#I have been up for 7 hours just sitting in my bed Being Cold this is an unextremely not fun way to spend a saturday

[goatsandgangsters]

oh and I also don’t have hot water 

I didn’t notice that one, because I am Confined To My Blanket Pile and too cold to move from it to explore things like kitchen sinks

but I was texting with a downstairs neighbor, who says her heat has been fine, but hot water is out for the whole building

to reiterate. the city declared a “cold emergency” and closed schools yesterday because it was too cold. it is That Cold. I first called building maintenance 16 hours ago expressing concern that my heat wasn’t working in a cold-emergency and they blew me off, and I’m still waiting on a heat fix

[davepetea]

.

[codnriddlewhore]

Don't do this | a Tom Riddle oneshot

A/N: HII soo this is my first attempt at fics, dont hesitate to say anything, good or bad

k have fun :))

tags: professor tom riddle/professor reader, marriage, angst, horcruxes, sorry if i forget any

wc: 1,584

They've been together, inseparable for 3 years, married for 2 and a half. 

Tom saw her as an equal as much as someone like him could, she entranced his very being. They talked about subjects he was interested in, in a very objective and intelligent way and he was in awe when he realised he found a match, someone that could understand his fascinations and obsessions. She mostly didn't share them but she was open, he could ask her at 2 in the morning which one of the unforgivable 

curses she'd use to get information from someone and she'd genuinely give it some thought. 

Her fascinations lay more in the zoological department, muggle and magical. She spent hours in forests and jungles, the beings holding her attention for hours. Though, like Tom, she found it hard to open up to people and find like-minded individuals not just regarding creatures but life in general. When he asked to come with her on one of her shorter research-trips, she felt her body and sould levitate. Her greatest wish has always been to grow old with someone loving by her side, someone who she'd love back with her whole self.  Is it him? She hoped so and prayed every night.

He felt the same when she asked about his sketches and faveorite books. Tom Riddle, the usually selfish and greedy man, suddenly interested in the eccentric and always joyful zoology professor? He cursed himself for it, a good 5 months before talking to her for the first time. 

Now she is staying at his home in the country, a dark penthouse by the sea. To be specific, it is not as dark now, he found that she brought more light into it than any possible lamp. 

As dreamy as this may sound, but like in every married life, there's always small and petty arguments. Like now, her sitting in bed and reading, not giving him half an ounce of attention while he looked at her from the doorframe. 

He mentioned horcruxes and the sheer idea of immortality a few times, even on the day they met, but she simply laughed it off. Who would want to be soulles? It seemed absurd. 

But yesterday evening, when he explained that he wants to go through with his plan of doing so, she couldn't bare to give him more than a gulp and ignorance. He was being mean.

"Apologise, so we can spend at least the evening as a couple. It's cold to sleep without you in my arms." Tom meant it genuinely, but his tone was rough. He didn't understand her problem.

She simply kept on reading, like he didn't even exist. He groaned in annoyance and that did it. 

"I'm sorry, did my back damage your knife in any way? Do excuse me", he winced and didn't know if it was because of her closing her book shut loudly or her words. Probably the latter. 

"What do you mean?"

She exhaled in confusion. Did he actually not see the problem? 

"Tom. You outright told me that you want to split your soul from your body and divide it into 7 different parts. Oh and that you want to live forever. Do you not understand why I'm upset?"

"I'm going to be honest, no, I don't. I find you're being ridiculous, this is a marvelous discovery. "

"Well it is, which on the other hand doesn't mean you have to partake in it!" she says as she sits up straighter in the bed. 

He sees that and mirrors her reaction, standong up straight and putting his hands in the pockets of his pyjama pants. 

"Why not? It would help me be more focused on my work and goals and I wouldn't be occupied with unnecessary matters."

"Like me?" His wife didn't know if she regretted saying that, but it came out in the same second he ended his sentence.

Quiet.

"Don't do this. Of course not like you, you matter a huge deal. This would benefit me in every part of my life, I'd be the most powerful wozard that ever lived. There's been noone else more powerful than Death in the history of wizardry and it could be your husband, how are you not the least bit proud?"

"Proud!? You want me to be proud!? What else should I do, throw you a party and congratulate you on a life of pure damnation!?"

She was now standing approximately 1 horizontal man away from him, on a good way to become furious. 

"Damnation? I hope you mean admiration and being seen with respect, fear and devotion for the rest of time."

"Tommy?" She only called him that when she felt truly helpless or frustrated.

"Yes darling?"

Her voice went almost inaudible, "Where am I in that wonderful way of living you so dream of?"

"By my side." He was sure of that and knew he needed her in this. She'd be his queen in the whole thing.

She breaks into a series of scoffs, some distrustful and some humorous, she found the situation quite absurb. What were they even discussing? 

"I'll age! I'll age and be old and grey and wrinkly and youll still be thirty! It'll look ridiculous."

Was it embarrassing he hadn't thought of that? 

"There's plenty of spells to slow down aging." Stupid Riddle.

"Great Havens. If we put that aside, what about your soul? You'll be a shell of the man you truly are. How do you explain that?"

"What? Thats foolish, I'll be myself!"

"You'll be a soulless man! Only goal driven and shutting out everything else! We'll never again talk about life and the universe late at night, you'll never again appreciate me making you tea when you forget the time in your study and we'll never joke about the future and raising an army of baby wizards who we'll name after the imaginary friends we had as children. We'll never go to the city again and you'll never pick out a flower I adore and buy it behind my back to surprise me later although I'd always catch you and we'll never buy cheesy and ironic books for each other in that beautiful old book store we love. Now call me crazy and soft, but I happen to cherish these things."

It was hard to look him in the eyes during saying all that, but she needed to get her point across. She also despised herself for tearing up at this very moment, walking towards him with a pointed finger.

"Tommy, I swore to support and love you in everything you do, but- but taking the soul of the man I love from me-", she hesitated, wanting to stop her voice from breaking and breath from hitching.

He gulped. This was unfair.

"Don't do this."

"-taking that; now that's too much for me. I can't stand behind that."

"You're being cruel."

"I'm not the only one."

That stung, it stung them both at the same time. In the end, they were both just people. She was now standing very few inches infront of him, pointing at his chest, barely holding herself together. 

"You know what? Do it. I wont stop you or hold you back. That was never my goal."

"I don't understand. Forst you can't stand behind it then you say go ahead."

"If this makes you happy, what I truly doubt, you'll do it without me."

That made his dinner almost come up slightly, it was never an option. 

"You can't just leave now, you know I love you. Do you not love me anymore? Is that what you're trying to say?", he knew it spounded mean but he hoped to get the point across, he was genuinely wondering.

"Oh don't twist this. I'll always love you with every part of me, body, soul, mind and all, as long as I live, that's why I can't-

that's why I can't watch you do this..."

"So what are you going to do? Just leave? You know you can't do that." He didn't quite believe that she would. Was it cowardly to start a fight rather than comfort her or express his own feelings? He'd have to look into that.

She breathed in, deeper than ever before. It was important that she stays collected now.

"Fine. I'll leave when you do it. That way you wont miss me."

Tom Riddle never got dizzy, he was too aware of his surroundings for that. Yet, now he was holding  onto the doorframe next to him with such strength, that his knuckles turned paper white. He was also afraid to touch her, even breath in her direction, because she might fully disappear already.

"You can't...you can't be serious..." It was more of a whispered plea than a threat. 

She on the other hand, felt that she needed to touch him or else this stupid boat of too many emotions for both of them would sink to the bottom of the deepest point in the ocean. His cold cheeks warmed at the touch of her palms. In that very moment he also exhaled briefly, still finding deep-rooted comfort in her, even at this time. Her eyes filled with tears, to the brim this time and she ignored them, it was no time to sob now. Her right hand caressed his hair; like it was any other moment they shared before.

"I'm sorry Tommy. I really wanted us to get grey and wrinkly together."

to be continued...

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 SNEAKIN' A PIC (ATTEMPT: FAILED)!

FEATURING: fyodor dostoevsky

SUMMARY: you never get to see him like this. is it really so awful that you want to capture the moment eternally? evidently to him, it is. (wordcount: 1.4k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'll never not make fun of that one panel of him sitting at his computers with his greasy ass hair even if he does look like a pretty princess in every other panel he has. my obsession with naps is being translated into my fics, i already posted a nikolai one posted and also have a dazai one in the drafts HAHA

When you wake up, you feel a weight on your bicep. Your brows furrow a bit in confusion, glancing to your right to where your arm is extended across the bed, but then your eyes fall upon Fyodor, fast asleep and using your arm as a pillow, and you can barely stop the small smile that rises to your lips.

Your arm is numb, but you don’t dare move in fear of waking him up—the clock on your nightstand reads nearly eight am, and you wonder when he finally came to bed last night. You know that he’s been pushing himself day and night to finalize the last parts of his plans, denying himself both sleep and food as he sits at his computers dealing with meetings and preparations 24/7. 

He hadn’t even changed into a pair of pajamas before falling into bed with you, nor had he bothered to get beneath the covers. a part of you wonders if he even meant to sleep, or if he’d just pushed his body too far and only barely made it to the bed before it gave out on him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You bite back a sigh as your gaze traces over the stubborn man—he always looks delicate in his sleep, in a way that he never does when he’s awake with his eyes shut and his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. His expression is the picture of serenity rather than the cold and unapproachable face he wears when he’s awake. 

You think that he’s pretty all the time, but there’s something special about being able to witness Fyodor Dostoevsky in his most vulnerable moments, knowing that you’re the only one he allows to be with him in them. 

You’re half-tempted to reach over to your nightstand with your free hand to try to grab your phone and snap a picture of him. You look over, wondering if you can reach it without jostling your other arm around, but before you can even consider your chances, you hear: “Do not.”

Fyodor’s voice is still thick with sleep. you glance over at him, surprised, but his eyes are still shut, and he hasn’t budged an inch. You wonder if you imagined it, but then his eyes crack open, thin slivers of purple glaring at you.

“Just one for me?” you ask quietly. “No one else will see.”

“No.”

You pout softly but roll back to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy, and he can barely even hold his eyes open. You reach out, cupping his cheek gently and watching as his eyes slide back shut, a soft exhale spilling from his lips as he lets the side of his face sink back into your arm, dozing back off.

You smile lightly, shifting forward a bit to press your lips to his forehead, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb.

“I need to get up,” he murmurs, but his eyes are still shut and his voice is thick with sleep. “I need to finish-“

“You will not finish anything adequately in this state,” you chide gently. “If you get proper sleep, you’ll be much more efficient and effective.”

Fyodor looks as if he wants to argue, brows furrowing at your words even with his eyes shut. You only jostle him a bit closer, watching as he shoots you an irate look, but then settles down when he realizes you’re only dragging him closer so that he can rest his head on your chest—a place far more comfortable than your arm.

“Wake me up in an hour,” he finally orders, and you agree absently, knowing that you absolutely will not.

You think, as Fyodor lets himself doze off on your chest, that it’s hard to remember he’s quite literally one of the most dangerous men on this planet. That if he so pleased, he could activate his ability and kill you without a moment’s warning. That he’s a man who is so terrifyingly intelligent that it sometimes comes across as prophetic, and you can’t help but wonder if he speaks the truth when he claims to be led by the Hand of God. 

Your hand smoothes across his back in steady circles, tilting your face down to press your lips to the top of his head. His hair is a bit oily, as he usually lets it get when he deprives himself of basic necessities while he works. You’ll have to convince him to take a bath with you when he wakes up, but you figure it’ll be a battle because you already convinced him to sleep in a little longer, he’ll not want to waste any more time. 

You almost want to pinch him, wondering why everything with him has to be a war when it comes to taking proper care of himself. He rarely even remembers to take his iron supplements on the daily without your prompting, and he knows if he doesn’t take them, he’ll be prone to dizziness and fatigue. For all of his intelligence, you feel like sometimes that you’re a mother dealing with a stubborn child, not your lover. 

“Stop that,” Fyodor sighs, shifting a bit to get comfortable. “Dim your thoughts, dusha moya. I can feel you getting yourself wound up.”

