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apocalypse-shuffle · 5 months ago

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CREATURE COMMANDOS (DCU - animated)

—

“A Call To Motion” or Going to Carnival w/ The Creature Commandos (Creature Commandos x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

CHARACTERS: FLAG, BRIDE, PHOSPHOROUS, NINA, G.I. (platonic), WEASEL (platonic).

NSFW, 18+, minors dni, mission, team dynamics, fluff, caribbean setting, dancing, referenced sex (TW: stalking, murder, animal death) - monster!reader & caribbean!reader

6k+ words (some of which are from a 900+ word mini fic w/ Phosphorus)

RICHARD “RICK” FLAG SR.

Rick should absolutely not be allowing you to do this, but he can’t take his eyes off you anyway.

There’s something mesmerizing about how you move to the music around you, the island’s atmosphere seeming to have rejuvenated you significantly. It’s like you were made of the sun, it seeps into the pretty brown of your skin like a homecoming and the way you bask in its warmth and smile takes his breath away.

Flag is old and more than a little jaded, taking his breath away — let alone getting him to start waxing fucking poetic — wasn’t easy. Why, then, you’re able to do it without so much as trying is something he can’t mentally grasp.

He can’t be too mad when you’re still clearly doing your job, though. Even with you singing loudly to every single song. Flag doesn’t even want to know how you know the newer tracks at all, let alone well enough to not be missing any words and wining your waist in time enough to be hitting every single beat.

And he is watching close enough to tell. He tells himself it’s because you’re too much of a wildcard this mission — on this island — but he’s hardly convincing himself. Feigning ignorance is his best bet anyway, even if he is kind of worried about whether he’ll have to bury your headless body in an unmarked grave because you slipped away using familiar pathways you grew up trekking he had no chance of knowing.

Regardless, even with you being covered enough to hide the monstrous parts of your appearance, very little about the way you’re dancing leaves much for his imagination to do. The way your ass pops, the freedom in your movements, the surety in your performance, it’s all like catnip to him.

Even in tactical gear you’re still working him up. Even though you were one of his goddam charges and he was too old to be acting like his love struck son did with that June Moon chick, too old to be falling for a woman who gave him nothing but shit consistently and who’d tried to claw him to death on their first mission the first time you and him fought together.

You were a lot of other things too, however: the first one to save him from an explosion, the first to earnestly ask for his help despite how begrudging you’d obviously been, someone who let him rant about shit without telling the others, who lit up so fantastically at certain things it made him feel a little lighter himself, the woman outcasted from your place of birth that talked him into (ie: verbally tore him apart) finally going to visit Rick’s grave at his, and you’re accent was like fucking silk. So really, who could blame him if he was falling a little in love?

A lot of people, but he’s choosing to ignore that.

Really, there’s better things he could be watching so closely. G.I. was one, he was always one, and Eric was unpredictable and volatile enough Flag was convinced he needed to be watched even closer than Weasel. Or maybe he could even be paying more attention to the literal mission they were on, but still it was you who’d captured his attention the most.

After he catches himself and realizes he’s been ogling you silently for the better part of five minutes he doesn’t watch you as closely as he genuinely wants to. You’re both not dancing for him and are supposed to be working, he needs to get himself under control.

Rick wants to keep his eyes on you, though, and has definitely been letting himself get dragged along in this game of push and pull that you're playing with him.

Jesus fucking Christ if Waller could see him now…

Because of you making a point to stare him down, raise a brow, and then step into the collective mass of dancing bodies to wukup and jam and sing in a shadowy part of the area — getting even closer to where their primary target was throwing back shots surrounded by a wall of women, and basically daring Rick to stop you if he thought he was big and bad enough — Rick ends up taking his frustration out on everyone else on the team.

You’re taking risks, but he can’t deny that even in between your singing the intel you're giving him is good. Plus, you didn’t want anything major going down in your home island any more than Rick did; more so than he did, even. So all he can do is redirect his frustration at you not following his instruction and potentially putting yourself in danger.

Rick wishes he could feel half of what you’re feeling. That he could enjoy the music shaking his teeth and feel the freedom you clearly do in your movements and in being surrounded, however briefly, by your people even ostracized as you now were as a “creature”.

Instead of that he’s been tasked to lead. He might not have you back under control yet — he’ll get to wrangling you back into working if you don’t do so yourself, but he wants you to enjoy the reprieve for now — but he can nitpick the hell out of everyone’s positions until he’s got a cacophony of people bitching and groaning in his ears and his lips are twitching up into less of a frown as he keeps half an eye on you.

Though nothing gets him as close to smiling as when you finally deem yourself satisfied (or as satisfied as you’re ever going to get as a imprisoned woman who’ll never be able to go anywhere uncovered lest she incite a mob) and slide up to him. You don’t do anything so transparent as laugh or cheer, but you do grin at him — your pretty brown eyes nice and wild — and for a second Rick feels himself grinning back.

THE BRIDE

The Bride is the main recipient of your uncharacteristically excited rambling (or uncharacteristically happy grumbling, depending on your personality), but that soft spot she has for you keeps her drawn in to listening to you talk yourself breathless instead of doing her usual and sleeping through the flight to Waller’s next suicide mission.

After you land and the two of you have been left more or less alone while the others stick closer to and/or bother Flag, you tell her all about your plans to slack off a little this go around. How you’re going to milk as much fun out of the Carnival experience as you can before you’re forced to wheel yourself back in.

When you ask that Bride please just let you have a little fun and not tattle, she scoffs. For one, she’s not a fucking child, she doesn’t tattle. For two, she wasn’t your keeper, so long as you kept out of trouble and didn’t get in her way she didn’t care what you got up to.

Except she’d really really hate to see you popped, actually.

The Bride is a bit flattered that you thought to consider her in your plans and that you wanted to ask her permission. She still thinks you're an absolute fucking idiot to risk yourself over something so small, though, don’t get her wrong. Even if she’s got little to stand on with her judgement there.

As far as you’re concerned there was little point in taking these missions if you weren’t going to maximize your “freedom” from Blackgate while it lasted.

Honestly it had been just your luck that this week’s mission from Waller had sent you to this part of the Caribbean during Carnival at all. Even if it wasn’t where you were from, the island and her festivities would surely be enjoyable regardless.

That your main goal for the majority of the first and second nights was recon and observation was an even better plus. Now you didn’t even need to sneak off.

It doesn’t take long for The Bride to be reminded of why she’s kept away from sandy areas in the last several decades. Sand was a bitch to get out of her stitches.

While you’re doing recon Bride just disinterestedly watches you dance around her and drinks from the almost comically small glass of spiked slushie in her hand, little green paper umbrella and all. She has like seven of these and isn't even near tipsy, and for someone who is trying to get drunk that tendency of her metabolism is really getting irritating.

The fact she lets you near her at all isn’t permission in and of itself to stay by her while you act a fool. Bride tolerates your presence just fine on a regular basis, but that was it. When she sees you vibrating where you stand, softly singing along to familiar songs you haven’t heard in years while bouncing in place to the beat, and then gestures halfheartedly in front of her where people are jamming all while raising a brow at you, though, that’s permission. Hell, it’s practically an invitation.

One that you take her up on very vigorously at that. Nina might be shaking head at the two of you, but you can see her hiding a little giggle when you start playing around while you dance regardless. And if it gets a little scoff out of Bride then that’s just a happy bonus.

You’re not going to act like coming down here to have fun wasn't your main goal. The second you’re out of Flag’s sight you start blowing the mission off. Of course you keep a passing track of your targets, but with the mission only being about observing the assholes you think it’s only fair you get to do something entertaining enough that you don’t die of boredom.

You wukup not because you have to, but because you want to. And you do it near where Bride’s leant against the counter of a pop-up bar because you want to too; want her to notice you, maybe make a move.

After all you guys were in lock up, not a nunnery.

