal with a subtle pillow over his lap whenever you’re around.

of course he wants to make the move, but he wants to do it properly. it happens the night he takes you to a small town carnival. he planned on kissing you on top of the ferris wheel, but he unfortunately surpassed the weight limit. instead he holds your hand on the rollercoasters and you feed each other fair food. he insists on stopping at every game until he’s won you too many stuffed animals for you to carry and eventually you’re forced to leave.

he’s shaking in his boots by the time you get back to his place, tripping over the mess on his floor and stumbling over his words. sensing his hesitancy, you’re the one to lead him to his room, your hand wrapped around his large finger.

“are you sure, maus? we don’t have to, i have DVDs–”

“shut up and fuck me, köni.” you huff, already fully naked and exposed on his bed. “please.”

he plans to take it slow, he really does. getting the chance to please you, to be let inside your hot body for the first time, is a privilege he doesn’t take lightly. he wants you both to savor it, he has to make it good for you :(

instead, he absolutely loses himself the moment his fat, pulsing cock sinks into your gummy cunt. he goes full caveman, your headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts for all your poor neighbors to hear :( all thoughts leave him when he’s sheathed inside of you except for how perfect your sopping pussy feels around him, borderline animalistic as he uses your smaller body as a fleshlight. the sounds of his heavy balls smacking against your ass accompanied by your pretty whines and moans only spur him on.

he fucks you in missionary so it’s more intimate, but there’s nothing romantic about the way he’s mounting you. you thank god for making you flexible as he’s pushing your knees up to your ears, seemingly trying to push his cock deeper than your small cunny has room for, stretching your poor cunt past its limit. you swear you can feel him all the way in your stomach, mushroom tip bruising your cervix with each thrust.

you don’t even notice you’re sobbing until he does. “are you okay, liebe? does it hurt?” he asks through heavy pants. “fuck, i’m sorry. i don’t think i can stop myself, you just— you feel so fucking good. you’re so… warm… squeezing me so tight. just- just hang in there for me, ja?”

your brain can’t work for long enough to form words, rough thrusts drawing nothing but high pitched staccato “uh-uh-uh”’s from your throat. you’re drunk on the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open, the way his heavy body squishes yours, barricading you in so you’re completely engulfed by him. his hairy stomach ruts against your sensitive, puffy clitty until you’re clenching around him, your sudden orgasm draining the cum out of his tight balls. “so good. fuck, you’re so perfect. best pussy i’ve ever felt.” he fucks you through the high, mindlessly overstimulating you both until you have to physically push him off of you.

you might’ve created a monster…

1K notes · View notes

latenightdaydreams · 25 days

Note

Okay, imagine mechanic!Konig who fixes your car and is just you know- hot. And then as payment he wants a date. In the back of his car. Where he fucks your brains out and is just so sweet. Mutters the dirtiest things about always being able to fix your car if you give him a baby or something and is just- god I'm feral for this man. And your writing!

Anyway, sorry if it's a weird ask. I love your writing to death, it's fantastic! Make sure to eat yummy snacks and stay hydrated!

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! That means so much to me and I'm so happy to have such great supporters like you! I absolutely LOVE this idea! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so so much for your support!! 💗

Mechanic!König x reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, sex for payment, p in v, breeding kink, dirty talk

Word count: 1.4k

For more click here✍🏽🔞

You turn your car off and step out, accidently slamming the car door behind you. The ground underneath your feet is uneven as you make your way towards the open garage door. The place looks old and the location seems right out of a horror movie, but you push those thoughts aside.

Looking inside the garage you see a man bent over under the hood of a red pick-up truck. His dirty white shirt and oil-stained jeans are all you can see of him.

“Excuse me? Sir? Hi, I’m y/n, I was wondering if you could look at my car?” Your voice is small and polite, like your customer service voice.

König stops working on the truck and stands, looking over at you. His eyes roam your body, taking in your shape before his icy blue eyes finally meet yours. He looks around as if to check if you were here with anyone or if you came alone.

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks stoically not giving away how attracted to you he is just yet.

“I have trouble starting it and when it does turn on it makes this terrible screeching noise,” Your eyes scan his body, his muscles glistening from a light sheen of sweat across his body. His face is stern with scars across his cheek and upper lip, but it doesn’t take away from his handsomeness.