You scowl. “You know, Fedya, maybe you should just drop the whole terrorist plot and become one of those preachers on the radio who pretend to be prophets. Build yourself a cult, make some money. You already seem to know everything, wouldn't be too hard."

Fyodor tilts his head up to look at you, expression so deadpan and unamused that it nearly makes you snort, but you only dip your head down to kiss between his eyes.

"Sleep,” you say, voice softer. “You need it.”

Fyodor doesn’t respond, and when you tilt your head to the side to look at him again, you find that he already dozed back off again, shoulders rising and falling steadily underneath the arm you have wrapped around him. 

You smile lightly and you tighten your arms a bit as Fyodor lets out a puff of air in his sleep, turning his head to lay the side of his face on your chest. In this position, you can see the way his eyes flit beneath his eyelids rapidly, his brain still running rampant even in sleep.

You bring your fingers to his hair to card them through the dark locks, slow and soothing in the way you know he likes, watching as his eye movements slow and his body relaxes into yours. 

Your smile widens a bit before it abruptly falls, laying your head back against the pillow as you finally begin your next challenge: drawing out a battle plan for convincing Fyodor to take a bath with you when he wakes up. 

You sigh to yourself heavily, knowing well that you're about to be facing the most difficult argument of your life with the most stubborn man alive. You can already feel the headache, and you think that you deserve a new picture for your lock screen from how much trouble Fyodor gives you on the daily, but as you side eye your nightstand again and try to calculate whether or not you can reach your phone without waking him up, you feel fingers wrap around your free hand.

You gape in disbelief as you look down to see Fyodor grab your hand in his sleep, as if he knew what you were planning even when not conscious.

Unbelievable, you think bitterly, plan entirely thwarted, but your gaze softens at the sight of him fast asleep on your chest, clutching your hand with one of his.

Maybe you don't need a picture, you realize, because you think there's no way you'd ever allow this image to fade away from your mind.

Still, you think he should severely reconsider his line of work.

Even more so now, in fact, because there is something entirely abnormal about his seemingly perfect foresight, evidently flawless even in his sleep too.

[deadhands69]

Something More [than a hangover]

Katsuki Bakugo x gn reader

MDNI + eventual smut/afab

Setting: fuckboy!Bakugo, mid-time skip, Senior Year of College. Reader did not attend UA high, just joined for university. Enemies to lovers (with a lot in between.)

Warnings, etc: series contains eventual smut, slight angst, light violence/injuries, mentions of drinking/intoxication, swearing.

part 1 - this is part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

“Oh my god, what was I thinking,” you grumble into Jiro’s bed. You’d been lying there face down for twenty minutes after waking up, remembering your night, and stumbling down the hall to her dorm.

“It’s not that bad, right?” she reassures you, lightly untangling the knots in your hair with her fingers. “I’ve known him since high school. He definitely takes things too far sometimes, but he can be a good friend. He seems to have changed a lot in some ways since then though. But still, it’s not like you did anything with him…?”

“I don’t think so…” you trail off, “I think I’d remember that.”

Last night. You remember being in a closet with Katsuki Bakugo, which for some reason unknown to you now, you enjoyed more than you should have. You remember drinking with him, talking all night, and - that’s about where your memory ends. Checking your texts, it looks like you wanted to kiss him. Did you? You’d remember that right? 

Then there’s the photo you sent Mina and Jiro. Blurry and underexposed but you could definitely make out the situation. His arm around you as you lean into his neck, glossy eyes half closed but focused on him. His huge smile as he leans into you. You looked close. A wave of nausea hit again, sending you running to her bathroom. 

It’s Katsuki Bakugo, what the fuck were you thinking?

After pulling your hair back, Jiro leaves to grab you a cup of water. 

“Hey, uh,” she hesitantly starts, “maybe not the best timing but Bakugo just texted you to make sure you’re still on for the library today.” 

“Ughh I do not want to deal with him,” your voice echoes through the bathroom.

“I can tell him you need to reschedule?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll have to meet up with him eventually. Might as well rip the bandaid off.”

An hour later, you’d showered as well as you could after taking off your bandages (or what was left of them, it looked like you snagged them in the brush on the walk home.) The cold water helped the nausea and some of the pain. Dehydration made the remaining burns feel much worse so you try to drink as much water as you can keep down. Your raw and slightly blistered skin looks brutal but it’ll be better when you can visit Recovery Girl again on Monday. A few tylenol for your headache and pain, that was about all you could do for now.

Choosing an outfit, you put on basically what he made you change out of last night - skinny jeans and a huge hoodie, this time with cute sneakers in your favorite color. No makeup today, you throw on some oversized sunglasses instead. Grabbing an extra cup of coffee and your backpack, you head to the library.

Bakugo is already there. Leaning against a pillar, looking way too put together for the amount you saw him drink last night. 

“Aww, you look great,” he says sarcastically as you half drag yourself to meet him.

“Ughh. How are you alive right now?” you groan back.

“I threw up twice, ate a lot, and slept it off. Looks like you didn’t.” 

No words come to mind so you flip him off.

“You’re sweet when you’re hungover, this will be so fun,” he gestures towards the entrance, “come on, I already reserved a study room.”

In spite of being an asshole, he proceeds to hold doors for you.

The study room is small but quiet. There’s enough room for the two of you to sit on one side of the table with the notes and writings you’ve done on each other’s quirks, it’s not much. Each of the pages is crinkled from some combination of being passed back and forth between being on the receiving end of outbursts. Various colors of ink have crossed out each other’s writing, adding corrections. At least the quirk descriptions are done. You’d love to say the rest has been easier to work on in person but an hour and a half has dragged by without much progress. Still hungover, you wish you would have stayed in bed.

His phone sits on the table, buzzing with a new message. Glancing down, you notice five unchecked messages from three different girls' names.

You laugh and he silences his phone before setting it back on the table, this time face-down.

“Didn’t learn from last night, huh?”

“Eh, I dealt with it this morning when she was sober. Plus, it was an isolated incident,” he grumbles while you notice the tips of his ears turning red.

“Sure it was. Well,” you continue, ”when it happens next time, and I’m sure it will, I won’t be so nice and let you in my hiding spot.”

“Oh, your spot? Because if I remember correctly, I got there first. And I let you stay.”

“Aren’t you sooo sweet,” you lay on the phony niceness, batting your eyelashes at him before he throws it back.

“I really am,” his fake smile makes your heart flutter. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Back to our regularly scheduled sarcasm.

“Is that so? I’ll bet your mom must be really proud of you.” 

“She is,” he asserts, “really. My mom is so fucking proud of me. Want me to call her and ask?” He picks his phone up to start dialing and you swear she’s saved as ‘Hag.’

“No, I take your word for it.”

 Part of you is curious who raised the monster next to you, but most of you would like to be out of this room as fast as possible to figure your shit out. You really can’t tell if you’re annoyed, disgusted, or trying to flirt with him. All of the feelings blur together into one big mess while you helplessly watch your own reactions. You need to get through this.

Pulling your pen from behind your ear and grabbing one of the papers in front of you, you get back to work.

“So,” you begin before rolling your sleeves up, “right here you said your quirk works with...” but you realize quickly that your words fall on deaf ears. He’s staring at your arms, seeing your damaged skin for the first time. Awkwardly, you move to cover your wrists again before he grabs your hands to stop you. His mouth opens to speak but the words don’t come. Licking his lips, he tries again.

“I- uh, fuck,” he squeezes your hands a bit harder, “I really meant it when I said I’m sorry. I owe you. More than opening doors and walking you places and stuff.”  

Recovery Girl is convinced you’ll make a full recovery with minimal scarring. You don’t say this though, staring at your hands in his instead. There’s nothing romantic about the way he’s holding onto you. More desperate and uncomfortable, but you can’t say the closeness doesn’t do something as his huge fists completely engulf your own. It leaves you speechless.  

“I uhm…” you pull your hands away from his and pause to think.

You can’t let yourself get this distracted by him. He’s Katsuki Bakugo, your natural enemy. And on top of that, how long will he be nice to make-up for hurting you before he goes back to being his asshole self? If you let him get under your skin too much, you won’t be able to handle that when the time comes. 

“I know why you’re being nice,” you start, “but two days ago you were being a total dick to me. I appreciate you trying to make up for everything, but it feels more confusing than friendly.”

“Two days ago, you weren’t exactly nice to me either. I know we never really became friends,” he hesitates for a moment and you cringe thinking of how you slapped him, “but you don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Go on.”

“Yeah, at first it’s because I felt bad, but Racoon Eyes and Shitty Hair said we have a lot in common. And they’re right. I’m trying to be nicer because I don’t absolutely hate being around you, you’re kind of cool when you’re not going off on me.” 

“You do deserve it sometimes,” you add.

Bakugo says nothing, instead he just nods. Sucking on the inside of his lip, he considers your comment before continuing, “If you don’t wanna be my friend it’s fine, just fucking say it,” you stare silently and he continues, “but with the way you’re acting I think that’s what you want too. And even if it’s not, we still have to find some way to work together because we have all this shit to do,” he says gesturing to the table of scribbled notes. 

That’s it.

“Wait,” you nearly whisper while reviewing the papers in front of you, “no, that’s totally it.”

“Uh, care to explain?” he furrows his brows at you, his vivid eyes searching your face for an answer.

“That’s why this has been so hard to finish. We’ve never worked together. I know what your quirk does but every time I’ve ever seen it, we’ve been so busy trying to beat each other we don’t actually have time to observe. We need to work together.”

The rest of the hour went by quickly, mostly planning where and when to meet next. ‘Where’ was easy. You want to train together and the forest near campus works great. ‘When’ was harder. It has to be after you’re healed but before a huge storm rolls in early on Tuesday. Bakugo is leaving today to visit family and won’t be back until Monday afternoon anyways, so it has to be that night. You think you can sleep enough to recover after your appointment. You hope you can, at least. Parting ways at the library doors, you agree to text him Monday when you wake up. 

On the walk back, you consider the last few days. Your biggest enemy now wants something like a friendship. A chill runs down your spine when the winter wind picks up, blowing air straight through your hoodie - making you wish you’d worn more layers. You walk faster. 

Can you even be friends with Bakugo? Bickering with him has been a lot more fun without a bite under your words, but it almost feels too flirtatious considering who’s on the other end. And, as much as you hate to admit it, he’s hot. Too hot for his own stupid good. 

You nearly trip over a curb in a rush to get back to your dorm.

Fuck, you need to sleep.

part 3

m.list

[themareverine]

A KING & HIS CASTLE ▹ IN YOU, MY FORTRESS

— oldman!Logan x fem!OC drabble

SERIES SUMMARY: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

SYNOPSIS: Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, age gap, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so.

a/n: based on this. and I have to dedicate this to @1800-fight-me for that post, which changed my brain chemistry and prompted my first oldman!Logan.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

On days like this, Logan could kill. 

Redlight. Redlight. Red, again. Red fuckin’ light. 

He could see them in his fuckin’ sleep. At a little after four, a text from a bunch of digits suggests a phone number—Chicago, if his guess was right. You booking rides? like it’s normal business hours instead of ass o’clock in the morning, like he hasn’t just passed out in bed after getting home and standing beneath a lava-hot shower for all of a handful of minutes—managed three and a half hours of fucking, much-needed racktime. 

Need a limo for five, 7:15. $1k green. 

Squinting into the screen without readers had been like staring into the sun, but Logan had managed. Dimness dropped to low as hell—fine, i'll be there with slow thumbs that burned, felt as if the weight of US-57 had been chained to every fiber of his skin structure. He’d managed to arrange a call time without so much as hammering his phone through the floor, a small mercy—place was barely standing as-is. Hauling old bones from bed was just short of crawling from hell, the warmth of under-covers and threadbare sheets more alluring than Egyptian gods. 

Hair not dry from his first shower, smothered against a thick, hard pillow for the three hours of sleep he’d managed, he stalked his ass back into the shower. Tried to work the cold irritation at humanity swimming in his veins beneath more hot water, failed—wrangled into only-slightly wrinkled slacks and jacket, may as well have been like roping steers. Skipped shaving, fuck that, started the hunt for another of his damn socks. Fumbling about the room like a green linebacker, he didn’t even feel the bed stir. Tangle of sheets around feet, the low moan of a curious, half-asleep lover. 