You pull out every trick in the book that still flatters your inhuman body, letting the soca beats flow through you like a woman starved all the while, and if it weren’t for Bride’s occasional grunts in reaction to something you’ve done you’d think it wasn’t having any effect at all.

Internally Bride is a lot more invested in what you're doing than even you can tell, and definitely more than the bloody mission you're on. She just makes a good show of seeming like she isn’t.

The only bearable thing about the heat that saw Bride ditching her jacket in the vehicle Flag drove them in was the salt twinged breeze blowing through the short buildings with their colorfully tiled roofs. The fact that you were showing as much skin as you could get away with due to the heat wasn’t lost on her either.

Bride finds a beauty in you she hasn’t seen in anyone since Victor. A beauty that’s brought back to life some of the bits of her that died with her creator, and brings technicolor back to the bits of her that turned dull and grey as Eric continued his relentless pursuit of her.

She couldn’t deny you your whims or resist your draw if she wanted to.

The way her heart speeds up when you crack a joke about a song’s lyrics or a singer's entrance, and how she has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t laugh too obviously. The full on blush she sports when you start dancing with some drunk man in a way he clearly likes but only look her way as you work your waist in his hold, and how she wants to snap all of his fingers and wrench his hands off of you. All of that lets Bride know she’s in trouble and you’re liable to be caught in a crossfire that's been brewing for over a century.

She’s going to have to push you away soon, but ‘soon’ didn’t have to be tonight.

It’s one of the world’s most dangerous games of chicken, working around Eric Frankenstein’s unwanted possessiveness of The Bride. You’re fully aware he’s watching you and Bride too, you just don’t give a shit. Voyeuristic jackass.

Part of you likes antagonizing him.

Revels in the fact that he can’t kill you as easily as he’d like and the fact that you and the man both know it. That you were barely asking for Bride’s attention and she was willingly offering it when years worth of groveling for her attention yielded nothing for him but a fist to the face.

Every time Victor Frankenstein’s Monster comes into view and Bride clocks him lurking (and trying to set you in particular on fire with his gaze) she scoffs and makes a point of putting her back to him and moving you in the process.

It probably makes Eric blue vex every single time The Bride touches you just enough to nudge you from his view.

Bride is more gentle than she needs to be when she steps in closer to you and uses her knee to nudge you in the hip — she does it so softly, in fact, that you don’t fully comprehend her urging you to the side, it’s so out of character with what you’re used to from her, and just move.

Bride is quite fond of how easily you move at her prompting, reluctant as she is to admit it. Still, after she gets you to move, she backs back up to give you space again.

You mourn the way she towers over you in those scant few seconds. Like how harmless it makes you feel, how wholly encompassed by her presence you are, how much of her undivided attention is on you.

Despite everything Bride likes to watch, and it’s clear you're putting on a show for her even though she can’t indulge either of your desires.

You are most definitely not as on high alert as you should be as you’re jamming and singing along to the live band them, but with Bride specifically at your back you couldn’t find it in you to feel unprotected. Bride was quick on the response, and there’d never been a time when you two were working together that she’d been laid out by a hit for long (especially if there wasn’t magic involved).

Bride notices how forlornly you stare at the women still in their colorful Carnival gear from the earlier parades and snags you a feather that matches the only accent color on your mostly all black uniform.

When you preen at her she grumbles to herself, brushing your thanks off, but you hardly let that stop you and start talking away about the importance of the feathers as you finally slip from the crowd to get back to work. And Bride let’s you.

You might want to fuck around with Eric’s self control, but The Bride knows what will happen and that’s a lot of the reason why she won’t show any obvious interest in you. Quite frankly it’s mostly the fact that you’re a woman that’s letting her have as much contact with you (and Nina) as she has because he hasn’t figured out that was an option Bride would go for, and she’d like to keep it that way.

In the end you all survive. Although, she has picked up a few more worries, most pressing being that you seem to enjoy egging Eric on and that she thinks smug looks quite sexy on you.

Once you’re all back in your cell block and she starts complaining about there still being sand in between her damned stitches she can’t help but grow a bit more smitten with you when you pull her grumpy ass to a bench and get to meticulously ridding her of any remaining granules.

‘Soon’ would have to wait another day more to come.

DR PHOSPHORUS | ALEXANDER SARTORIUS

Phosphorus wants to touch you so badly. He’s not blind, he can see all the ways everyone else is dancing together and he wants to get up underneath you like that, to feel your hips against his; for a second, honestly, he does consider it but he already knows what will happen so he doesn’t give in to the urge.

He’s not in any particular rush to get the shit knocked out of him today, or to honestly fight you.

It’s still decidedly entertaining to think about what he’d be doing if he could touch you though, if he could plant his hands on your hips without your flesh boiling beneath his touch cause he’s too excited to temper himself— and a little entertaining to think about what would happen if he touches you in reality, but really he can’t be blamed for mere curiosity. It couldn’t be helped.

Phosphorus likes you too much to actually want to hurt you anyway, just obviously not enough to stay away from you or stop managing to share close quarters with you (yes, even when you’re asleep).

He used to be far more considerate about things like that, he knows. Everything is just too distorted now, the man he was too purposefully forgotten to drag back up.

If he can’t touch you (even when his temperature control is stable) he figures he should at least be able to watch you as much as possible. The good thing about not having visible eyes, too, was that he could keep his gaze on you all the time and no one could call him out on it.

Phosphorus loves whenever you feel his gaze on you and turn your pretty head to glance around. Loves the little twitch of unease you give when you can’t quite figure out that he’s watching you out of the corner of his eyes, and just generally being able to catalog all your reactions and micro expressions to what’s going on around you guys without you noticing.

So you can imagine how much Phosphorus takes in his visual fill when you start bouncing in place while you guys are on lookout together; keeping the perimeter secure around your group of targets, making sure no one was unaccounted for, and the like.

You always operate particularly gingerly around him (so long as the mutation that made you into a monster didn’t make you impervious to long exposure to radiation) — an effect on you Phosphorous doesn’t fail to revel in; it makes him smile a lot when you tense around him, though you obviously can’t tell — and so he completely forgets about bothering to pretend he cares about the mission you’re on when you start tapping your finger on the handle of your weapon or tapping your hand on the side of your thigh.

If the tapping took him by surprise, then the way you start bouncing on the balls of your feet in time with the beat pounding around you makes him choke on nothing. You notice, and boy does he like the way it makes you startle, but the great thing about getting turned into the absolute freak of nature that he is now is that not having expressions for people to read makes them more likely to dismiss what his opinions on little things like being caught doing something mildly embarrassing might be.

You go back to ignoring him easier than most would assume and get lost back in your head when a song you clearly recognize starts playing and you start singing along. Automatically Phosphorus pays more attention to the punchy beats and slick lyrics, but it’s not his kind of music and there’s too much about the dialect he doesn’t understand so he dismisses it quickly as a ‘you thing’ and just raises his brow, smirking as he listens to you.

Even strapped securely in gear and covered in fur or scales or whatever your body’s still killer and a sight to behold when you finally start to move your hips. And when your ass starts to circle he isn’t ashamed to say he doesn’t look away.

Although your movements are subtle he’s enraptured anyway.

Everything about the way you’ve acted since you got to the Caribbean has been telling and after such a show Phosphorus kind of wants to know more. If only because it’s you and because he is bored.

It’s…rare for him to find himself legitimately interested in anybody anymore. Let alone the way he desires you, the way he wants to keep you. A lot of him doesn’t really want to succumb to that seeming howling need — the need to find connection in you, to touch, to possess. The parts of him he’d thought completely eradicated after his “incident” weren’t giving him much of a choice in the matter, though.

—

When he leans back into the wall behind him and its peeling colorful paint, he crosses his arms, gives up any pretense of caring about his mission parameters, and stares at your ass.

Wining your waist. That’s what you're doing if the punchy instructions to the song currently blasting through the night air are to be believed, and he likes it.

Phosphorus starts bouncing one of his legs some with the beat, too. In tandem with your sway and bounce.

He clears his throat.