König stays quiet for a while before walking forward and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands off on, “Okay, let me take a look.”

Tossing the rag aside he walks forward towards you with his hand out for your keys. You place them in his palm, his eyes looking down at you as he towers over you with his 6’10 frame. You turn on your heels and walk to your car with König following close behind. His eyes are glued to the way your ass sways with every step you take.

He unlocks your car and leans in to turn the car on. His eyes watching the dashboard as the engine stalls turning over. Once your car eventually does, he hears the loud sound you spoke of and he knows the issue.

“You have a bad alternator.” He steps back and looks down at you before opening the hood of your car. “It’s an easy fix, should only take an hour, two at most.”

His eyes go back to you and his gaze lingers on your cleavage before looking back down at the car, “There are seats in the shop, you can wait there.”

“Okay, thank you.” You walk back to the garage and pull out your phone to help pass the time. You look around to see an old photo of a car and nothing else personal. The space is clean and only the sound of his radio fills the space.

An hour and a half passes by and König walks in. You put your phone back in your bag and stand.

“She turns on, no issues now.” He says as his eyes look around the shop trying not to be too intense with his gaze.

“Oh, thank you so much sir, -”

“König.” He cuts you off, his gaze going back to yours.

“Thank you, König.” You smile warmly at him. Looking down at your purse you begin to fish your wallet out, “How much do I owe you?”

König looks at the wallet in your hands before his gaze travels over your body once more. He wasn’t interested in your money. There is one thing he’s wanted since he saw you walking up to him, you. He didn’t want to be a perve and ask for it, so he just gave you a price, “$600.”

Your face drops as you only have $400 until next payday, “Can I pay $200 now, and the rest later.”

“I don’t take payments.”

“Oh...”

“But,” he walks closer to you, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” His large hand caresses the side of your face, a smirk on his lips.

You end up in the back of his SUV with blacked out windows parked behind his garage. Your clothes stripped off and thrown on the floor, your body completely exposed to him. His shirt pulled off showing you his muscular abdomen as his pants are pulled down around his knees. A soft blonde happy trail leading from his belly button to his erection. One of his hands gripping your thigh and holding one leg up as his other hand guides his condomless cock to your pussy.

He pushes in slowly at first, letting out a soft groan as he feels how tight you are. Your warm gummy walls wrapping around his cock as he bullies his way inside.

“Mein Gott your pussy is so tight Maus,” he moans as he grabs your other leg now. His lips kiss your legs up to your feet as he slowly bucks his hips forward. Your hands grasp the seat as he fucks you. Pathetic mewls leave your lips, feeling your pussy being stretched to an almost painful point.

“You’re so beautiful…” Letting go of one leg, he moves his hands down to your breast and begins to tug on your nipple, leaning in as his lips find your nipple; licking before sucking on your sensitive peak. His tongue circling around before wrapping his lips around and pulling gently, your fingers combing through his blonde hair. His mind wished you were full of milk so he could drink from you. His hands dropping down to your stomach and caressing your soft skin. Oh, how beautiful you’d look swollen and full with his child.

“You need a man to take care of you Schatzi,” he leans back and looks at your pretty pussy stretching around his fat cock. The sound of your wet cunt sounding like angels singing to him. He pushes both legs back and leans into you more as he begins to pound your pussy harder. His eyes watching your breast bounce before his eyes travel to your stomach. You’re tiny compared to his massive body, but taking his dick so well.

“I could be that man,” he groans, “you’d never have to worry about your car ever again Liebling.” His voice was laced with lust and ecstasy. König has never desired a woman so much before as he desires you.

“Just have my baby, let me fuck my baby into you.” He growls as one of his hands goes to your sopping wet pussy as begins to rub your clit.

Legs twitching, you’re lost in the euphoria of the moment. His cock filling you and making you so dick dizzy you don’t even fully register his words. “Please, yes, fuck me.”

“That’s what I want to fucking hear.” König grabs your leg and moves you on your side. He lays his body behind you on the seat and lifts your leg up. His face by yours as he gently kisses your neck and the side of your face. His cock slipped back into your wet pussy, causing your eyes to flutter. He let out a small sigh, “That’s my girl.”