“Logan?” Drowsy, she props her pretty self up on an elbow. He can see her squinting into the lowlight of the room, thick streams of light from the moon creep over the bed in an otherworldly, nightingale kind of way—half bathed in lunar milk, he couldn’t miss the slight pull of her satin nightdress for anything as she sits up, scrubbing a hand down her face. She asks him what’s up, “Haven’t decided to finally leave me, have you?” 

Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close. Never in a thousand lifetimes would Logan ever imagine being that guy—the guy who fortresses a home. The man who makes vows. Oaths before heaven, whispers sweet nothings and pretty everythings to a heart that beats like his. Never was one for wishing on stars or counting them, slow in a different kind of way—slow in sense of the half-dead, way that smells roses hardly fathomable. If anyone would’ve told him his heart would beat for someone else, for living—-in this shell of a body, this phantom of a man, he’d have laughed. Never believed, no sir. Not him, not the Wolverine. 

Her slow, half-drunk chuckle off the statement claws at his aching ribcage. Fingers brushing what feel like a wad of socks, Logan moves to stuff them into his pocket. Swipes shoes from where he’d dropped them not long ago, slips through the darkness carefully. Where she’s risen from bed comes up quickly, and he blocks the milk of light swathing over their bed from view—fingers her hair away from her face, wild from where it’s fallen from her usual satin cap. 

“You’re dreamin’,” he hums, can’t deny the hint of a mile as she manages a rough, morning-dry chuckle. It sits low. Rattles around the adamantium in his chest. “G’back to sleep, baby—it’s early.” And if that isn’t the God-awful truth, he isn’t sure what is. 5:34 glares back at him when he checks the screen of his phone, not missing the pretty smile laughing back at him from the lockscreen. His lips brush her forehead lightly, hand firm at the back of her neck as his thumb skips over the steady thrum of her pulse. 

Lithe, curious fingers reach for him in the night. As always, they find him—her nails scratch lightly through his unshaven face, skin that’s dewy. An idea of Irish Spring still floats in the air around his nose, but it’s overpowered by the scent of her—the flow of her blood, the oil of her skin. Frankincense she uses in her hair before bed claws at his chest, unmistakable hints of petroleum jelly on the plush of her lips lights cravings in the back of his throat. Even today, after years, her touch still trailblazes through him like wildfire—cuts trails through the jungle of his unknowns, his hesitations. Three days away had felt like fallout, she’d been asleep like any sane person at 3 in the witching hour when he’d dropped into bed.

Blood pistoning to his cock reminds him how long. He’s been a starving man, deprived of her honey—her fruits. 

“You’ll be back?” Her palm against his cheek is God’s gift to humanity, may as well have carved the peak of mountains. “You just got in, Lo,” even in the light of stars he can see the worry mottle pretty features, the depth of her eyes couldn’t be masked by any amount of midnight the universe knew. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” I can drive, if you need me to. She hadn’t driven in years, not since—

“M’fine,” he nods, “don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’ honey.” Slipping her hand into his, he lifts it to press an airy kiss the heel of her hand. It’s soft, for the most part—only partly chapped, mostly from the dry. Dry, and the in-and-out of the desert sun. Keen senses can still taste the brush of earth on her skin, dirt from good hours spent outside. Laughing, running. Playing pretend, exploring the mesa. Like a child, like innocence. 

“Be back tonight,” it comes off a thick cough, “don’t have to wait up.” 

Her snort is sharp. “ I’ll wait. Hate this BS,” the nod is resigned though, knowing. A deep sigh puffs out her cheeks, blows hot against his lips as she looks up at him. “Need you here, Logan,” I know, don’t I know—guiding her arms around his middle, her cheek falls against his chest. Her weight against him reminds him he’s alive, still breathing—reminds him that this, right here, is his. He can feel her hum low at the bottom of her ribs, and rests his chin in her hair, rocking her back and forth lightly. Relishing her heat, the slip of satin. The spring of curl cream in her hair, the zip of adrenaline and sex in his blood. “Want you here.” 

As 5,000 volts as the day he met her, all those years ago. Logan can still taste the rain in the air, the sting of sour sweat and testosterone in the bar. The bite of the steel cage. It’s still clear in the back of his head, glancing at her on a barstool in the corner—more of a drowned lizard than a girl, as the bartender had so aptly noticed. Tired, pretty in the eyes. Broke as hell and as lost as they came—he’d never forget the smile she gave him as he’d tucked her back into that ancient Jeep as long as he lived. 

And she’s still pretty in the eyes, even if they are a little deeper. Haven’t aged a day in all the years she’s been chasing shadows, stalking the sun by his side—racing to die, chancing to live. As Wolverine as they came, in a different kind of way. Unkillable, like him. God’s gift to him, certainly—an Eve for his unkillable Adam, to taste the sun. Lifetimes and mementos of the forgotten behind them, this is his castle. His home— life that, had finally, birthed. 

Wrapped up in pretty satin and swaddling clothes. “I should check on little man,” and there it is. The nail in his coffin. Mention of their son—his son, it’s like a slow poison. Logan never, in any of his days, would imagine that the idea of a child, his offspring would do such devastatingly good things to him—he can’t remember when it changed, how it happened. But it stabs at the mesh of his ribs unlike anything he’s ever felt all the same, toys with his pleasures like a cat with a mouse. Her head tipping back greenlights the pad of his thumb gently pulling at the plush of her bottom lip. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, through low lashes undoes him in a way that should be sin. 

And he kisses her the way she likes, slow. Hard. When her arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, he loses his composure. Deepens the kiss, moans against the heat of her tongue playing with his. “Careful,” he smiles through every languid stroke of her tongue, every little breathless gasp, “don’t start somethin’ we can’t finish, pretty.” 

“Who says we can’t?” 

“When I get back, baby.”

Her pleasured hmmm, heady whispers in dark shadows light him up like a firecracker, but he can’t. Can’t stay, can’t go—trapped in situation’s limbo. Hell of a thing, really. His finger traces the curve of her hip, up—falls in line against her bottom rib, tugging at the skin beneath satin. Erupting in a fit of ticklish giggles, her fingers tug at his hair, play with damp at the nape of his neck. “Logan—not fair!” her breathlessly sharp whine—it fucks his brains. 

“Plen’y fair,” another kiss, one more taste of her, and he steps back. Creates a chasm and his pulse jumps, almost flatlines. Fingertips linger against his as he moves for the door—her tongue chases over kiss-fat lips, and Logan swears to God he can see the fire dancing in the cradle of her womb as she follows after him. Once they hit the door, he kisses her again—it’s the only thing that will keep him alive. 

“I love you, kid,” kid. Hasn’t called her that in awhile. She still smiles at the name, like she always has. It’s true but isn’t—he’s 200 years older than her, another sin on his growing list of indiscretions with God. But she’s lived enough life at his side for it to count, seen enough blood. Heart racing behind his ribs, waiting—breathlessly. All too damn breathlessly for a man who couldn’t give up his breath if God asked. 

“Love you more,” a Betty Crocker kiss to his cheek and she slips away, into the darkness, opposite direction. Nursery, the quiet pull of the innocent. His feet point to the kitchen, to the reckless hour of the world’s morning. 

Twenty-seven steps. Out the door, sink into the limo. A text lights up the phone he’s tossed to the passenger seat as headlights cast lowbeams into witchy darkness. Foot on the brake, he fumbles the breastpocket for hardly-new readers, ignoring the tag still hanging out on the templepiece. Grabbing it, opens the photo attachment. Her, and his child—his son, his side of the bed. His never-in-a-million-years, impossible-to-the-stars family—

— his fortress, the castle to which he returns. Lucky son of a bitch. 

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[nerdy-hyperfixations]

Listen, I love Fiddlestan as much as the next guy, but where did we start getting the idea Ford was cold and dismissive towards Fidds during their time working on the portal???

I could totally be wrong because I haven't read every single GF related thing (hell, my journals aren't decoded because I'm a slacker), but like??? The first time he saw him, he bought him his favorite snacks *and* a whole ass banjo and said he'd make it his mission that Fiddleford would be comfortable in his home.

They go adventuring together and talk about things like fashion trends and the future and go stargazing.

Ford is *so* happy when Fiddleford returns that he hugs him immediately. Abd then he feels bad that Fiddleford feels bad about his failing marriage that he throws him a holiday party even though he doesn't celebrate and hates the holidays honestly. And he put on Fiddlefords favorite song (which he despises and honestly? ME TOO FORD. I HAVE BEEF WITH THAT SONG) and drank seemingly spiked eggnog with him despite not usually liking to drink. So that he could make Fiddleford feel better.

He also just openly adores everything Fiddleford does. Maybe it's only in his journals. You could argue he doesn't say it out loud but, like, he exclusively describes him as impressive all of the time-

And I get where it's coming from in like a "oh he's a workaholic who has the pressure of Bill breathing down his neck that he has to be working on the portal 24/7." And like yeah, but in the pages he's a workaholic he's a workaholic practically begging Fiddleford to stay up with him because he loves working along side him. Fiddleford and him work *together.*

Like the page where they're sorta fighting with each other because Ford wants to work more its not "leave me alone Fiddleford, I have to do this" it's "hey! How come you won't stay up with me! Ugh this is so unfair that you're going to bed even though you know I plan to continue working for another hour."

I'm just saying if Fiddleford wanted to cuddle, I imagine Ford's response would be "Oh! Awesome, I love spending time with him 🥰🥰🥰" but he'd just end up using Fidds' back as a table for his studies. Or they'd do that thing where one of them is working on a desk and they sit on one chair in each other's arms.

And, while we're here, realistically? Emotionally stunted, slapped by more women than He's dated, "I can't cry in front of people, and the only thing I'm good for is my fists." Stanley Pines??? He's not cuddling shit. He's got that toxic masculinity ingrained into him. It doesn't matter how incredibly touch starved he is, cuddling is too emotionally intimate and "girly" for him. Honestly if Fiddleford tried to cuddle him he'd probably throw him in a headlock because he's also been on the streets for years now with people constantly trying to attack him.

And I'm not saying this to diss on Fiddlestan. Again, I *like* Fiddlestan! But when I read "Ford could never appreciate him like Stan could" I don't understand it.

They so clearly bonded well together, and if Ford truly was being an asshole (or not an asshole, but just generally unpleasant even when he wasn't possessed) the whole time, I doubt Fiddleford would've stayed. Nostalgia and physical attraction can only get you so far, and Fidds is already facing the horrors in Gravity Falls, Stanford has to be a hell of an amazing person to make someone want to stay. Like, he's a grown adult. Sure he really wanted to impress Ford and allotted himself to be "the tech guy to Ford's smarts" but if he wanted to leave, he could've. And there didn't seem to much keeping him there. Especially when he was having doubts on the portal.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

--

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting. 

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him. 

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants. 

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket. 

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas. 

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth. 

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?” 

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey. 

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can. 

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack. 

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him. 

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath. 

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing. 

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat. 

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good. 

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side. 

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need. 

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip. 

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?” 

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips. 

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed. 

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens. 

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you. 

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?” 

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. 

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch. 

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.” 

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him. 

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another. 

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined. 

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole. 

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest. 

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth. 

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop. 

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again. 

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed. 

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.” 

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough. 

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth. 

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.” 

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. 

“I love you, too, Eddie.” 

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there. 

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table. 

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast. 

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.” 

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork. 

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite. 

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips. 

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips. 

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment. 

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember. 

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.” 

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

 He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes. 

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.” 

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower. 

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”  

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door. 

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs. 

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline. 

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure. 

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration. 

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door. 

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms. 

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission. 

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him. 

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?” 

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms. 

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.” 

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering. 

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you. 

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience. 

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin. 

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes. 

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone. 

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members.  She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison. 

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for. 

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker. 

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that. 

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself. 

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls. 