“So, what’s all this for anyway?”

“…what…?”

At first when you turn to him it’s rather absent, you’re still noticeably trying to keep an ear out for the live bands and bask in the lively chatter surrounding you both from below. Once you clock his leant position and the angle of his head your mood shifts entirely, however.

You stand up taller, glaring, and Phosphorus shivers at all that undivided attention of yours trying to pin him in place.

It wouldn’t work. Far more intimidating people have tried to ‘put him in his place’ or have attempted even dumber shit like trying to ‘appeal to his humanity or humility’ before and it’s yet to work out for any of them.

Wouldn’t work with you either, didn’t matter how much he couldn’t get enough of those dark eyes staring directly at him. Part of him wants to pluck those pretty brown cognacs out to wear around a chain. He won’t, but your eyes were their own type of diamonds he desperately wanted to preserve in a collection.

“…Were you just staring at my ass?”

Phosphorus gasps, jerks himself upright.

He makes a show of acting like he’s about to refute you, like he could never. Like he’s about to go ‘that’s presumptive’ and give you shit about not considering the fact that he’s visually a glow in the dark skeleton. Walking, talking, and killing, sure, but still with no discernible features.

He puts his hand over his heart for a second and everything.

Really, though, he’s just giving you a performance so you keep glaring at him.

“Spit it out already,” you snap.

The walking radiation bomb laughs. He does wave his act off still, leaning forward just to watch you jerk away in response to heat he’s only mostly keeping at bay— you could technically touch him right now if you wanted, but Phosphorus isn’t holding his breath.

“Alright alright,” he says, laughing lowly to himself as he stuffs his hands in his pockets so he can shrug. “I was totally watching, you have a nice ass.”

There’s a herculean effort that goes into you not knocking him down two stories, he can see it in your body language.

“You’re going to stop watching,” you declare, the growl in your voice prominent.

He shrugs, gives less grief to you for ordering him around than he would anyone else still currently breathing, “Fair enough.”

Phosphorus would, however, absolutely be in mourning over it.

When you close in on him, Phosphorus lets his back flatten against the wall where he wouldn’t in any other situation. Let’s himself bend for you that tiny bit more. He wants to see what you’ll do. To know how far he can push you.

He smiles. You clearly don’t notice. He doesn’t mind.

You bare your teeth— they’re sharp and he suddenly wants to feel them breaking his irradiated skin, “What is it that you want, Doctor?”

Doctor. Jesus Christ, he’d moan if he didn’t know that’d really make you throw him off the roof.

Phosphorus didn’t have much of an attachment to his old professional standing, and for good fucking reason, but something about how your voice wraps around such a respectful moniker in reference to him always makes him a little lightheaded.

Head tilting, he holds a finger up to point back to the expanse of writhing bodies beyond the roof.

“Well I did ask earlier.”

The fact that you don’t buss him upside the head is more a testament to your own patience — and no doubt your ability to bid your time — and less so Phos’s powers, especially since he’s not even using them.

You do spend the rest of the time explaining Carnival to him, but he’s not really listening. Not to your words.

He gets the vibe that you’re aware of his actual disinterest for your answers considering your monotone delivery. The whole time it’s like you’re being forced to give a middle school presentation with a gun to your head and Phosphorus doesn’t even mind because what he’s focused on is the tones of your voice, the restless shift of your body when a song comes on you’d clearly like to be paying more attention to, how you force him pettily to focus on the actual content of your words as you explain emancipation and why everything is so goddamned brightly colored.

The fact that he’s stealing your attention makes him deliciously frustrated. Phosphorus stands there for most of the night and learns more than he cares to while basically preening under your gaze the entire time. Hell, he nearly melts into a puddle when his eyes wander (his head tilting in response) to one of your targets leaving the perimeter and you grasp him by the jaw tight enough to ache. Forcing his attention back your way like you need his eyes on you just as badly as he does yours.

He wants to touch you. Wants to massage the plush of your ass, and rub you to completion until he gets tears to spring in your eyes and he aches for more. Wishes for certain nerves back for the first time in forever just so he can shove himself down your throat and come undone without burning his way through.

Subsequently, however, he’ll have to settle for your passive aggressive lecturing and relishing in the blood splatter from the way you pop the head of you two’s wayward target.

He kind of loves it.

Pain at picking back up that emotion relative to someone else again be damned.

NINA MAZURSKY | MERMAID

Even despite the fact that you’re still working, Nina keeps feeling the need to remind you to stay on task or else you could meet your impending doom from the bomb implanted in your neck.

It’s a real bummer, you tell her to live a little.

Despite her words, though, Nina both loves the more water based mission and loves listening to you talk about the place you grew up in. She hangs onto your every word and every anecdote you make about how free everything felt back when you were home and about how much you miss the smell of the sea. Nina gets missing the water, it might not be life and death for you but she still understands being homesick (and the bone deep longing for certain environments).

If there’s anyone on the team you’re roping into dancing with you, it’s Nina. She definitely expresses her concern about disappearing from the outskirts of the crowd where Flag can’t see you and into an alleyway of sorts, but you suck your teeth and toss out that there’s trackers literally implanted in your bodies as you drag her away.

She bitches the whole time but never once resists your lax hold or walks back to her post once you let her hand go.

The sea creature only occasionally bumps into anyone or is bumped into herself, and apologizes excessively all while looking at you bouncing effortlessly between people and turning back to smile at her every once in a while.

The two of you get stares, there’s no avoiding it when you resemble creatures out of a horror novel, but most everyone is far too intoxicated to dwindle on your appearances as you find someplace less crowded and with a bit more privacy.

When you finally convince Nina to dance with you — after urging her to relax with soft looks as you project your voice over the music to talk her through it and hold out your hands for her to grab — she starts off slowly, cringing at herself as she tries to find the rhythm.

It’s hard when she’s watching your hips to do it, trying to copy how you move your waist without being reduced to a stammering mess. She gulps and blushes through it, her steps stuttering as she slowly catches on to your movements and starts engaging her waist in a circular motion to wine, her eyes wide.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Nina let herself go loose. It takes what feels like forever, but once she starts shyly copying your movements �� less a wine, more a sway of her hips side to side — Nina glances up to you with a wide smile, lashes fluttering as she looks for your approval, and for a moment you feel faint.

The both of you have a great time, though. Giggling and dancing and playing around over the sounds of music and people. And with Bride keeping a lookout for you, you don’t have to worry about people stumbling on your or Flag cutting your two person party short.

Only one person causes any actual problem for you both that night, actually. The culprit: some woman who thought you were eyeing her dude as they were walking past you and Nina, too drunk to realize that your tree wasn’t one she wanted to bark up.

When she turns to call you out, yelps as her eyes widen in fear and then snaps out a startled call of “freak” you’re already rolling your eyes. Once her man starts trying to start some shit too, puffing up his chest and staring at you and Nina like you’re evil you figure you’re going to end the night pissed off too. It’s not you who shuts them down, though; no, it’s Nina who tentatively pulls you behind her and then starts clumsily chewing the couple out for being stupid presumptive assholes.

Eventually you end up having to knock them out, Nina letting out a squeak of surprise as they both crash to the ground. While Nina angry is really doing it for you and you’re flattered that she’s come to your defense, if they got any louder you’d get people’s attention and that was the last thing either of you needed.

Nina’s gloved fists are balled tightly once the couple is no longer an issue and you run your hands over them until she relaxes. She apologizes profusely, flushing, but you wave her off and make her flush worse when you compliment her on her mean streak.

After having watched Nina promptly pepper they raas you’d swear your pupils had turned into hearts if you didn’t know any better. It’s like Bride can see them anyway when she snorts and rolls her eyes at you two when ayo finally emerge from the alley to get back to work.

By the end of the mission Nina’s relaxed again, has acquired plenty of beaded necklaces that she’s bunched along her arms and desperately wants to try conch after watching it be prepared for fritters through a food truck's back window. The fried food itself wasn’t necessarily what she was interested in, though you did seem to enjoy the basket you snatched. Nina more so wants to get in the sea to taste them more sashimi style (but without the rice).