König moves hair from your face as he continues to kiss all over you, “You’re so perfect Schatzi.”

His hand slowly slips down your thigh as he begins to rub your clit again, “Cum for me Liebling, cum on my cock.”

You turn your head to look at König, his eyebrows pinched together as his mouth hangs open. His eyes meet your and he leans in to kiss your soft lips. His tongue licks your lips before pushing between them. His tongue twirling in yours and tasting you, he’s in heaven. He can feel you begin to tighten around him as your legs begin to tremble. Your kiss begins to get lazy as you concentrate on your orgasm.

“Please, please, please.” You moan out, your breathing heavy. His hand rubs over your swollen sensitive clit faster making you squirm in his arms. You feel how wet you get as your pussy begins to squeeze around his cock, his balls tightening as he is eager to get off.

König’s eyes roll back as he leans his head against the seat now, his arm under you wrapping tightly around your stomach and grabs it. “Do you want my cum?”

“Yes,” you look back still on a high and watch his face as he closes his eyes while the pleasure takes over his whole being, “please cum in my tight pussy.”

That made him let out a loud groan as he moaned your name. His cock begins to throb as he releases deep inside of you. He leans forward to kiss your neck and check, desperately wanting your lips. You turn your head to meet his lips as you both kiss passionately.

Nine weeks later your car is still running great, but you’re 4 days late.

Part 2

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x you #konig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig call of duty #smut

1K notes · View notes

redstarwriting · 11 months

Text

bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

───────────────────────────────────

Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles.

And Miles points at himself.

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

───────────────────────────────────

#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o'hara

6K notes · View notes

am-i-interrupting · 1 month

Note

Hello! couldI ask for a headcanon on Rosies, Alastors, Husk, Lucifers, Vaggies, Lutes, Vox's, and velvettes(all separate) reactions to Getting in an argument with the reader(whom they're in a relationship with)

Reader leaves to clear their head for a bit but doesn't return.

About a week later, they find they the reader, bleeding in an alley.

big fan of your work btw, sorry if my request was to complex but thank you for at least reading it.

have a lovely day!

Alastor

Alastor knows he can be an infuriating person to argue with.

He will just continue to smile and speak in a steady tone, as if he’s unaffected even if that’s anything but true.

You don’t get into fights often but when you do, it’s not unusual for you to leave to clear your head.

Normally you’re back the next day. By day two he was concerned. Day three he was worried.

He sent his shadows out to find you.

As soon as one of them saw someone who even resembled you in the slightest, he appeared there even if you weren’t.

When he found you wounded, he was furious.

Not at you, but the person who dared touch you.

His anger nearly consumed him but he pushed it to the side in order to tend to your wounds.

You appeared in his radio tower where he quickly patched you up.

His touches were quick, a bit painful, and precise.

But he got you patched quickly and efficiently.

The argument you had was quickly put aside in favor of the more pressing matter, finding his next guest for his show.

Husk

He’s a pretty reasonable guy most of the time. It takes something pretty big in order for either of you to yell much less storm out.

When Husk woke up with a hangover and you no where to be seen, he cursed himself as he remembered what he’d tried to forget.

He sent you a message, just asking if you were okay.

He followed it up the next day by calling and leaving you a voicemail. He explained that you could take as much time as you needed but please, just let him know you’re okay.

It was Charlie who found you, the princess far more willing to take action than he was. Too afraid of pushing your boundaries himself even if he was worried.

He immediately went into assistant mode as Niffty went into mini-nurse mode.

When you were stable, he took you up to your room and tucked you in bed.

“Don’t worry ‘bout the argument, baby. We can talk about it later.”

He kissed your forehead and laid beside you in bed, hand on your pulse.

Lucifer

He’s not a fighter. He’s an avoider.

He’s not even really conscious of the fact that he does it. He just isolates.

That’s probably what caused the disagreement in the first place.

When he found you, immediately in panic mode.

Just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Being the first Angel cast out of heaven, he knew how to tend to wounds and quickly attended to yours.

Stroking your hair the entire time, just begging you don’t leave him.

Lute

Lute can be stubbornly loyal and it was probably something to do with work or Adam that caused the fight.

Whatever, go ahead. Leave. It’s not like she cares.

She lies to herself so well she believes it until she finds you bleeding.