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears. 

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more. 

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!” 

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica. 

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile. 

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel. 

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans. 

Thank you, you mouth. 

I love you, comes his silent reply. 

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds. 

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him. 

“Positive.”

--

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[st6rrrs]

TRAITOR || rafe cameron x fem reader

summary: the pogues find out yn's secret

warnings: cursing, arguing, soft rafe!!!, fluff?

a/n: idk if i should keep this into to a one shot or make a story!!!!

Part 2

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

you and rafe were in his bed talking when you realized what time it was, 5:29pm

"Shit rafe i gotta go" you said

you jumped off of the bed and quickly put your clothes on

"where are you going?" he asked getting off the bed also

"i gotta go to the chateau to meet up with the pogues"

he groaned.

you grab your backpack and head to the door but before you could open it rafe got in front of you.

"do you have to leave" rafe whines

"yes rafe, i'll be back in a couple of hours" you say

"fine" he groans again but louder this time, he walks back to the bed laying on it getting his phone out, you roll your eyes and exit the room.

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

you get on your bike and start pedaling towards the cut.

you and rafe have been dating for a couple of months now but you guys haven't told anyone yet. if the pogues find out that you and rafe have been dating they would be PISSED

thats one of the reasons you dont wanna go public, rafe honestly doesn't give a shit if anyone finds out because he will still love you and you would still love him.

you arrive at the chateau and you see the pogues on the front porch, Sarah was sitting next to john b? why was Sarah here?

kie disliked Sarah for as long as you can remember. When kie and Sarah were friends Sarah threw this party without inviting kie and kie got mad and called the cops.

"you know we were all extremely comfortable until you brought her."

you hear kie say as you approach them

"stop talking about me like im not here" Sarah says

"then leave."

"umm whats happening?" you mouth to pope and jj passing kie, Sarah, and john b them to busy arguing to notice you. You walk over to sit in between jj and pope.

"john b is banging Sarah" jj says while laughing

"WHAT" you almost yell

"oh look y/n is here, why dont we ask her opinion is on this" kie says

"please don't" you whine "but if im being honest i dont think its a good idea"

Sarah's scoffs

"oh you can talk" she says looking at you

"what?" you laugh

"like you aren't fucking my brother" she says rolling her eyes and looking away

you immediately go pale.

"is that true y/n?" kie ask you in disbelief

you don't answer her

jj gets up from beside you and just looks at you in disbelief. you look over at pope his hand on his forehead and he's shaking his head disappointed.

"you cant be fucking serious!" jj yells at you "he beat up pope with a golf club and then jumped us with topper and kelce"

jj has had a crush on you ever since you guys were 14 but you didn't feel the same way. Everyone always shipped you guys together but you wouldn't force yourself to date someone you didn't like You only liked jj as a friend but he never really listened to you.

"i-i-im sorry!! but he's different with me" you try to explain to them

"hes just gonna use you like he does every other girl on this island" Sarah says

"no he-" but before you could finish your sentence pope interrupted you

"just leave y/n." he said annoyed not looking at you

"g-guys please!"

"JUST FUCKING LEAVE JEEZ!" jj yells at you, you have never seen him this angry in the whole 7 years you knew him.

tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at him. He had no remorse for what he said he was very angry and you could understand why but none of them even gave you a chance to explain yourself. You quickly grabbed your bag pack and left without looking back.

"AND DONT BOTHER COMING BACK EITHER! HAVE FUN WITH YOUR KOOKY BOYFRIEND" jj yelled before you could leave

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

you open the front door to the camerons household, rafe gave you the key when you guys started dating. the house was so quite and cold, you walk up the stairs to rafe room still sobbing.

you open his room door and hes sleep on his bed, it was sometime pass 7 you didn't want to wake him and you were exhausted yourself so you just laid next to him and got under the covers still sobbing quietly. you couldn't believe that jj would ever say that too you, it wasn't like him

you hear rafe groan awake

"y/n is that you" he says in his sleepy voice

"yea"

"are you crying?"

"im fine go back to sleep rafe."

"no.,whats wrong come here" he gestured so you could lay on his chest

you gave in and sobbed in his chest for a while until you fell asleep.

part 2?

this might be bad but i tried 😪 👍🏻

taglist:

@bbsxsaa @xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @drewstarkeyslut @stvrkey. @blondbrat @sevenwivesofrafecameron @tracymbcm

[johnnieguilbertsgirlfriend]

hello!! I was wondering if you could do a johnnie x reader smut where y/n sits on johnnies lap and he fingers her and talks softly to her while doing it 😝

of COURSE i can this is also kinda answering this request!: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, how are you? I was wondering if i could request a johnnie x reader (gf) smut where she has a hand kink and johnnie makes her get off on his thigh and his fingers (im such a slut for dom johnnie)

𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

CONTAINS: angst?, fluff, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), praising, fingering, creampie, squirting (new feature unlocked😱), overstimulation (going round4round)

WC: not sure rn

story below the cut:

——————

throughout the past few weeks, johnnie had been unavailable. whether it was filming, or hanging out with jake and carrington. of course you still saw him, but you missed him. by the time you would wake up, the other side of the bed was already empty. this didn’t only make you sad, but frustrated. you just wanted your boyfriend to be there for you, and have someone to lean on. it was 2 p.m., where once again, you wake up cold, with no arms around you.

y/n: where are you?

johnnie: filming again, sorry baby i’ll be back later

y/n: r we still on for dinner tonight?

johnnie: of course, i’ll see you soon ❤️

y/n: okay have fun, love you :)

you sigh, feeling mentally and physically drained despite not doing a single thing. at least you and johnnie had actually planned for something tonight even with his busy schedule.

——————

sitting at the vanity, you were patting light makeup on your skin, followed by some cute eyeliner and lip gloss. the time was currently 7:30 and the reservation was for 8:15 p.m., so he should be there any minute. throwing on a cute black mini dress, paired with some heels, your outfit was complete.

y/n: helloooo its 7:50

y/n: we need to leave like now

y/n: ?? (delivered)

5 minutes pass, then 20, then an hour. you sat on your phone, scrolling on tiktok before finally accepting the reality of the situation. he wasn’t coming anytime soon. and that’s when you started to cry. taking off your shoes and putting on a hoodie, you crawled on the bed, too lazy to take anything else off.

resting your back on the headboard, you hear the front door unlock and the scuffle of shoes, along with some other voices. johnnie opens the door,

“i’m here i-“

“it’s 9:30.” you say, sniffling.

“what? oh shit sorry i forgot we had plans”

“yeah? you’re sorry? i’ve barely seen you for weeks now and that’s all?”

“babe i swear i wasn’t looking at the time it was just that jake and carrington dragged me to go places and-“

“jake this and carrington that, why does it always have to be about them?”

“because they’re my friends-“

“yeah well i’m your fucking girlfriend,” the room went quiet.

“but you know what? lately it feels like i’m not and maybe it should stay that way.”

“why are you being so dramatic about it?”

you’re furious. you get off the bed, and start walking to the kitchen. johnnie grabs your shoulders, turning you around, and pulling you into a hug. you smell his cologne, starting to break down into tears, burying your face deeper into his chest. deep down, you know he hates seeing you cry and get angry. you just felt so hurt.

“why? why do you have to do this to me. i miss you, i just want you to be with me and hold me. but you’re always too busy.”

he pats your head, running his fingers through your hair, while you let it out. once you collect yourself, you look up at him, with tear stains and a red nose.

“i love you. i’m so sorry for leaving you all the time, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,”

“and you’re not overreacting.”

johnnie pulls you into a sweet and tender kiss, full of love and affection, but you pull back first. still upset, you look to the ground. he takes your face in his hands,

“let me make it up to you baby.”

he lowers his head to your neck, softly biting at your skin, making you let out a relieve sigh. then he kisses you again, this time being rougher and filled with more lust. you moan as his tongue reaches your mouth. before anyone sees this, he lifts your legs up, leaving kisses on your jaw while taking you back to his room.

he uses your back to close the door, walking towards the bed. he sets you down gently and helps you take your hoodie off. “baby you look amazing in this dress, you’re gonna have to wear it again soon” he pushes you down, trailing kisses from your neck, down to your collarbone. starting to lift your dress up and over your head, taking it off completely, it also reveals a set of black lingere you had put on beforehand.

“you wore this for me y/n?”

“mhm”

“it would look even better off of you”

you hum in response as he leaves hickeys right above your lacy bra. he plants kisses down your chest and stomach, to your core. he takes off his t-shirt and jeans. after, he takes off your panties, covering his finger with your wetness, and inserting it. “just relax angel i’m gonna take such good care of you” you groan as he starts sucking your breasts, giving equal attention, as he pumps another finger into you, increasing the speed a little. your breaths get heavier as you grip the bedsheets. “more m’ please” you whine. he goes even faster as you bite your lip to stop yourself from melting. arching your back for more friction against his hand, he uses another finger to rub your clit. “yeah baby thats it, just cum on my fingers” while he says that, you feel the knot in your stomach coming undone. “oh shit” you moan out, shaking slightly and cumming.

he pulls down his boxers, taking them off. he’s already really hard, so he coats his dick with your cum. the rooms feels as though it gets hotter with every breath you take in. he teases your clit with his tip, rubbing it slightly. “johnnie just fuck me already please,” you breathe out. “alright princess” he says, pushing fully into you, but slowly, groaning while letting you adjust to his length. “still so tight baby” he says, making you bite your lip, muffling your moan. “don’t do that, i want to hear all your pretty noises.” he picks up the pace, getting faster which each thrust.

“you’re so beautiful y/n” he says, you hold onto his waist, pulling him deeper inside you, hitting the right stop. “uh, fuck” with every sound you make, it encourages him to go harder, and faster. “shit, m’ gonna cum,” you moan out. johnnie’s breath gets heavier as he lifts your leg up, pounding even deeper into you. “inside,” you manage to get out as pleasure washes over you. shortly after, he thrusts one last time, cumming inside you.

he kisses your lips, but it’s not over just yet. johnnie comes closer, “baby, please ride my face” he whispers in your ear. at this point, you felt so overstimulated, but could never say no to that handsome face. you instantly get wetter again, and agree, putting him to the side and then climbing on top of his abdomen. “are you sure?” “one hunder percent,” he says, practically forcing your legs closer to his head.

you hover on top of his face, scared to suffocate him. however, he immediately pulls your thighs down, making you sit entirely while you let a moan out. he starts eating you out, flicking his tongue, somehow making you feel even better. “just like that,” he knew this time that you wouldn’t last that long, especially after the two orgasms you just had. so, he digs his mouth even deeper into your pussy, like the world was ending. this pulled a string of curse words out of you. “oh fuck,” is the last thing you can say, before you feel your whole body shaking, but this time it was new to you. you had squirted from the overstimulation, on johnnie’s face.

after, you get off of him, somewhat embarrassed. “uhm, i don’t know how, uh, that has never happened to me before-“

“no, that was hot.” he kisses your forehead gently before putting his boxers back on and getting a towel for both of you. he cleans you up and gives you a shirt to wear while he goes to grab new sheets. you sit on the floor with dead legs while he changes it for you. “i’m never washing this bed sheets ever again,” he says. “ewww,” you jokingly say back while laughing. he carries you in a cradle, setting you back down on the bed.

“so… are you still mad at me?”

“i could never stay mad at you,” you say, pulling him in for a hug.

—————

ENJOY THIS LADIES, YOUR BITCH IS BACK

currently working on some requests but theres NOT ENOUGH!! please always leave requests in my inboxesss 🩷 see u in the next 1!

[mattscoquette]

𝑰𝑻'𝑺 𝑨 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬/𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 - 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 | 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉..a quiet introverted girl attempts to befriend her popular neighbor

cursing, very very slight mentions of a panic attack, mentions of kissing, mentions of drinking

3.2k words

introduction 1 2 3 4 6 7

addilyn richardson,

had been absolutely grinding out this science project. she and matt had been working together a little more than a week, and were currently five days away from its due date. not only did they have to create the marble run, but they had to also complete a five page packet along with it, and present their project together in front of the class. addilyn was sitting across from matt, hunched over her worksheet as matt glued pieces of the project together.