Nina also has to admit that she absolutely loves the availability of sea water right off of the house that was rented for the team to recuperate in.

When you sneak out to the beach just beyond your home base you’re in a bathing suit that makes Nina stutter and fully prepared to relax in the sand with a towel until the sun comes up.

Still, you relegate an hour or so to getting into the water with Nina. Marveling some at just how sure and competent she was in the ocean.

In the cover of night you guys can just exist without having to worry about people getting in your way. Can just freely be the ‘monstrous’ creatures you now are for this short amount of time.

Eventually everyone else trickles out of the house with similar ideas of enjoying the beach, even Flag, but Nina doesn’t mind. She just stays lurking in the water, her gums itching for blood in a way she can actually satisfy for once.

There’s no judgement in your eyes when she attacks a fish, your eyes just glitter and you move easily to share some sugar apple you plucked from a tree on your way back to base with her, wiping off the trail of blood coming from her mouth.

She lets you feed her the sweet creamy fruit, looking you in the eyes without the bowl as a barrier for once as her heart pounds a mile a minute in her chest. This is one of the better days of her life, and she tells you as much.

When you smile at her you're more captivating than the stars. When you tell her you're glad and that you agree, especially because she’s here with you, while running the pad of your finger over one of the fins atop her head she shivers and aches for a press of your lips to hers that’s way softer than a bite.

G.I. ROBOT

“Friend Y/n, is visibly excited; is it because there are a lot of Nazis where we’re going?” “—No! No, definitely not. There’s no Nazis there, G.”

Or, at least, not any you knew of (anything was possible and people came from everywhere). Certainly not enough people that were gonna be in the J’ouvert and Carnival crowds to justify letting G.I. get too excited about it.

G.I. doesn’t understand your excitement but he’s not going to begrudge you it or anything either.

In fact, I think G.I. would ask you questions about everything (so long as he saw you as a friend and not just as a handler of some sort).

You’re eager to answer him, eyes bright while you talk as you look him in the face. When he scans you and all signs point to you being happy G.I. feels a small sense of satisfaction at having helped.

When a group of people shove past you to get to the nighttime Carnival activities, you grunt as you’re checked and have to bite back the urge to yell at them and draw attention to G.I. and you. Instead you settle for glaring at them and cussing them out stink under your breath. Your irritation obviously doesn’t go unnoticed by G.I. — even if he wasn’t personally bothered by the shoves — and he offers to get rid of them for you if it will make you feel better. He shifts his hand into his usual embedded gun and all.

It’s such an insane thing to offer, but so true to the robot, that you snort and are knocked out of your angry ranting entirely. You redirect him after that, reaching up to fix the hood of his hoodie where it was pushed back and concealing his head back in its shadows.

G.I.’s eyes still glow red in the shroud of darkness and you tell him it looks sick as fuck before ayo go back to monitoring the parimeter as the rest of the team calls out updates about where the targets are.

After that you start back up telling him about the islands. You miss being home, miss the food, miss feeling the wind blow through your tight curls and dressing up in your feathers and jewels to ramp up and down while wukkin’ up your waist with no abandon. Hell, even now you can’t participate in Carnival and you fucking hate that.

G.I. doesn’t like how upset you are even if he can’t quite articulate how to help. Eventually he settles on asking why you can’t just dance while you’re with him since the music is loud enough to hear from your positions.

Reluctantly, you agree. Once you start dancing as you walk with him you’re far less grumpy though, laughing to yourself as you explain your moves to him while he silently studies you.

When you take one of his hands in yours while you’re patrolling in order to bounce his hand off your own to the beat, he only stares at you. He doesn’t object though and takes to inquiring about some of the more confusing (to him) lyrics in the songs and even starts humming along to the music with you as you dance around him.

He’s got the spirit.

You guys are dragged away before you can sneak off to the food trucks and food stands by the time the first leg of the team’s recon wraps up. To your utter mortification you can feel your lip quiver in your disappointment and keep to yourself more than usual the entire way back to home base, G.I. sitting beside you in the van.

It isn’t until you guys are parked outside the house you’re renting and you two are left in the van last that G.I. shifts and holds his hand out. In it sits a little cup of pastry and jammed fruit. And, yeah, the tart he’d snatched for you just came from his hand but you giggle and eat it anyway, moving to hug him from the side before you do.

G.I. can’t smile, but he does actively lean into your embrace and you take that as expression enough.

WEASEL

Because of the flight risk you present since the Commandos’ next mission is on the island you were born on during one of the busiest tourist days of the year, you’re stuck on Weasel Duty.

Even relegated to the van with him as you are, you’re still close enough (the target was using all the cuhruckle of Carnival as cover) to the festivities that you can hear the music clearly.

Weasel is fairly pleasant company all things considered, but you still throw a fit about being left with him and toss little glares at him every time a group of excited people pass close to the vehicle you're holed up in. It feels like salt being rubbed into a wound.

You want to kill something. Preferably Flag. Then you’d go for Waller.

All that frustration eventually coalesces into the burn of unshed tears in your eyes as you plop down on the floor with gritted teeth and push the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You were not going to cry right now. What the fuck?

Weasel rouses from where he’s squeezed himself into the corner furthest from you, making a small inquiring noise that you ignore.

He whines over your sniffling though, and shuffles over to you with his body still low to the floor while you’re too busy trying to beat your emotions back to notice.

He pokes at your hand with a clawed finger and you startle so badly you knock the back of your head into the metal wall.

Instead of running away his head tilts and his eyes squint in what you interpret as (possibly) sympathy.

Weasel sniffs. You sneer at him. He’s not scared enough to back off and only chitters in response.

It’s…weird. Weasel doesn’t smell or anything, but he is still effectively a naked human man covered in fur and you can’t stop yourself from squinting wet eyes at him as he lowers himself and curls up next to your leg on the van floor.

Weasel’s claws stay retracted the entire time despite your dubious looks. He just looks up at you with those ridiculously large eyes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pants due to the heat.

There were laws against leaving dogs in hot cars, weren’t there?

All it takes is him nudging you with his nose and making another little noise to have you reaching down to scratch over his head. It makes his leg twitch like a dogs and it’s as endearing as it is fucked up.

It’s calming though and the soft content sounds he makes are nice. Allows you to be able to enjoy what little of your home you can bask in right then, the music mingling with the natural ambiance around you.

You definitely crack the windows though, it was too hot for that fuck.

In thanks (after everyone’s finished for the night) you sneak out with him to feed him goat. Live goat, obviously. Though you leave it at just the one for the stable owner’s sake.

The crack of bones and squelch of blood is tolerable mostly because you snapped the animal's neck before tossing it to him (otherwise the bleats would’ve given you away). The way Weasel peeks up at you from over the dead body, lower half of his face covered in blood, is even kind of cute. You’ll admit it, he wasn’t too bad.

Weasel does try offering you some meat off the things’ carcass but, face screwed up, you decline his offer with a short laugh.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I want to write more stuff with The Bride, she’s so cool and there’s so many interesting character beats to delve into with her. I knew I’d love her.

Also, I cannot fucking stand Frank Grillo, but Flag’s characterization is pretty fun to work with. I think Flag might just stay dead too, because in the comics “Frankenstein” (ie: Eric) is the leader of the team at times, but idk because we know Flag Sr. is supposed to appear in other shows and movies.

Also also, listen, I don’t even like Dr. Phosphorus like that but playing around with his personality like this got away from me and I just started writing. Phos’s personality is taken from the episodes that have since come out, but with the last two episodes not out yet I am inferring certain aspects of his personality with only the scarce information from the 1x06 promo. Like, I think I wrote myself into liking him because then I was retroactively forced to reconsider him more closely and actually pay attention to his character.

And the title of this is from the song “Movement” by Hozier; a decision I made after writing this and noticing how well the song fit, which is why this isn’t a lyric prompt type thing.