Which, what the fuck? You weren’t in Hell. These things didn’t happen.

She doesn’t know how to take care of wounds. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s never seen someone bleed.

She takes you to Emily. Reluctantly.

Emily doesn’t really know what she’s doing but she quickly gets in contact with people who do, being so well contacted to the winners.

She is by your side, fight entirely forgotten, the entire time.

Will actually punch Adam if he says something about her going soft.

Rosie

Rosie is a problem solver.

That’s what she does.

She actually takes off work to try to figure out how to solve your problems and brain storm.

It’s only when she’s figured out several solutions she thinks will work that she tries to find you.

When she does, oh is she absolutely pissed.

But first, she’s stitching you up.

Very gentle but very honest.

A lot of “this’ll hurt” might give you something to bite on.

Will go out and find the poor soul who did this to you and serve their bloody heart on a silver platter to you.

Vaggie

She immediately goes into work mode.

She just overworks herself. She doesn’t know what to so she just tries to be useful.

When she finds you she feels her stomach turn and heart drop. Immediately yells for Charlie to get help as she bursts through the Hotel doors carrying you.

She’s holding your hand the entire time muttering how sorry she is.

She’ll pull you into her lap and stroke your hair.

Her hand will end up resting atop your pulse as she gets sleep for the first time since you left.

If you so much as breathe wrong, she’s calling for someone more experienced to check on you.

Velvette

Velvette’s a ruthless person to get in an argument with.

It’s not surprising when you leave and don’t come back.

She’ll act like she’s not worried but secretly is.

When she finds you, she’s swearing up and down and she scoops you up.

She basically dumps you with Vox. Trusting him to get you to stop bleeding and you to pull yourself together in the end.

She’s going on a hunt.

She comes back bloodied and with a mania in her eyes that is rarely seen.

You don’t leave her side for a while.

Vox

Vox has eyes everywhere.

He’s keeping one on you at all times.

He doesn’t need to find you even when you storm out because he always knows where you are.

You need time away from him? That’s fine. He’s watching you the entire time though.

You don’t even get the chance to start bleeding anything severe because as soon as you get nicked, he’s there.

The soul who dared to hurt you is electrocuted and fried before you even realize it’s Vox who entered the scene.

“Hot as it is watching you fight, I do hate to see you hurt.”

He stroked right beneath the place where you were cut, smearing the blood.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin husk x reader #husk x reader #hazbin rosie x reader #rosie x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lute x reader #lute x reader #hazbin vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette

1K notes · View notes

lowkeyremi · 5 months

Text

jjk men and aftercare ft. Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Toji, and Geto.

a/n: I saw something like this awhile ago and forgot to write abt it but here I am now babyyyy (there is already a part 2 in progress bc i wanna do 10 characters lmaoo) also not proofread bc im tired :P

cw: really suggestive, established relationships, how they are after sex basically :)

Gojo Satoru

When you two first started hitting third base Gojo was all about himself and about how he felt. When you had cleaned yourself up and prepared for bed that night Satoru finally realized something was wrong.

"What's wrong, babe? I thought you liked it??" He asks, worried about his performance in bed. Your silence prompts him to try and figure out what he had done wrong, and honestly he couldn't even think of anything.

"Pleaseeee tell me. I won't know if you don't say anything." Those invasive thoughts that tell you, "you don't matter to him." start to attack your brain once again. He's way out of your league you start to think.

"Aftercare. You didn't even offer to help me clean up, Satoru." Saying it out loud makes you sound kind of petty in your opinion but it does matter.

"OH. Shit baby I'm so so so so sorry!!!!! I- It's just-" He cuts himself off and tries to reword his sentence, "Well, back then I.. I was sleeping around so my pleasure was the only thing that mattered to me. It's different.. you know? Dating. I'm still working out everything. I won't forget next time I promise."

He'd been telling the truth because from then on he always went all out with aftercare. He would run you a bath with your favorite salts and oils, he'd make you your favorite snacks, he'd even cuddle you afterwards until you fell asleep. (rich boyfriend privileges)

Choso Kamo

He'd been waiting so long to finally sleep with you for the first time so he had done all his research prior to the day. He was looking at your dilated pupils, messy hair, and the cum that sat on your stomach.