“it’s getting kind of late, addy, why don’t we pick up tomorrow?” matt suggested to her. she looked up at him with tired eyes. since that one weird night the previous week, matt had starting acting nicer. at first it started with matt inviting addilyn out to lunch after the hockey game. then he started saying hi to her in science. the absolute cherry on top was when he offered her a ride yesterday morning.

addilyn walked outside, instantly being met with the brisk morning air. boston winters were hardcore, and the heavy wind was only making it worse. wrapping her coat around her frame tighter, addilyn braced herself for the walk up the block to wait for the bus. she walked down the driveway, stopping when she heard her name being called. she looked up as matt walked over to her. he was bundled up in a north face jacket, a pink tint across his cheeks and nose as he shivered.

“it’s too cold for you to walk addy, let me give you a ride.” that was the first time he called her addy. at first, he wouldn’t even call her by her name, only saying things like “tell her to do this” to his brothers if they were around. if they weren’t, then he’d call her addilyn, saying it always with an annoyed tone. but today he called her by her nickname, and it made her heart skip a beat. he offered her a soft smile and she returned it, nodding quickly. she climbed into the back seat next to nick, chatting with him the whole way to school.

she looked over at the clock the sat above the stove. it was 9:45, but she was determined to get more of this assignment done. she only lived next door, after all, and she needed to make sure they got a perfect score on their project. “i’m okay matt, i think i just need a quick break.”

he nodded, offering her a water, and let her excuse herself to go into nick’s room. nick was sat atop his bed, scrolling on his phone when she walked in.

“hey girl,” he smiled at her, “how’s it going out there?”

“okay, i think.” she yawned, stretching her arms and legs out. they’d been working since they got home from school, only taking a short break a few hours ago when chris came barging into the kitchen, asking matt to drive him to get food. “i’m a little tired, though.”

“yeah it’s late, you leaving soon?” nick asked.

addilyn shrugged. “we still have more we need to do. i’m okay going home a little late. the walk isn’t far.”

nick laughed. “why don’t you come sit? we can take a break and watch a quick episode of rupaul or something.”

the tired girl nodded, sitting down next to nick. he got up momentarily to switch off his overhead lights, turning on the soft fairy lights above his bed instead. he climbed back into his bed next to addilyn, turning on the t.v. at a low volume. the change in ambiance of nick’s bedroom made addilyn all-the-more tired, and she rested his head onto his shoulder.

resting my eyes for five minutes won’t hurt, right? she thought as she closed her eyes.

*₊˚ 𓂃✧

both addilyn and nick jolted awake about an hour later to the sound of matt pounding on the door. he’d gone on his phone when addilyn was in nick’s room, not noticing how much time had gone by until chris came down to say goodnight.

addilyn sat up, shaking nick to also get up, and walked over to the door to let matt in. she took in the sight in front of her. his hair was messy, as per usual, and he’d switched out his pair of blue jeans from earlier to a pair of red and black plaid pajama pants. he wore a grey hoodie with his school’s logo on the front, a number 4 on the side of his sleeve underneath his last name. he looked good. “sorry,” he apologized quickly, realizing how loud his knocking was.

“what time is it?” they both heard nick call out from the bed, sitting up to turn off the show they fell asleep watching.

“almost 11:30,” matt replied, looking at nick. he turned back to addilyn “i packed all your stuff up, i didn’t think you’d wanna get back to work.”

she smiled, thanking him for the gesture, as she felt a knot in her stomach. she’d been feeling that a lot around matt lately and she didn’t know why. maybe it was because he was acting nice. or maybe it’s because in the week she’s spent with him, she’d realized she was maybe starting to catch feelings.

it was a monday night, and addilyn was over at matt’s to work on the project. he was wearing a navy blue hoodie that made his eyes look even more blue, and he was currently laughing at an anecdote addilyn was telling him. she smiled brightly at him, laughing along with the boy.

he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, immediately breaking out into laughter again as he looked up and met her eyes.

his laugh is so cute, she thought. she looked down at her lap away from matt, trying to push her thoughts into the back of her head.

“you’re really funny, addilyn,” matt told her softly, wiping tears from his eyes. she looked over to him to find him already staring at her.

she looked at his face, trying to read it. she wasn’t the type to normally confuse niceness with having a crush on someone, but something with matt felt different. when nick or chris talked to her, she didn’t get dizzy when they would smile at her, or accidentally brush hands. but she felt it all with matt.

“what are you looking at?” he smiled, leaning forward across the table slightly as his eyes flicked between both of hers. she could’ve sworn he glanced at her lips.

addilyn was feeling bold. “you.” she replied.

he shook his head, smiling softly, and then leaning back against his chair. “we should get back to work.”

“addy,” nick said from his bed, breaking addilyn away from her thoughts. she blinked up at matt as he smiled down at her.

there’s that feeling again.

“do you wanna spend the night? i know you only live next door but i feel bad making you walk back over so late.” nick asked her, walking over to where she was.

“are you sure?” she breathed, “i feel bad.”

“don’t,” nick replied, “i have pajama bottoms and a hoodie you can wear. it’s no problem really.” he smiled kindly at her. she broke her gaze away from matt, looking to nick.

“okay,” she nodded, “i’ll let my mom know.”

addilyn turned back to look at matt. “i’ll go get you your backpack and stuff,” he told her softly, “wait here.”

“i got it, don’t worry.” she told him, brushing past him in the door way as he looked at her go. she heard footsteps trailing behind her. she turned around to find matt following her into the kitchen.

“i need to get my stuff too.” he told her. she nodded softly, trying to keep her cool and act normal.

they made their way to the table, matt collecting all of his belonging he left out on the table. addilyn’s notes and books were all packed away neatly in her bag, which matt had left on the chair for her. she offered to help matt clean, but he just smiled at her.

“i can do it, you go to bed, you worked too hard today.” he laughed, handing her bag to her. his fingers brushed against hers, lingering there for just a second. she felt her cheeks heat up as she took the bag. she looked down at her feet, knowing for sure her face was a bright crimson color. suddenly the room in the air felt thick, and she became hyper aware of matt’s presence in front of her. was he standing this close the entire time? she looked up at him, to find him already looking at her.

“goodnight matt.” she whispered, afraid if she spoke any louder it would break the atmosphere around them. he was standing so close to her, she wondered if he was able to hear her heart beating out of her chest. a smile ghosted across his face, and for half of a second addilyn thought he would lean down and kiss her.

he didn’t, though, only softly replying “goodnight addy.”

she turned on her heel, making her way back into nicks room quickly. she found a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and a large hoodie folded neatly on nick’s bed, where he was sat. “you can go change in the bathroom, i left a spare toothbrush in there for you too.”

she thanked him, collecting the clothes and walking into the bathroom. she changed quickly, then paused to look at herself in the mirror as she began brushing her teeth. did matt even like her, or was he only acting this way because she was friends with his brothers? that had to have been the reason. there was no way he felt the same about her. but she couldn't help but think about the way he was looking at her in the kitchen, and how his hand lingered over hers. she sighed, turning off the water and going back into nick’s room. he was already under the blankets, lights off, and scrolling on his phone. he turned it off, turning to face her as addilyn got into the bed.

“our first sleepover,” nick sang, “this is so fun!”

addilyn laughed, making herself comfortable. she loved being friends with nick. they’d only been hanging out for less than two weeks, but they both connected so easily with one another. they both understood one another, and enjoyed the company of each other. nick loved having someone other than his brothers or his teammates to talk to, and addilyn just loved having someone to talk to. “i know.”

despite how tired the girl was when she entered the room, the two teenagers were suddenly wide awake, talking about anything and everything with one another.

“if you had to fight any animal with your bare hands, what would you fight?” nick asked, staring at the ceiling.

“what?” addilyn laughed, looking over at him.

the later and later it got, the more and more they opened up. it was currently 1:30 in the morning, and they were both deep in conversation about nick’s coming out.

“i can’t believe i thought i liked my friend when it was really her boyfriend i liked.” nick told her.

addilyn shook her head. “yeah, that’s kinda crazy.”

“have you ever liked one of your friends?” nick asked, sitting up slightly. she looked up at him, thinking.

she hadn’t had many friends her whole life. she had a couple close people that she’d talk to in class, but never close enough to ever hang out with or talk to outside of school. the only people she talked to outside of school were nick and chris. her mind suddenly went to matt. “i don’t think i have.”

“really?” nick asked her in disbelief. “you’ve never thought someone you hung out with was cute or anything?”

matt.

“no.”

“addy, come on, there’s no way.” nick sighed, laying back down.

“well, maybe.” she felt her voice trail off. she couldn’t tell nick. she wasn’t even sure for herself if she liked matt or if she was just confused. he and chris were the closest thing addilyn had to real friends, and she didn’t want to throw it all away by telling nick she caught feelings for his brother.

“oh my god, tell me!” nick whisper-shouted in excitement, sitting back up again. addilyn laughed and shook her head.

“okay, okay, let me guess.” nick offered, thinking about the boys in the classes they shared together. “david, from art?” addilyn shook her had no.

“liam?” he tried again. she shook her head once more. nick named just about every boy in their class, even began to name random people addilyn didn’t even know that well.

“do i know him?” nick asked.

“yeah,” she breathed quietly.

nick looked at her inquisitively. “it’s not chris, is it?”

“no, no way.” addilyn shook her head. “he’s just my friend, i promise.”

nick looked at her once more, as if he looked hard enough he'd be able to read her mind. he paused, silence falling over the both of them.

his eyes went wide. “matt?”

addilyn stayed quiet. she opened her mouth, then closed it. she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

“addy,” nick said, “do you like matt?”

“i don’t know.” she whispered, turning away from him. he sat up to meet her eyes. “maybe.” he gave her a look once more. “yes.”

she braced herself for the anger. the disappointment. something. but nick just smiled at her. “that’s so exciting!”

she looked at him dumbfounded. “what?”

“i’m serious,” nick started, “you’re so fun to be around, there’s no way he doesn’t like you back. i’ve noticed he’s been acting nicer to you.”

addilyn continued looking at nick like he was crazy. “there’s no way.” she laughed, pulling the covers over herself. “i’m tired, nick, i’m going to bed.”

he laughed, wishing her a goodnight, assuring her once again he didn’t care if she liked his brother, and that he was happy for her. soon after, she heard his soft snores, singling he was asleep. addilyn, however, continued to lay awake, thinking about what she told nick. she couldn’t believe herself, normally she would keep her feelings in, but something in her was off. she wasn’t even sure why she liked matt so much. she barely even knew him, and he didn’t start acting nice to her until a week into their project. it was a small crush, it meant nothing. it wasn’t worth risking her friendship for. she suddenly felt her chest tighten and the instant feeling like she couldn’t breathe. she closed her eyes as the air around her grew thick.

you’re fine. she told herself. nick isn’t mad. you can tell him tomorrow you were kidding. everything will be normal again after the project is done.

she glanced over at nick, making sure he was asleep before she slipped out of bed. she couldn’t lay in her friend's room any longer knowing matt was only down the hall. she softly tore a piece of paper, writing nick a quick note, praying he wouldn’t wake in the middle of the night, and would only see it when he woke up in the morning.

went home to shower and change before school, see you in art!

<3 addy

*₊˚ 𓂃✧

matthew sturniolo,

slept for maybe three hours that night. he couldn’t sleep in his room knowing addilyn was only down the hall. he kept replaying the way their hands brushed as he gave her the backpack earlier.

he felt his fingers lightly graze hers as he passed her the bag. he let them linger for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t notice. she looked down at her feet quickly, taking the bag from matt. their bodies were nearly pressed up against one another. all he wanted was for her to look at him. as if she read his mind, she looked up with a shy smile across her crimson red face. he so badly wanted to close the small gap between them and smash his lips against hers. he didn’t though, only whispering a soft goodnight as he watch her go into nicks room.

he hadn’t stopped thinking of her since his dream. he was obsessed with everything she did. the way she’d twirl her pencil between her pointer and thumb, or the way her brows furrowed as she read. he kept trying to distract himself as he thought about her.

matt had known who she was for a long time, despite addilyn being an “always in the background” kind of person. but the second she stepped foot in his kitchen that day she came over for dinner with her family, he knew it was over.

matt was in the kitchen with chris and nick, arguing about something dumb when she got there. he opened his mouth to say something back to chris, when nick nudged him altering him they had company. matt looked up at addilyn as she stood shyly in the kitchen. chris walked over to introduce himself as matt just started at her. she wore a white cotton dress that hugged her in all the right places, and beat up white chuck taylor’s. matt knew exactly who she was, but he didn’t remember her always looking this pretty.