This fic has a series tag so if you’d like to read the other festival/carnival entries then clicking on that tag would be how you’d find them.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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xu-ren · 3 months ago

Text

Memory Loss

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Rick Flag x pregnant!reader

Warning: Pregnancy stuff, memory loss, a bit of body description

A/N: Found this in my drafts and decided, why not. But I'm also gonna make an effort to write a little more from now on! Mildly inspired by the 8 Year Engagement.

*~*~*~

When you are heavily pregnant with his child, Rick loses his memory. "You have been lucky that he had lasted so long without any complications, given his occupation," said the doctor. You don't feel lucky, heavily pregnant as your husband forgot all about you, just you. He could remember everything else, his job at Argus, the members of the Suicide Squad, June, just not you.

You let him stay with you, hoping that the familiar place would jolt his memory. And it's easier than moving all of his things, you tell yourself, unable to confess even to yourself that you would take this shadow of your husband over not having him at all.

He catches you struggling to put on your shoes, so he helps you. It's similar to when he used to, but not as well. He is still so gentle as he slipped your feet into your shoes, but his hand does not linger, and neither does his thumb rub mindless circles on your ankles.

He still calls you darlin' sometimes, but the affection behind it is gone, and it hurts more than it heals, to hear your favourite pet-name fall from his lips without his ocean of love behind it.

The smell of dinner triggered your gag reflex, making you waddle as fast as you can to the washroom. He still rubs your back, but kisses are no longer interspersed between the trail of heat his hands leave behind. He still helps you to sit up on the toilet seat, and hands you your toothbrush and a cup, but he doesn't kiss you as he used to, trying to assure you that he loves you even when you are puking your guts out on a near daily basis. You miss the kiss more than you can say, as well as the wrinkle of his nose at the taste of vomit lingering prominently on your mouth.

"Can I.... lift your belly up?" Rick asked hesitantly, watching as you lift your belly with both arms only to grimace as your lower back twinge, as if angry that you had forgotten about it. Rick used to do that, helping to lift your belly up whenever he could, in the shower, when you stood up, when you were cooking in the kitchen and even when you were just walking around.

"I read that it helps," Rick continues when you don't answer, too lost in your memories of a different time and a different Rick.

"I'm alright, thank you," you answered, smiling at him. A smile that quickly turned into a grimance when your back twinges again. You desperately wanted to accept his help but it feels like a betrayal, to do something so sacred between you and your Rick with this Rick.

You lower your belly gently even as your back and your hips protested before bracing both hands on your lower back. You push your burdened womb out, groaning in relief as you do so, innocently unaware of the way Rick's pants tightened.

He hated this part of him so badly, this part of him that lusted after a married woman, even if your husband was nowhere in sight. You still wore your wedding ring, for goddess sake. You were clearly not over your husband and all he could think about was being your husband, being by your side and helping you.

"Rick?" You call out. You had been struggling to get out of the bath for a while, but after a slip, luckily it was more of a jolt than a fall, you knew that you had no choice but to swallow your pride and ask Rick for help.

It had been your first bath since the whirlwind that your life has become recently and you had forgotten that it was impossible for you to get out of the bathtub alone. Before, Rick had always been there to help, if he wasn't already in the bath with you, running a hand across your back as he held you securely with his other. You would lie on top of him, resting your head on his chest as the warm water and Rick's heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

He appears at the doorway before you can call a second time, drying his hands with a towel from washing the dishes. "Can you.....help me out?" you ask hesitantly, holding out a hand towards him.

"Of course, darlin'," he answers easily as he threw the towel into the sink, approaching you with but a few large strides. He bypassed your outstretched hands to instead grip your forearms, his large hands covering most of your forearms easily with room to spare.

He heaves you up in a single swift move, causing you to huff and pant, trying to catch your breath as your baby kick and pummel your insides. You had no choice but to hold on to Rick's shirt as you swayed your hips back and forth, trying to get used to having the weight of your belly back on your hips as well as your loosen hips. You had been waddling stiffly these days, your hips aching and creaking with every move but it couldn't be helped, with trying to help Rick get settled.

Even through all of that, you could feel the weight of Rick's eyes on you, staring and assessing every part of you. Part of you wanted to hide away, or at least, to get some clothes on so you could hide some of your flaws. You should have just continued to try to get out of the bath, instead of this, letting Rick see every stretch mark, your stretched taut skin rippling with movement from your womb, hair in places you can no longer reach, your darken aerolas and so much more.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Rick breathed out. "How could your husband bear to leave you? If I was your husband, I would never leave you."

Your heart jolted at that, and you desperately wanted to cry. But you have, you have, you wanted to say. Instead, you settled for ignoring the later sentences.

"You flatterer, I would still let you stay even if you told me I look like a beached whale, you know?"

"You don't believe me," Rick breathed out, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are fucking. Breathtakingly. Beautiful. Every single inch of you."

*~*~*~

Will Rick regain his memory? Will he not? Will you fall in love all over again? Who knows? Certainly not me.

#rick flag x y/n #rick flag x you #rick flag x pregnant reader #rick flag x #rick flag x reader #rick flag #suicide squad x y/n #suicide squad x you #suicide squad x reader #suicide squad #x pregnant reader #pregnant reader #x pregnant!reader #pregnant!reader #pregnant

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sometimesoliloquy · 1 month ago

Note

I just watched Casablanca too and wow there are so many parallels between Nick and Rick. I would love to hear your thoughts about it.

Thank you for asking, honestly I would dearly love to ramble on about this lol! I really would like to do a more well-organized post with screencaps and quotes etc. but sadly I don't have the time right now, so for now maybe I'll just give the cliff notes of my initial thoughts and hope to do more later. I'll put these under the cut just in case anyone wants to watch the movie and doesn't want to be spoiled of certain details haha. I really do recommend it! (to note, it's currently available to stream on (hbo) Max for anyone who has that).

The frequent references to Rick's mysterious past, with seemingly varying views--at times the allusion seems of a more nefarious nature, whereas other times involvement in resistance efforts seem to be hinted at. This of course immediately reminded me of Nick and how the shroud around a lot of his past allows for wildly different interpretations, both from other characters and from the viewers.

Likewise, Rick is generally outwardly portrayed as reclusive and "selfish", his main modus operandi being "keep your head down and stick to your own business", but it seems clear from early on this is largely a front. He makes it clear to all who will listen that he doesn't stick his neck out for anybody, but in small, subtle gestures we see his actions contradict this. He clearly has a moral compass and wants to do the right thing--while staying under the radar, of course. This is Nick to a T, especially as we meet him in s1 of The Handmaid's Tale.

Then of course in the end, Rick makes the riskiest and most selfless move possible for the woman he loves, and for the cause (proving not just his nobility in the name of love, but for humanity in general). We have yet to see where Nick will land at the end (and personally I hope he doesn't turn out to be quite this noble and selfless!! We want a happy ending for you, Nick!!), but we have certainly seen him risk and sacrifice for his Love and for his daughter. And I mean, the 6x03 quote “I’m risking everything I have to save your husband” is right spot on.

Rick and Ilsa's love story echoes Nick and June's in that they fell in love in a sort of whirlwind nature, while Ilsa thought her husband to be dead. By design they knew very little about each other, maybe due to the transient feeling of the affair. But Rick of course can't let it go when the time comes, he wants her to run away with him. Who knows, Nick might well have actually run away with June when he had the chance if he hadn't known her husband was still alive and waiting for her in Canada!

And of course they're still impossibly, star-crossedly in love even years later even though Ilsa is now back with her (not dead after all) husband, Victor Laszlo. This is obviously where the love stories differ because Rick had no idea the hubs was still alive, or who he was, so that all comes as quite a shock, as does seeing her at all since she basically ghosted him years ago. And of course Rick has not wed into a marriage of convenience with a baby on the way (he does seem to have an on again/off again escort gf). There is a scene with a very similar vibe to 6x03 though (if a little more confrontational!), with him feeling hurt and passed over for the husband (especially when she specifically asks him to help the husband), followed by an emotional confession of her continued love for him (Rick/Nick).