"Okay so, according to the article I read, I should run you a hot bath, yeah?" He asks nervously.

A small smile braces your lips. In all honesty you probably should have expected this much from Choso. He wants to make sure everything is perfect.

"You looked up aftercare???" You sit up on the bed and a back cramp decides to hit right then and there. As soon as he hears your groan he sprints the the kitchen, only to return with a heat pad.

"Heat pad for cramps?" He's truly nervous, and eager to please you, the love of his life.

"Thank you, Cho. I'll take you up on that bath."

"Of course, I'll get in with you if that's okay." The smile on your face is enough of an answer.

Nanami Kento

YOU ARE WINNING!!!!

Massages, baths, homemade snacks, you name and he'll do it for you. In his mind it's the least he can do for you, because you treat him so well and give him that pretty pussy he loves so much.

"Right here?" He's currently working those skilled fingers into your tight muscles after bending you every which way.

"Ohhh... yes right there, baby. Hurts so muchhhh." You whine and moan at the same time. At this point you two have already bathed and he's made sure to moisturize your body leaving you clean and refreshed.

He seemed to notice the way you limped and asked if you need anything. The sex was good really, but you didn't want to tell him that folding you in half wasn't the best idea. Oh, but he's persistent would not leave you alone until you told him what was wrong.

Once you told him he had immediately sat you down, picked up your favorite lotion and started to work out the kinks in your body.

"I'm so sorry, again." He mumbles quietly.

"Stop apologizing, Kento. These things happen. At least I know to stretch before hand next time." His face softens at your giggles and he presses a small kiss to your thigh.

"Oh do not get me started." A smile creeps up his face, while blush slowly spreads across yours.

Toji Fushiguro

BOOOOOO no aftercare. well maybe not much at least.

Has not properly cared for a woman since his late wife but he realizes if he wants you to stay he'll have to fix that.

At first he would throw a wet rag at you and give a simple, "here clean up." When he got out the shower he was genuinely confused why you were no longer at his apartment.

As soon as you picked up he could tell you were pissed, "What do you want, Fushiguro."

He's a little shocked, did not expect that from you, "I'm your boyfriend so it's Toji and not Fushiguro. The hell is your problem??"

The silence is so loud. For a second he thought you'd hung up on him. "Hello??"

"I'm giving you some time to think about that dumbass question and figure out why I'm mad at you." He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes too. He's lucky you can't see it.

"Ugh, I don't have time to play the damn guessing game. You're always mad about the little things.. what is it?" He's running through anything he could have possibly done wrong recently.

"Toji, you threw a fucking wet washcloth at me and told me to clean myself up. I'm your girlfriend, not one of your one night stands!" There it is, and the bad part is he doesn't even see what's wrong with that. (at first)

"I don't even give them something to clean up with, I just leave. But damn if you want me to get all fancy and shit I'll try." He scratches his head and begins to wonder why women are so hard to please.

Let me tell you he's no Nanami, but it's getting better. Still falls asleep afterward most times tho :/

Geto Suguru

You do it yourself for the most part, and here's why.

He's over here washing you up in the tub and he can't stop staring at your soapy titties and it just leads to more sex.

It's never just aftercare with him. He's always chasing more. Like that time you asked him to massage your legs after you two had finished fucking in the tub.

"Yeah shit why not? Lotion or oil??" He asks looking through your products.

"Uhhh lotion's fine." You'd grabbed your phone to see if your mother left you a voicemail which she did. She talked about how you need to pick up the phone or at least text her your alive if you're not gonna pick up. You were NOT going to pick up earlier though. Suguru likes to tease and you learned that the hard way when he was eating you out while you were discussing group bonding dinner ideas with your boss over the phone.

Anyway, he made his way to the bed with your lotion and all things went to hell. It was slow at first, nothing too sensual, then of course he had to slip a finger in your pussy and you sat there and stared.

"We are not doing this, we just got out of the bath." You were so serious, but so was he. (you were also aroused so)

"Another bath never hurt anybody, 'fraid of a little water baby??"

(such an annoying whore)

2K notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

hilililili

제목 없음

fandomcalling

de chelonian mobile

fandomcalling

de chelonian mobile

abg-joy79

Untitled

bunnyhalo

Memes are my Power👌