“i’m chris,” his brother said, sticking out his hand.

she replied to him so softly matt barely heard her. “addilyn.” her voice sounded like honey. matt just looked at her again, before deciding to open his mouth and say “i can’t hear her.”

as matt laid in bed, he stared out his window into her empty bedroom thinking about why he was so mean to her. maybe it was because he liked her the whole time and didn’t want to admit it. sure, she was beautiful, but she wasn’t the kind of girl matt would typically go for. that’s why he was so attracted to her. she was so unlike anyone he’d been with. any girl he’s ever met at a party had been the same. they all seemed to have had the same lives, matt would listen to them talk, then he would tell about himself. that he’s a triplet and he plays hockey and lacrosse with his brothers. that he’s lived in boston his whole life and he loved the outdoors. and that’s how it went every time.

addilyn was different. she didn’t care he was popular, or that he played sports. she was just her normal, quiet, typical self. she wasn’t throwing herself at him, and matt saw her as somewhat unattainable. matt often mistook his attraction to her for a disliking. he felt so guilty about it, but he thought if he was mean, she’d leave him alone and wouldn’t try to get with him. he mentally cursed himself for acting the way he does. if she was already out of his reach, why would he try to drive her even further away?

but that dream he had fucked him up bad. every night since then, he’s thought about it. how soft her hands felt in his, how delicate her voice spoke. how good she kissed him. he wondered if she’d ever kissed a boy before. he secretly hoped she hadn’t, he wanted to be her first. he’d be gentle with her, not rushing her into anything. he’s kissed girls before, but it was always drunk at some party. he never actually liked the girls he kissed, he just wanted them in the moment. and when the moment was over, he went back to his friends and did whatever he was doing before. but addilyn was different, he wanted to kiss her anywhere he could, not just while he was drinking at some random's party.

the light in addilyn’s room turned on, snapping matt out of his daydream. he saw her walk into her room wearing nicks pajamas, walking over to her blinds to close them. he was confused why she walked home, but let it slip his mind. although he knew she couldn’t see him that well, he pretended to sleep anyway knowing she would look into his room. had he not closed his eyes, he would’ve seen the lingering look addilyn gave into his room before she closed her blinds.

© mattscoquette

𝐚/𝐧: thank u so so much for 170 followers <333 the fact u guys r liking this series warms my heart so much bc i was SO nervous to post. this story only has two parts left after this :( that being said, my reqs are open if anyone wants to leave anything b/c i'm not planning on writing anymore stories atm so i have more time to write little oneshots or hcs or whatever, just lmk! as always if anyone wants to join my taglist pls lmk and i hope u all enjoy:)

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @alorsxsturn @sturniolossss @cammie4298 @bussybandit1 @amorttentia @franticroads @sturnsssbow @cams5sos @strombolilovr @st7rnioioss @junnniiieee07 @mattscurlygirly @simply-a-simper @sturnrc @sturnifyed @freshlovie

[asherthehimbo]

Outliving the stars | Choi San

synopsis: You've always felt a part of you was missing, the desire for something greater only being lessened when you were gazing at the stars. You know you lost something, someone, you just dont remember what, who. Maybe the astrology major your friend sent you on a blind date with has the answers.

Pairing: Choi San x Male!reader

Info: one shot, words(2.1K),

Trope: reincarnation, Immortal x mortal, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, anxiety, topic of death, suggestive jokes, it's said they have sex but no actual smut, injuries, birthmarks shaped like scars, insecurity, self scrutinizing, social anxiety, overthinking, talks of past lives

Song inspo: Burn out the stars - Bryce savage

It was at times like these that you wished you could punch your best friend. Wooyoung was sweet, but you swear he had it out for you, sending you out on a blind date with nothing but a first name. Now you were standing at the planetarium entrance like an idiot waiting for someone you didn't even know.

Wooyoung had pesterd you for three weeks until you finally gave in. He kept trying to set you up with one of his classmates, and you were too tired to register what you were agreeing to. "Come on [Name], you can't keep being hung up on some mystery guy from your dreams. San, on the other hand is perfect, broad shoulders, an astrology major, rich, handsome face, smooth voice and he's kind" Wooyoung rambled on as you were sitting in your dorm, trying to finish the economics paper you had that was due on Friday.

"Do you want me to go out with this guy, or do you want to do so yourself?" You asked him, only receiving a pillow to your face as a response. Sighing, you looked at Wooyoung, who was taking up your entire bed. "If I go on this date, would you let me finish my paper in silence?"

Wooyoung immediately jumped up from the bed. "YES, OKAY YAY!I'm gonna go tell San you agreed! Oh! This is gonna be so much fun! SATURDAY 1PM SHARP, " Wooyoung shouted while jumping around before sharply turning on his heel to sprint out of the room, leaving with a shout of "WEAR THOSE CUTE JEANS I BOUGHT YOU!"

You only sighed, turning back to your paper and relishing in the silence.

You did, in fact, end up wearing the jeans he bought you, black baggy jeans with white stars splattered on them, matched with your red converse, and a red hoodie.

You did not want to be here, it was cold, people were staring (probably because of the scar on your face, a voice in your head told you, you ignored it) and you were craving a strawberry refresher. You guess arriving an hour early wasn't the best course of action, but you were up early, not being able to sleep the night before.

Dreams of your faceless lover had once again plagued your mind. It had been a common occurrence ever since you turned 10. You would be cuddled up in the arms of a man you could not remember, but you knew him. In a soft grass field he would be holding you tightly, you would both be watching the stars, you listening as he points out different constellations, these dreams were safe, they made you feel at ease.

But all too often, these dreams would evolve into nightmares, the same 7 scenes playing out. Your therapist had said it must have been a physiological way to deal with your own insecurities. The birthmarks that littered your skin had always looked like scars. You remember talking to her when you were 12. She said it was your brain trying to justify the marks, trying to create a story for them.

You believed her. After all, she knew better, but these dreams just felt so real, so vivid. You would hear your own heartbeat slow down and hear the cries of your mystery lover as he holds onto you. You could feel the tears dripping from his face onto yours. No matter what turn these nightmares had, they always ended with you dying in his arms.

You guess Wooyoung had been right in his concern, as your best friend he knew first hand the effect these dreams had on you. The nights you wake up gasping for air, vomiting out your dinner, clawing at your neck because something in your throat is burning. The times you're awake while your consciousness is still trapped in whatever nightmare you were experiencing. He had been there since the age of 10, he had been there.

You rubbed together the two sleeves of your hoodie, starting to feel more uncomfortable as time passed by. People were walking past, laughing, and giggling at one another. You wondered what was so funny, what were they all laughing at? Were they laughing at you? no, you didn't do anything funny, did you? oh, it's your face, right? Your face is funny, it's ugly, creepy, the scar covering your eye, one you did not deserve. A mutated freak born with scars that were not earned a fake, a- "[Name]?" A hand on your shoulder disrupts your anxiety fueled thoughts.

You turn around to find a black haired man, he's a little shorter than you, although his shoulders are broad. Jawline sharp, eyes as soft as a warm blanket on a winter's night, despite the intimidating structure of the man, his eyes, his smile, his dimples, he seems inviting, familiar almost.

He stands smiling at you, the arm he used to grab your attention is hovering awkwardly in the air, his cheeks are flushed, a pink matching one of the familiar drinks in his hand. "Umm, I'm San? your date. " he seems unsure of himself, but you find it cute, having to suppress a giggle so as to not make him feel bad.

You give him a small smile as you mentally thank Wooyoung for choosing someone good looking,"Nice to meet you, San." You nod your head at him as you shift your weight between your feet. You're being so awkward right now, but something tells you that San doesn't mind.

Despite your lack of social skills, the interaction itself does not seem awkward. Although you can feel something straining it, you brush it off to first date jitters. "Oh!um I also got us some drinks, Wooyoung said you liked strawberry refreshes, although I don't know if he was messing with me. He has a tendency to do that lately, but um drink?" San asks as he lifts up the hand, holding two drinks questioningly. His shoulders seem to tense as he awaits your reaction.

"Woo didn't lie, I do like Strawberry refreshers, thank you" you nod your head at him, his shoulders relax as he lets out a breath of relief, he picks up the pink drink from the holder in his hand and gives it to you. Your fingers touch for a moment as you take the drink from him and you jump back a little, San doesn't seem all that surprised, but he chuckles "Static electricity's a bitch, huh?"

You don't think that's how it works, but you laugh along nonetheless. It's weird as you walk with San into the planetarium. You don't like new people, don't feel comfortable around them, yet with San, it's different. You feel safe with him. He feels so familiar.

You spend the day following San around the planetarium, he excitedly points out constellations, and you swear the fake stars above your head shine dimmer than the light in Sans eyes. Somewhere along the line, your hand had been intertwined with his, as a precaution to not lose one another, you told yourself.

The date ends when the sky outside matches the one in the planetarium, a dark purple background with little specks of light twinkling above you both. The date lasted the whole day and you were having so much fun you didn't even realize, Wooyoungs gonna kill you for not telling him how everything went immediately but you can't find it in yourself to care about the headache your best friend will inevitably give you tomorrow morning.

That night, you sit on your bed, smiling down at the goodnight text from San, despite him having wished you a goodnight merely a few hours before when he walked you to your dorm. That night is the first night you sleep peacefully, no dreams of your mystery lover, no dieing, no waking up in a cold sweat despite it being winter. Nothing

Instead that night you sleep, cuddled up with the tiny red star plushie that San won for you at one of the planetarium games, you named her 'astéri' the greek word for star. Also, the exact name you put as your contact for the man who won her for you.

Your relationship with San had been a fast development, one date, then two, then you start eating lunch together, he starts walking you to classes, he joins your friends and you on movie nights, he plays games with Yunho. San becomes a part of your life faster than you can imagine, and you don't even care.

It's on your hundred day anniversary, a hundred days of dates and hangouts, and obviously being together despite no official title, that San officially asks you to be his boyfriend.

It's an emotional ordeal. He made a picnic in his backyard, creating a fort where you could both lay down and watch the stars on the soft grass. It's summer now, much hotter than when you first met, you wear a red tank top. San has expressed his love for your collarbones before, and thinking back to the moment makes you blush.

He was a bit tipsy when he blurted it out, face flushed pink given the alcohol of the drinking game he had played with your friends earlier, the room was hot, filled with college boys and liquor, so of course you took off your jacket, San had started cheering, then giggling, talking about how much he liked your neck, your collarbones. You don't know if he remembers this moment, you hope he doesn't, it would save you the embarrassment.

San presents you with a necklace on the night of his confession, a black leather strap threaded through a red star that's rimmed with silver. On the back of the necklace, the name 'astéri' is carved, under it lies numbers which look like coordinates. You don't ask.

San slips the necklace around your neck, fingers trailing dangerously slow along your shoulders. You were scared at first, you liked San, loved him, as much as you trusted him, you were scared of what his reaction would be.

He may have seen you in strappy clothing before, but he's never seen the extent to which your birthmarks your scars cover your body. The worst of them were located on your waist.

Despite your hesitance, the way San looks at you after you agree to be his, after you agree to let him be yours, it makes you want to kiss him, let him embrace every part of you and let you do the same to him.

He looks at you like you yourself were the star and who were you to deny a mortal access to a celestial entity?

That night, you learn the true extent of San's love for you, the way he trails his fingers overy every inch of your skin, extra soft kisses placed on the marks littering your body, he's gentle almost as if he knows the phantom pains they bring you, despite you never having told him.