Let’s be honest though, Luke is certainly no Victor Laszlo (Luke wishes. I mean he does have the air of self-importance but none of the clout to back it up if you know what I mean). Essentially June is both Ilsa AND Victor Laszlo in this story but also just happens to be saddled with a pre-war husband who she’s grown apart from and isn’t in love with anymore but feels obligated to stay with anyway.

#nick blaine #rick blaine #osblaine #nick x june #the handmaid's tale #tht s6 #tht s6 spoilers #the handmaids tale spoilers #casablanca #parallels #asks

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten.

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?”

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins.

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton.

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks.

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.”

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs.

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!”

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up.

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do.

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face.

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her.

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house.

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house.

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail.

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it.

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him.

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years.

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun.

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves.

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation.

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink.

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive.

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though.

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more.

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare.

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh, you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs.

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge.

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?”

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away.

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!”

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food.

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout.

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight.

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission.

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap.

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Does she know that?”

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer.

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!”

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat.

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?”

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one.

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s.

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt.

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door.

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more.

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it.

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him.

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall.

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington.

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch.

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room.

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway.

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of.

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen.

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters.

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget.

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse.

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.”

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

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trashmouth-richie · 3 months ago

Text

: *✧･ﾟeddie x female reader | snowed in | 18+ smut [6K]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* sexual tension lingers when you + your bestfriend get snowed in together during the biggest blizzard on record - aka, eddie munson and the blizzard sex in apartment 4D

“So that’s how you would find x,” you say tapping the rubber eraser to your notebook paper, “is this making any sense?”

When you agreed to come help Eddie study you were glad to do it. Ever since you were kids he had always struggled with school. While he was able to skate through elementary and middle school, high school had been harder for him. And he would be the first to admit that it was you that got him through his final year at Hawkins High.

Now, many states away, at a college where the only person he knew was you— he was falling behind.

Having a new found freedom of college professors genuinely not caring if you showed up to class or not, he took advantage of that perk and decided to not attend his eight AM class monday, wednesday, and definitely not friday.

Assignments went undone, tests were skipped and forgotten about. Weekday ragers, mid morning hangovers, and late night shifts as a barback at O’Houllihan’s kept Eddie busy but not enough to excuse his lack of attendance.

The end of the semester was nearing, and Eddie was looking at failing remedial algebra. A class that meant he was already behind everyone else, and if he were to fail— he’d be kicked out left to pack his shit and head back home.

After an ass chewing over thanksgiving break from a disappointed Wayne, that icy blue stare nearly welling with traitorous tears, Eddie finally decided to pull his head out of his ass and study for his last semester of junior year.

“You’d think after dealin’ for Rick all through high school that math would be a fuckin’ no brainer.” Eddie huffed, sitting back in his desk chair, his long thick fingers folded behind his head, “maybe if they added dime bags and some half ounces, I’d actually understand this shit.”

You snickered, pushing eraser shavings from the page with your fingers, “think Mr. Walter would go for it, he totally ate his fair share of shrooms in the 60’s.”

“Mother fucker probably invented them.” Eddie agreed, dragging those big hands down his face with a groan, “godddd I hate school.”

You close the Algebra book and shove it into Eddie’s backpack zipping it up, “oh you poor thing, must be hard to be musically talented and go to college on a full ride scholarship.” Your bottom lip pops out to show your fake sympathy and Eddie returns it with an eye roll and a middle finger.

“Shit,” he sighs, blowing air through his lips standing and running his fingers over your jacket on the back of his chair, “didn’t even think I’d get in let alone have all of my tuition paid for, besides.. you’re the one who was going to leave me for dead back home Miss This-Will-Look-Perfect-On-My-College-Applic—ow!”

Your friendship with Eddie was never a casual thing.

You were friends, sure, but it was somehow more than that. Eddie had dated around in high school and you had too but they never lasted. Summer of senior year you had even been so close as almost sharing a kiss while drunk on Boonesfarm at Byers’ party— something you both denied ever happening. But something you also both stayed up at night thinking about unbeknownst to one another.

That June night was burned into your brain, and you could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours.

“I wasn’t going to leave you for dead!” you teased, giggling as Eddie nursed his ‘injury’ after the pencil you had been holding slammed into his soft hoodie, “I told you we’d find a way for you to come with me.”

Eddie smiled and bit his lip, he was grateful that you were willing to do whatever it took to get him into college. And he was stunned stupid when his creative writing, and an autobiography that was assigned freshman year had gotten the attention of not one, but two of the bigger colleges you had also applied to.

He swore he never submitted them, deciding at the last minute that college wasn’t for him and that he didn’t want to leave his uncle behind— so you and Wayne both did it for him. Licking envelopes and sticking stamps, praying on a trailer park dream that Eddie could get in.

“Always lookin’ out for me aren’t ya?” He mused, his cheeks burning with a blush on his porcelain skin.

“We look out for each other, Eddie,” you say cheerfully, “Always have.”

Eddie stares as you read through your notes, eyeing the little piece of hair that falls into your eyes, too short to shove behind your ear. He remembers when you got glasses, how you hated them. Loathed the way they made your face look, and how the wire rims sat on your round cheeks. Now they’re pushed on top of your head, pulling your hair back so the light in his room shone on your silky skin.

You were beautiful.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you stretch with arms over your head, fingers laced together. Eddie snuck a glance at you, noticing that your soft cardigan fit too big on the sleeves and the plain shirt you wore underneath was riding up your stomach, showing a strip of skin that he only got to see during the summer time.

He wasn’t sure when he started noticing you were more to him than just a friend— that’s a lie, Eddie knew the exact moment, the exact second.

He skipped out on dates, said no when Rick’s girlfriend offered to “show him the ropes” one night when he was waaay too high and was blabbing away about how he didn’t know why he ended things with every other girl he had been with.

It was obvious why. Maybe to everyone but him and to you.

“I’ve had enough studying for tonight,” Eddie says, cracking his back, “wanna go to a movie or somethin? Channel 6 said we are in for some snow… I can drive, we can sneak in some shrooms Pete left, I might have some k laying around here somewhere.”

You giggle reaching back to the bed and gathering your stuff. “Nothing about being high at the movie theater sounds good to me, Eddie.”

He rolls his eyes, “yeah because you always freak out, weed is s’posed to be relaxing.”

For whatever reason, weed was never that for you. It left you paranoid and skittish, but mostly clinging to Eddie with wide horrified eyes, whispering about how you couldn’t feel your legs.

“Thanks, but not tonight,” you say behind your hand as a yawn escapes, “I gotta work in an hour and Sal said if I’m late one more time he’s gonna fire me.”

“Ppffft, he’s not gonna fire you, fucker can’t afford to lose anyone at that shithole.”

You grab your bag and look for your shoes, shrugging.

“Tips are good, all I have to do is bat my eyelashes a few times and they fork the dough over. Plus! Mikey always saves me a burger when he shuts the kitchen down. Win-win.”

He stands with a cross to his brows and when he doesn’t say anything you pull at the sleeve on his hoodie, “come on, walk me out. ”

Eddie hated your job. Hated that you worked at the sleaziest bar in town. The thought of you flirting with drunk guys to make a little extra money made him sick.

He’s mumbling under his breath the short walk to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the door open with dramatic flair, he bows with a hand forward to let you exit. You laugh, and before you can say bye, before you’re crossing the threshold Eddie pipes up in a serious voice.

“Tomorrow. Movies. You, me, a bucket of over buttered popcorn… I’ll even buy you a Cherry Coke.”

Heat warms your cheeks under his stare, and you can’t help but smile back at him. That nagging feeling you couldn’t pinpoint was hung thick between the two of you again, and you looked anywhere but at him.