That night you and San become, you and San, under the stars. On the soft blanket he laid out in his backyard as the warm wind of summer nips at your exposed skin.

It's when you're lying down, breathless, in between San's arms that he starts talking, answering your question from earlier that night. The numbers on the back of the necklace, the coordinates, are of a star San bought in your name. He literally bought you a star and named it 'astéri'.

"You deserve the whole galaxy, and yet I do not have the power to retrieve it for you. This way, you can have a piece of the outer world, and it can have a piece of you"

You don't think you've ever felt so loved in your life. You had fallen for San so quickly, so hard. It's hard to imagine a time when he wasn't in your life, despite the fact that you hadn't known him long, everything with him just felt so right.

You were sure you were meant to be with San in every lifetime, meant to spend every moment of your life with him. When you told him this, it had been the first time you ever saw him cry, genuinely cry. It was as if your words affected him more than you knew. You're sure they did.

That's one thing you never did understand about San, he has told you everything about himself, but you still felt as if something was missing, a piece of information locked away, it was like he was guarding it, scared you would find out. He thought he hid it well, but you prided yourself on knowing people, knowing your boyfriend. You trusted him. He would tell you when he was ready.

You and San would watch the stars burn out together, watch the world fall in each others arms, protected by a love so pure that the only thing left in the universe would be you and San

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @itsvxlentine @liyatime @hetalia-pol @mommahwa1117

Home page | Ateez masterlist

[snaillamp]

"You won't need an enemy to knock you out if you keep like this."

If you're still up to :D And so sorry that this doesn't fit with your ocs.

~Squishy

Ayye Squishy!!! Dont worry about it not being my ocs, this is a perfect excuse for leader whump which ive been wanting to do for a while :D

five second fic

~~

Dead Man Walking

Leader watched the document in front of them blur and sighed. They rubbed their eyes, trying to rid them of the double vision, their head spinning, and body heavy. Their team had been assigned a difficult mission, and they had to make sure everything was ready.

They were so tired, but still had so much to do... But they needed sleep.

They eased out of their chair with a soft grunt, yawning as the world swayed slightly, shuffling to their room. They stiffly pulled off their clothes, getting into their soft pajamas and lying down in their cold, but soft bed.

They instantly felt the aching in their bones ease, their muscles relaxing as they began to shut their eyes, only for a loud, grating alarm to snap them out of their dozing.

With a closed fist, the hit the button to make it shut up, hearing their team begin their morning. Leader groaned as the sat back up, getting to their feet and going out to join them. They could have a nap later.

As they walked into the kitchen, they heard Second in Command say something.

"Hmm?" Leader responded, looking around with bleary eyes.

"I said good morning." Second chuckled. "You look like you slept well."

Leader shrugged, making themself a large coffee, and sitting down at the table. They felt like death warmed up.

"Hey so, what's on the books for today? I know you have that meeting today too. Maybe I should take the others on a drill exercise or something while you do that?"

"Yeah, do whatever you want." Leader mumbled into their coffee, sitting up straighter to avoid their head colliding with the table.

Second narrowed their eyes, looking at Leader.

"Leader..." They whispered, so that no one else could hear. "You okay? You look like shit."

"Just haven't slept much this week... Preparing for the mission." Leader mumbled back, taking another sip of their coffee.

"How much have you slept?" They asked.

"Uhhhh....." Leader frowned as they thought, their brain slow.

"7 hours..."

Second grimaced. "Leader, 7 hours a night isn't enough, especially with the mission coming up."

"No, I mean this week. I've slept for 7 hours."

"You're telling me you've slept an hour a night every night this week?" Second said a little louder, causing everyone to look at Leader.

"It's fine. I was going to catch up on sleep today." Leader lied.

Second nodded, playing along to cover for their friend.

Leader got up, finishing their coffee and stalking away, to their office. Second followed them, watching them sit at their desk and sigh.

Leader stared at the words, but they didn't even make sense anymore. They could barely read the words, let alone make sense of what they were trying to say.

"Leader. You need to rest."

"No, I have too much to do. Don't worry about me, Second, I've managed on less sleep than this."

"I know you were up all last night. You didn't sleep at all." Second accused them. "I heard you walk to your room."

Leader grimaced, their room was next to Second's, and the only one on that end of the compound. of course Second would've known it was them.

"Go to bed for a few days. Rest, I'll handle this, its what I'm here for."

Leader shook their head. "I can't force you to take on this workload. The High Command has been giving me so much to prepare for before the misson and I'm already behind."

"So, tell them you're sick, and let me help you. Please, Leader."

"I'm fine." Leader said firmly. They glanced at their watch. "I have a meeting to get to."

Second watched hopelessly as Leader wandered off towards the front door, disappearing.

~~

"Leader." Everyone greeted the tired looking Leader. They had neatened themself up in the bathroom before they went into the meeting, and at least looked presentable, even if the shadows under their eyes were practically getting their own shadows.

Leader zoned out for most of the meeting, it was a pointless one anyway, talking about meeting quotas and making thing cheaper. Leader nodded along to the pointless graphs and data points, before they got up to leave.

The world swayed, and everything went blurry as they sat back down in the seat. Getting up again, Leader steeled themself, setting their jaw and just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. They felt like a zombie.

They were almost home when their legs almost dropped out from under them, only for a strong arm to catch them as they fell.

"Idiot." Second grunted, heaving Leader's almost unconscious body up, and steadying them. "I was thinking," They began as they practically dragged Leader towards home. "We should take you on a training mission, get an enemy to knock you out so you get some sleep."

They jostled Leader, who had began slipping from Second's grip, grunting as they hauled Leader's arm over their shoulders.

"You won't need an enemy to knock you out if you keep going like this."

Leader smirked slightly. "You always have creative ideas." They mumbled, as Second got them inside.

The next thing they knew, they were waking up, snuggled in their bed with Medic standing over them, not looking impressed.

"Hey Leader." They started softly. "How you feeling?"

Leader's body felt drained, and heavy, like their bones were made of lead. They couldn't muster the energy to reply.

"Figures, you've been asleep for two days."

Leader's eyes widened, as they tried to sit up. They had so much to catch up on.

"No, stay down. You need sleep, we're handling everything else. Second says all your work is good, and that they'll just finish up the filler paper work while you rest."

Leader lay back, half relieved that they didn't have to move.

"Get some rest, the mission is coming up and we need you at your best."

Leader nodded, their eyes already sliding shut again.

It felt amazing.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Event?????

1 or 7, domestic style fluff with my favorite eel?? ♡♡ (it's Floyd of course)

I leave romance vs platonic up to you, gn reader so everyone can enjoy as well :)

Can't wait to see what younc9me up with!!! If you need any help or ideas come bug me, floyd sits in my head constantly like a very annoying song

Warm Mornings; Floyd Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, romance

Content Warning; Some swearing

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; Who needs a weighted blanket when you have a Floyd? I am here to deliver soft Floyd(TM) hours! (he also sits in my head constantly; the song is the low-quality Funky Town)

Even when Floyd was dead asleep, he squeezed you, and that was your situation now. You were lying on top of him, and he had you in a comfortable yet strong bear hug. Just tight enough that you couldn’t wiggle free from him. And it was normally fine, but last night someone had left the window open and now it was warm and humid in the room, making you feel sticky.

“Floyd,” you whispered, trying to wake him up gently.

A gentle snore was your answer. You should have expected that though, he sleeps like a damn log.

You tried wiggling around a bit, but Floyd just hugged you tighter on unconscious instinct and rolled over, trapping you under him. Yeah, you were officially stuck. “Floydddd,” you groaned, poking him right above his hips. “You’re crushing me.” 

Usually he would wake up by you repeatedly poking him, but he was out cold, he only just shifted, trapping your face where one cheek was pressing against the mattress, and the other was smushed up against his chest. Normally, you wouldn’t complain about this situation, but it was grossly warm. You were also too far away from your usual ‘escape the crushing weight of my dearly beloved eel route’, which was just tickling his legs and feet. Too bad your arms were pretty much pinned against the bed. 

“Floyd, get off me,” you grumbled, squirming around like a worm on a hook.

Still nothing.

Sighing, you accept your fate. Besides the humidity, it was rather nice. Sure, you couldn’t make out the crashing of the waves on the beach, the steady beat of Floyd’s heart was right up against your ear, and it was slow and steady.

Slow and steady, not two words many people would associate with Floyd. It was a calmer side that only you got to see; when you were overwhelmed, or when he was feeling soft. Yes, he was usually a bundle of energy, but even he had his quiet moments. Within the hurricane, there was always the eye, where things remained still, despite the wild winds outside.

“Mmm,” Floyd groaned, the first sign of life you’ve seen since you’d been sandwiched.

He slowly blinked his eyes, working out the sleep from them, and tilted his head down so he could actually see you, since you were still stuck between his chest and the mattress. “Heh heh, I caught a Shrimpy in my sleep!~” He drawled, voice chipper but still heavy from sleep.

“Yes, yes you did. Can you please get off though, it’s gross out,” you groaned. At least he was cute, which the wild bed head only played in his favour. How can he look so good in the morning? Maybe it’s a mer thing… “Floyd?”

He hadn’t moved, and was instead giving you a wide grin. “Hmm, maybe I should’ve called you Crabby instead of Shrimpy, Shrimpy,” he pinched your cheeks teasingly, “since you look pretty crabby right now.”

You rolled your eyes, “And maybe I should use that mushroom risotto recipe that Jade gave me for our dinner tonight. But that’s only if you don’t get off.”

Floyd narrowed his eyes at you, trying to make out if you were bluffing or not, since last time you were dead serious and did exactly that. But he rolled off of you, grumbling a bit. “Meanie,” he muttered.

You shuffled over to where he was dramatically splayed out, his head slightly turned to you, and giving you puppy dog eyes. Chuckling, you kissed him on the lips, as that is what he was being dramatic about.

Giggling, he captured you in his arms yet again, and trapped you against the mattress for a second time this morning. He was giving you a shit eating smile. You weren’t leaving this bed until he had his share of kisses.  

“Floydddd,” you groaned, but you weren’t annoyed with him, if anything, you were amused. There was never a dull moment with him around.

“Shrimpyyyyyy,” he mimicked your voice with a more prominent whine. “You know the drill!~”

Sighing, you ran your hands up through his messy hair, and brought your lips together, deeper this time. You knew the drill; neither of you were getting up until both of your lips were tired, sore, and most likely bitten… which may not be for a while.

~~~~~~~

Tags: @azulashengrottospiano, @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @krenenbaker, @officialdaydreamer00, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 3

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn friends to lovers

Sorry for the wait! The day I set aside to get loads done on this I ended up having to visit a family member in hospital, he’s much much better now. Anyway oversharing. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I loved writing it. Let me know if you wanna be added to my tag list 💕

Part 1

Part 2

——————————————————————

You woke up on Saturday morning to a missed text from Art.

7:58am - text from Art

Sorry if I woke you when I left. Gone to play hard court today hope you slept alright on that couch.

The sudden realisation that you were not in fact in your bed hit you almost as hard as the loose spring in your back. You groaned, reaching for some leftover pizza. None left. You groaned again.

9:26am - text to Art

Did you eat all your pizza?

To your surprise the boy replied immediately, showcasing his ability to read your mind.

9:27am - text from Art

Afraid so :) Look in the fridge if you’re so hungry

The fridge, despite the tightness of your apartment, had never looked so far away. You’d rather wait the nine hours for Art to return and pass food to you through a funnel. He could create some sort of feeding tube, perhaps he could fashion it out of one of the dozen tennis ball containers Patrick left lying around. You hadn’t seen the floor in years.

It took you almost thirty minutes to peel your lifeless body off the sofa and trudge the eight metres to the fridge. Before all of your fingers had grasped the cold metal you caught it. The smell.

The month you and Patrick were flat hunting had been a difficult one, full of stress and disappointments. A week before you found the flat you now called home, Art had found crying outside your favourite pancake place. You didn’t know if Patrick had texted him, giving him a heads up of your less than stellar mood and where to find you, or if he had simply ran into you by accident but one minute he was there.

The two of you had shared your favourite, strawberry and kiwi pancakes with whipped cream, despite having never spent time alone together previously and it hadn’t been awkward. Any awkwardness had come from your inability to keep your emotions to yourself and not a mess for all to see. Art hadn’t minded in fact, unbeknownst to you, he’d greatly enjoyed your company and had had a shitty day himself before your talk.

10:02am - text to Art

Did I ever mention I love you living here??

Sitting proudly in the fridge, in between Patrick’s abandoned pasta and your pathetic amount of cheese, was a plate of strawberry and kiwi pancakes. You looked at the pile of washing up and noticed essence of strawberry still dripping from the chopping board next to a whisk and bowl.

‘God damn…’ you actually moaned aloud at the first bite. Not only were they delicious but they’d been made especially for you for no reason. No one had ever made you breakfast before, unless you counted the time Patrick threw a box of muffins at your head to wake you up for school. It often didn’t take a great amount of effort to impress you, something maybe a therapist needed to hear about, but you felt justified being impressed with Art for this. They were truly wonderful.

10:20am - text from Art

Come thank me in person if you want, Liam is taking another break

You couldn’t help but smile at his little dig at Liam, whether intentional or not it told you everything you needed to know: Art was the better player. Art was always the better player, he usually wiped the floor with anyone who wasn’t Patrick.

It was only a twenty minute walk to Stanford and although you were ashamed to admit it … you had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. You decided to pack your laptop, so you could kid yourself that this was a productive thing and not just an excuse to watch Art sweat. The damn thing wouldn’t even get opened and you knew it.

It was a hot day, even for Summer it was unforgiving. You pulled at your tank top, attempting to negate any sweat stains by leaving a gap between your wet skin and the thin fabric. No such luck, the car window reflection of yourself showed you the harsh reality. How did Art do it? How did he look sexy whilst sweating? You felt like a drowned dog, heaving and panting in the back of a muggy car trying to see past the drops of sweat in your lashes.

You reached Stanford earlier than you expected and to your great satisfaction, saw no Art present. That gave you ample time to tidy yourself up in the toilets before meeting him. The college had crisp air con, much better than the pathetic excuse for a fan you and Patrick would crowd round on hot days.

Art didn’t text you directions because he didn’t need to. He knew you’d visited Patrick enough times to know your way around all the tennis courts, hard or otherwise. It didn’t take you long to find the right one.

‘Fuck!’

You scanned the indoor courts for the source of the outburst. Art, third court from the left and he was not happy. For a moment you teetered on your feet, unsure if it was better to wait a bit before interfering with their clearly tense match. Before you could make a decision however-

‘Y/N!’

Liam spotted you, putting his racket down immediately to wave you over. He’d once gotten drunk and told Patrick how much he liked you but that it had been so long ago that you’d almost forgotten and his new girlfriend was a tennis star. On the ‘up and up’ as Patrick’s dad would say.

Although Liam’s hug was intense, sweaty and pretty uncomfortable you were too focused on Art to cringe. He was rubbing his face with his hands, looking more pained than you’d ever seen him. You didn’t know why. He’d been playing well before you arrived.

Noticing the object of your frown, Liam suddenly grinned even wider. ‘He just lost the third set.’ Art took a large swig of water, not noticing the way you stared in awe at the angle of his jaw and the wet curls on his forehead. He was too focused on the racket he was clutching fiercely enough to force the veins of his forearm to pull your attention.

‘I know it’s not over yet,’ Liam panted slightly, clearly Art had still run him ragged. ‘But this never happens - never.’ In the years they’d played together, Liam had never beaten Art. Not in singles or doubles. Not on hard court. Not on clay or grass. Never. You were not convinced, however, that poor Liam had never won a set before so you voiced your opinion without thinking.

‘Art, you can still win. It’s fine!’

Art shot you a glare. It didn’t last long but it burned you a little, the intensity of it. He wanted so badly for you to be right, for it to not matter to him. ‘It’s just a game’ well it wasn’t to Art. It was his entire future and if he lost - if he lost ever - it was him throwing that future away.

‘You’ll win the fourth.’ You smiled, reassuringly. That lifted Art a little and bruised his partner.

‘I thought we were stopping for a bit since Y/N’s here.’ Art watched your face for a reaction, daring you to decide for the three of them. Without removing your eyes from Art you smiled. ‘No, no. I’ll watch.’

You watched them play for another hour and a half. Art just won the fourth set, by the narrowest of margins but that gave him the confidence boost he badly needed to destroy Liam in the fifth. Th-wack! Smash. Th-wack! Slice. Th-wack! Topspin. You were honestly confused why Liam bothered serving. If it had been you - well - let’s just say the floor would have made a more than sufficient bed. It was certainly making a sufficient seat for you to watch Liam get massacred. God was Art good.

‘You win…’ Liam was dripping, his white shirt almost see-through. ‘I need a sec…’ So did you. It was practically a workout just watching them. You clapped as Art walked over to you, looking very satisfied with his win. ‘You happy now?’

‘Very.’

As Liam rung out his shirt, Art gestured to the court with his racket. ‘You and me. One game.’ His eyes were full of amusement.

‘Ha.’

You’d die.

‘One set?’ He smirked, desperate for you to humour him. Not today. ‘Absolutely not.’ You laughed, standing up.

‘Actually, I’d love lunch right now,’ Liam’s suggestion was a necessity. ‘After a shower.’ And so was his afterthought. They both needed one desperately. Art’s hair didn’t even look blonde anymore.

‘Yeah you two go, I’ll wait then we can get food. I’m not super hungry but I can always eat.’

Liam was already rushing to the showers, practically leaving a pool of loser evidence behind him but Art heard. He looked like he was waiting for something from you and for a moment, in your haze, you wondered what. Oh!

‘The pancakes,’

‘Hm.’

‘De-licious.’

‘Good.’

You could tell he was happier with your compliment than he was letting on. The truth was Art craved praise, mostly for tennis but for anything he accomplished. It didn’t matter if he’d made a three tier cake, organised a trip or won every set in a match he wanted to know he’d done good.

‘Seriously, how did you even find the recipe?’ The two of you walked together out of the hall. ‘I’ve been asking the staff for years, pretty sure they hate me now actually.’

‘I have my ways.’ He grinned. ‘Now, I’m gonna go shower-‘

‘Good, you stink.’

‘Fuck off.’

Chapter 4

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid - Part 8

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, depression, mentions of suicide, despair, feeling trapped. Mentions of abuse and rape.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 7

Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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You spin around the room, taking in your surroundings. You try pulling at the doors, but they're locked. You try the windows, they open but when you try pushing your hand out, an invisible wall materializes and keeps you in.

I can't blame him for not trusting I wouldn't jump....

What now?

Great... I swapped one cell for another... at least this one is luxurious

You sigh heavily as you flop onto the bed. The room is as large as the king's suite, with a joining bathroom. The closet alone in this suite is larger than any home you have ever stayed in.

Everything adorned the colours of Asgard, and of course Loki's emerald green and gold.

You go through the wardrobe, unsurprised to find it fully stocked with pristine gowns and attire fit for a royal.

This room is for a visiting princess or queen. He just put me here for now. I shouldn't get too comfortable...

You suddenly feel anxiety bubble within you.

Surely he will send me back to the maid's quarters... I'm not fit for such royal chambers... or chambers at all for that matter...I can't go back... not after what I just admitted to, i will be ostricized, treated and belittled far worse than ever before for being a traitor!

You begin to panic, circling the room while biting your nails and running your hands through your hair.

I have to get out of here!

You start pulling at the doors again but they won't budge.

Okay, you need to breathe. You take in a few deep slow breaths.

He said I'm safe here... just wait for him to come back... will he come back?

You go into the bathroom and wash your face with cold water to ground you. Admiring the bath tub you notice the intricate details on the tile floor. Standing back you notice they form a snake in the middle of the room.

You turn to the cupboard and notice the luxurious scented oils.

Surely I can take a bath? Will he be mad if I do? If I don't? Am I allowed or was I supposed to just stay in the room and wait for his return?

Before you can let your anxiety get the best of you, you turn the tap on and splash some lavender oils in the tub. You strip yourself of the silk pyjamas Loki provided earlier and soak in the tub.

You sigh as you realize you can't remember the last time you've been this relaxed and you were going to savour every second of it.

You scrub yourself down with the other multitude of bathing products stocked in the bathroom. Once finished, you slowly get out and brush out your wet hair. Relishing in the smell and the feel of how soft and clean it now is.

Going through the wardrobe, you can only find maiden night gowns, which you have always despised. You quickly pick up the green silk top and shorts that Loki originally gave you and put them back on.

You slip into the bed and sink into the soft mattress. Within seconds, you're asleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up a few hours later to the sound of a crow cawing at your window. You groan as you sit up and stretch.

"Sleep well?" you hear a voice from the corner of the room. You scream in surprise and throw the first pillow you can grab towards the sound.

Loki chuckles and he dodges it "I think you're going to need more than a pillow if you really wanted to hurt me."

"I - sorry - I just- I thought I could take a bath while I waited and I - um this is inappropriate I'm sorry -" you ramble as you jump out of the bed and start making it.

"Stop." Loki interrupts your rambling.

" I never ordered you couldn't take a bath or nap or anything. You can do whatever you want. You're not a prisoner." he states slowly.

You look down sheepishly. Loki chuckles quietly again and sits up as he closes his book, from his position on the couch in the corner of the room.

"Lavender is my favourite too. I see you chose to keep my set of nightwear on rather than the ones provided..." a smug smirk forming on his lips and he looks you up and down.

"I - they were just more comfortable. I don't like night gowns." you admit to him, cheeks burning with embarassment.

"There are no rules here. You may do as you please. Whatever makes you comfortable. Do you like the room?"

Caught off guard by his warm approach and the casual conversation you reply but remain guarded.

"Yes. I do. It's bigger than any home I have ever been in."

"You don't trust me." he states matter of fact.

Shocked by his bluntness you stutter out your reply "I don't know what you want, your highness. I am but a maid."

"Oh, you are more than that, darling." he says to you as his eyes lock onto yours. Loki beings to approach you.

Nervousness waves over you. You swallow thickly.

He steps forward, once, twice... suddenly you get scared and take a step back, your arms circling your body. A defence mechanism.

"I understand the lengths at which you have helped me, your highness, and I know not what you desire in return. However, I cannot offer you my maidenhood... for it has been taken from me long ago..."

I will not be your toy to play with.

"Have I ever requested such? I know you are no toy, as you put it. I have never and will never treat you as such. Is that all you think you are worth?" Loki questions.

"Wait... I never said that out loud. How did you know what I was thinking?" you question him, your brows furrow.

"You forget I am a God, darling. I did not mean to read your thoughts, they're sometimes so loud I can hear them." he explains to you.

"Now, you never answered my question. Is that all you think you are worth? Is that all you think I want?" he asks you again.

You shift on your heels, "I have nothing else to give you in return." you reply quietly.

"I ask for nothing in return. I have a debt to pay you, for what you have endured within my castle's walls, which should have never happened to begin with. I am indebted to you." Loki says slowly.

You begin to stutter, unable to form a reply.

"When you said your maidenhood was taken from you long ago... taken is a precise word to use..."

"I know what I said. It has always been taken from me... it was never wanted... not once..." you whisper. You feel tears forming and quickly blink them away.

"I see..." Loki says, hands behind his back and he taps his foot on the tile floor.

"I would like for us to have an arrangement." he declares. "And before you interrupt and assume anything, hear me out. I only want you as my personal maid; and as the kings personal maid you will not stay in the maid's quarters as they are unfit. You will stay here, in these chambers, beside me."

You blink at him with a blank stare. "Um, I -..Yes, your highness -" you reply, knowing no other answer would be accepted anyway.

"Loki.. just Loki, please." he says to you as he walks closer and puts his hand over yours.

For a moment your eyes lock and you feel this spark jolt through your body. Electrifying to the point where goosebumps formed on your arms and you both jolt your hands back in surprise.

You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.

Loki stares at his hands for a moment and hesitates.

"Care for some lunch?"

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Part 9

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