Taking time to examine the veins on his hand as it gripped the door handle, the way his eyelashes seem to have their own permanent curl to them…. “add a pack of twizzlers and you got yourself a deal, Munson.”

He smiles as you step into the soft lit hallway of the fourth floor. “Don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, he’s standing in the doorway, the door partly closed behind him, “see you later, better hurry—you’re gonna be late.”

Eddie watches as you head for the stairs. His heart pumping wildly in his chest, but why? You two were friends. What was he even doing?

Shutting the door he slides the bolt into place pressing his forehead into the wood, a low groan escaping from his lips. What the hell was he doing? He runs the conversation back over in his head mocking himself as he strips off his hoodie and t-shirt, tossing them around his shared apartment.

“You and me and buttered popcorn’ Christ Munson, get it together.” Flopping on the couch Eddie sighs loudly, saying your name out loud and letting a smile quirk on his lips as he drifts to sleep.

❆ ❆ ❆

Frantic knocks pull him from his catnap and he rolls his eyes as the knocks turn to pounding. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for but it was now dark, his apartment cast into complete inky blackness.

Pete probably forgot his keys, again, he thinks. Bounding to the door and flinging it open an annoyed expression on his face. But it’s not Pete at the door, it’s you.

Snowflakes, and chunks of ice were matted in your wind blown hair, your teeth chattered loudly as you tried to force a small smile, wiping a tear away from your eye.

“Jesus! Are you alright?”

Eddie pulls you inside rubbing your arms to bring warmth back into them. He listens as you sob about getting stuck in the ditch on the way to work, and how the only landmark you could make out was Eddie’s apartment, so you made the decision to leave your car and trek back the way you had come.

He huffs in a worried tone, flicking on the lights and watching as they sputter to life. You’re gently trying to pry the gloves from your fingers when he steps in to help and unzips your jacket, assessing you further as he realizes you are covered in snow.

“You walked here?!”

Eddie always yelled when he was worried or scared, a bad habit that he unknowingly picked up from Wayne.

The tears flow down your face now in a frozen river, the ache of numb limbs and nearly frostbitten skin has you crying out in pain.

“I should have st-stayed in the car, but it was so cold Eddie, and th-the snow is coming down so hard, nothing in town is open! N-no one on the streets, not even a snow plow.”

Eddie leaves you to throw open the crooked blinds. Not a single street lamp was on, the city looked deserted except for the howling wind and sheets of snow blanketing the ground, swallowing up the roads. If he were to look hard enough he’d see the waist deep path you had made to get here.

Doubling back to your shivering body, his mind was scrambling on what to do. “Christ! You’re lucky you’re not dead!”

“I know,” you wail, unable to stop the clacking of your teeth, “b-but I didn’t know what else to do!”

Wayne had taught Eddie many things in his time of caring for his nephew. How to fish, how to hunt, how to be a respected man (that he was still trying to master) But something that always stuck with Eddie was the fear of the elements and how you could die from a heat stroke or the opposite—freeze to death.

“You gotta warm up before you pass out or something, your clothes are soaked, they need to come off.” He shakes his head like a parent finding their teen sneaking out of the house. “Go to my room, undress and I’ll make some coffee.”

Your clothes were stiff and heavy as you peeled them from your body. Clumps of snow littering the carpet of Eddie’s room as you stripped with shaky fingers and shivering limbs. If you weren’t freezing you would have thought about how strange it was to be naked in your bestfriends room, but at your current state you could barely register what you were doing.

His bed was warm as you sat under a blanket, the entire thing webbed around your head down to your toes, only leaving your face exposed.

A low ring sounds from the kitchen and you hear Eddie move around to answer the phone. You couldn’t remember a single time where you felt this cold. Even doing your traditional New Year’s eve plunge into Lover’s Lake with Eddie every year was warmer than this.

It could have been ten minutes or an hour before Eddie came into his room. He was balancing two cups of coffee and a plate stacked with two grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Alright Frosty,” Eddie jokes lightheartedly, eyeing your heap of clothes. Clearing his throat, his cheeks pink as he starts to ramble, “h-hope you’re hungry, because this is all I know how to make and I can’t go to the grocery store to get anything else.”

“Smells good,” you manage through shivered lungs and rattling teeth, “thank you.”

He sets down the mugs on his nightstand, adjusting it so you could both reach as he sat beside you, then deciding to grab one and moving closer, taking a big gulp before he sits back.

“Probably shouldn’t hold a cup yet, you’ll burn yourself.”

He waits for your hands to wrap around the porcelain and he gently tips the cup towards your lips. The coffee seems to seep through your bones, warming you up ever so slightly as you convince your throat to cooperate and swallow. It was heaven.

“Always looking out for me, Munson,” you say with a little smile, your eyes meeting his.

He holds your gaze for longer than he ever has, not saying a word just staring endlessly into your eyes. A smile creeps to his lips and he hums softly in agreement.

A beat passes of Eddie carefully helping you sip at the coffee, and you begin to feel your fingers thaw, yet the chill in your body is still prevalent and you shake beneath the heavy blanket.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch again as he contemplates how to help. A hot shower would only make it worse, causing your body to go into shock. But you needed to get warmer. His mind is working a mile a second but it comes down to the same thing, there’s only one thing he knows of for sure that will help.

Kneeling in front of you Eddie reaches forward and touches your cheek. “Hey, I need you to know that all I’m trying to do is help you okay? Cause right now you are shivering and your lips are changing color… so I need— I … shit, I’m going to hold you, so that my body temperature can help get yours back up.”

“Okay,” you murmur, glassy eyes barely open.

“Do you trust me?” He asks almost shamefully, “Because its—”

“Yes, Please.”

“Okay, okay okay,” Eddie moves the end table and positions himself in front of you again, pulling gently at the blanket wrapped around you until you’re only sitting in your bra and panties, but he doesn’t look. Instead he positions himself behind you and wraps the blanket behind the both of you.

He winces when your cold skin presses into his chest, “goddamn, you’re freezing.”

You muster a small giggle in response. His skin feels like fire against yours, almost painful as your body temperature fights to calibrate with his own.

Any other day you’d have been embarrassed to have Eddie see you like this, mismatched undergarments and looking sickly, and you would definitely feel something more than anything but tired with your bodies huddled together under the blanket.

His warm calloused hands run up the length of your arms and down your knees to your ankles and up again. You can feel the press of his belt buckle into your lower back, the heat from it almost branding your flesh like cattle on a ranch.

You welcomed his body warmth with open arms, his hands melted you, and fuck— they felt amazing on your frozen skin. Your teeth chatter as your hands huddle around your mouth, blowing any warmth into them you can, trying to stifle a small escaped mmmf.

Given the circumstances, Eddie is relatively calm. He’s not letting himself register that he is touching you, that his bare chest is against your soft back. That your skin, although ice fucking cold, is smooth like silk, he’s not comprehending that you’re both half naked in his bed.

No— he’s not doing any of that. Because you are his friend, and you were going to get sick if you didn’t warm up soon, and he was helping you.

Nevermind that your clothes were cluttered on his floor.

Nevermind that you were wearing a lacy pink bra, a color that he definitely didn’t know the proper name of.

It didn’t matter that your breathing seemed to hitch a bit when his hands worked up your knees and skimmed along your waist, his thumbs rubbing over the string of stretchy fabric sitting high past your hips.

You were Eddie’s friend, he was your friend, and that’s all that matt— jesus christ are y— are you enjoying this?

No, no. He’s mistaken. His voice was almost gravely when he collected his thoughts. “Is this okay? Are you feeling better?”

Answering with a nod you lay your head back against his shoulder, “feels good, your hands… s’ warm.”

Eddie takes the opportunity to nuzzle his chin into the space between your neck and shoulder, wrapping himself around you in a hug. “For the record, there won’t ever be a day where I won’t look out for you, sweetheart.”

If your cheeks could heat up they would burn, but right now the frozen butterflies in your belly warm up and flutter around, causing a sheepish little grin to paint your lips.

“Really?” you whisper, tracing the top of his hand delicately with your finger tips.

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs lightheartedly, “can’t imagine not having you.” He goes rigid, stumbling over his words, realizing what he just said, “n—not having you in my life, as a friend.”

The silence grows loud and Eddie panics, but you haven’t pulled away yet.. in fact you haven’t said anything at all. He was aching to know what was going through your head.

“Have you… thought of having me another way?”

“What?”

Your own heart is pumping so fast all the cold has left your extremities. It was either now or never knowing, and missing this opportunity so perfectly laid out like you had in June years ago wasn’t something you are willing to do again.

“Have you thought about us.. being more than what we are now, more than this.”

Eddie, ever the brave, takes a deep breath steadying his hands on your knees in a slight grip, “yeah, yeah I have.”

“Oh,” you choke out.

Oh? A word of multitude meanings. It’s silent again, only the roaring wind outside to accompany the wild beating hearts in Apartment 4D.

Before either of you could say anything more, the lights flickered once, twice, and finally went out for good.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes behind you, and he tries to move but you hold him where he is: with you, holding you, touching you.

“Do you remember the summer after Senior Year? When Jonathan threw that party at Hopper’s abandoned cabin?”

Of course he remembered, the smell of your vanilla perfume still stung his nose from time to time, even though you had switched to a different one, Eddie never forgot how your skin glistened, how your hair smelled of sticky honey and vanilla. He found himself drowning in that memory of you often.

“Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.”

It's easier in the dark to ask these kinds of questions, easier to answer them also. Like the dark casted a veil of trust and zero judgment. As if whatever you were admitting would stay here forever, in the inky dark, beneath the heat of Eddie’s warm arms and a hand me down blanket.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” your voice was small and meek, but beneath your skin your heart thundered.

He lets out a shuddering breath past your shoulder, one that raises goosebumps against your bare skin. “I didn’t know you wanted that from me.”

Before you can object Eddie continues, “you made me nervous back then… I couldn't think, and I don’t— didn’t— want to ruin it.”

“And now?” You ask, moving Eddie’s hands like a puppet master so they skim up your hips and around your middle, cupping just below your foreign shaded pink bra. “Do I still make you nervous?”

He swallowed audibly, but he took back control of his hands and rested them below your ribs, circling your skin in lazy patterns, his thumb nail catching on the underwire.

“Well,” he whispers against your shoulder, his lips hovering idly over your pebbled skin, “I’ve had years to fantasize about it.”

“Fantasize?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, lowering his mouth impossibly lower to your skin, “can’t get you outta my head.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your body is pulsating with want, warming from the inside out, no longer shivering from the freezing temperatures but from him.

You needed your hands on him. Now.

Lifting your arms to escape the warmth of the blanket, you reach backward to cradle them behind his neck. Weaving them through his soft curls as you arch your back and pull him toward you.

A groan escapes his lips and you shudder in response, unable to take one more minute without his lips on you, you turn around and balance on your knees between his legs.

He’s too pretty like this, nothing but the shadows of the storm on his face and bare chest. A haze in his eyes as they roam over your body. A strangled fuck slips from his lips and he’s all but drooling like a puppy at the sight of you like this in front of him.

“C’mere,” he nearly whispers, gesturing with his fingers and patting his lap with his other hand.

You straddle his hips and lay your hands on his chest, flicking your thumb nail across his silver chain he never took off, a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

Eddie rests his hands on your lower back, following your spine and finally feeling that the little stretchy fabric he felt earlier on your hips, v’d off into a tiny thong. He was positive he’d have a stroke before this blizzard was over.

“I wanna kiss you like I should have at Byer’s party. ‘m not gonna stop unless you tell me to, and goddamn baby I really hope you don’t.”

His lips find yours in the dark and fireworks light behind your eyelids. It’s soft and slow and impossibly sweet. Eddie tasted like coffee and cream and slow Sunday mornings.

You open your mouth and his tongue greets yours, tangling together into a sleep massage filled with soft moans and rolling hips. Your fingers weave through the hair at the back of his neck and after all this time of knowing Eddie, you can’t believe how soft his hair feels.

Like silk sheets in a fancy hotel.

He’s swallowing your little gasps as he grows hard beneath you. Peppering kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and landing back to nip at your earlobe. He’s taking his time, carving his hands along your curves, kissing every surface he can find, growing impossibly stiff beneath your sweeping hips.

Eddie moans when you call out his name once he has you on your back, his mouth hot against your peaked nipple, your fingers wrapped in his curls. You’re practically writhing beneath him, aching for him to keep going.

His boxers come off and you can only feel, and judging by the way your hand can’t wrap fully around him— you knew taking him would be every bit of heaven and the best parts of hell.

He whines with pleasure when he’s pressed into the mattress as you tease him. Kissing the tattoos on his hips, you make sure to take extra care of the warped and mottled patch of skin on his ribs. You knew, despite his protests, that they still itched and weren't as pliable as it had been before the skin was ripped from his body.

Your hands work his shaft in tandem with your mouth, wrapping as much of him as you could manage, he’s a panting mess when he practically pleads that he can’t take anymore, he needs to be inside of you.

He leaned towards the night stand reaching for a lone condom. But you want him just the way he is. Want to feel everything he has to offer. Want to feel him stretch you open, want him to feel the way you adjust and gasp with each inch of him stuffing into you.

When he lines up, he looks up just as you intake a sharp breath, watching as your bodies connect, and he practically cums on that sight alone.

He’s moaning low and practically rumbling out fuck every other word. Your breath is gone, suffocated by being so full you can barely contain yourself. Eddie works you through it, and when he’s fully seated to the hilt, he leans forward and collects your lips whispering how he’s got you, how he’ll take of you, always. And he would forever if you’d let him.

When he moves it’s slow and steady, his hips moving fluidly like the rhythm to a song. Your hands are clutching onto him, gripping his biceps, leaving moon shaped indents in his skin that only add to his pleasure.

Eddie picks up speed when your body moves back against him, knowing that you need more, want more and he’s happy to oblige. Pressing a thumb on your clit he rubs slow, then fast. Circular, then up and down. He’s working her like a rotary phone and you come undone, whimpering his name and moaning as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

He follows not far behind you, and it’s a shaky, earth shattering high that has him throwing his head back holding onto your hips as if you were keeping him Earth bound.

You both collapse into a tangled mess of sheets and sweat and discarded clothing. Eddie tries to get up but you pull him back to you, kissing his jaw and reveling in the high of euphoric bliss.

❆ ❆ ❆

Four days the power flickered on and off as the city worked hard to restore things back to normal. It was the most snowfall the city had ever seen, but you missed it all. Hard to keep track of what day or time it was when you were constantly being fucked into oblivion by a man who absolutely adored you and worshipped your body like a sacred temple.

You were raw, and stained with presses and laps from his lips and tongue, a deep set of teeth marked the back half of your shoulder that you were extremely privy to.

Eddie also had his fair share of love bites and claw marks from you. Unlocking a kink you didn’t know even existed a/n: (Does it? Marked men? is that a kink? listen bitch idk but it’s hot)

Neither one of you worrying about anything, barely making time to make a meal before you were back at it again, on the table, the counter, the bathroom floor, Pete’s bed, up against Eddie’s closet— everywhere, not a single surface was left untainted.

The questions of what comes next, what does this mean for him and for you would be answered another time.

For now, in the blissful naivety of the shelter from the blizzard in his bedroom of apartment 4D —that would later smell of coffee, and cigarettes and a record set of orgasms: you were tickled pink to be snowed in with him.

likes, comments, reblogs are loved and adored ** if you want to see more dm’s are always open and welcome, thanks for having me back here after being gone from this space for a few months 🖤💋

All time taglist that i’m dogshit at remembering: @dashingdeb16 @bastardstevie @what-the-jams @lexr86 @pretendthisnameisclever

@littlebibibliophile

#eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie x you smut #eddie x reader #stranger things

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