#OH MY GOD I REALIZE I MADE A TYPO

[sea-slumber]

(@askmythicalparty) Mew @ DNA:

The Mew tilts its head ever so slightly, its fur a little wavy as it floats in the water next to the bubble, they gently tap the bubble's surface, speaking in a calm tone.

"Are you... Trapped, little one? Do you need help? Or are in this bubble by choice?"

@gonebackhome

[warriorcatsobsession]

Panel redraw

[requiemforthepoets]

i’m in love with how this feels 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: who knew that a simple tiktok trend would leave lando flustered and blushing.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i did some research bc i’m not really sure how i should call the gesture, and apparently, the ‘ok’ ring gesture is a symbol of hate, but in this one shot, i don’t mean it like that. so, i apologize of some of you will be offended, it is not my intention to offend you, it will just be mentioned in the one shot for story purposes and not so spread hate. that’s all, hope you’ll enjoy this one since lately i’ve been on a slump :/ enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 781

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, ‘ok’ ring hand gesture, and no use of y/n

It was a quiet evening, and it was those kind of lazy nights where you and Lando were both sprawled across the couch, phones in hand, and just enjoying each other’s quiet company. Your legs were draped over his lap, and he absentmindedly caressed your thighs, his touch light and soothing, tracing soft patterns on your skin. The steady rhythm of his touch made the whole moment feel more relaxed and with the warm glow of the lamp bathed the room in a soft, golden light, making the moment feel even more intimate.

You were scrolling through tiktok, when a video caught your eye—it was a tiktok video of a girl demonstrating a cute way to intertwine fingers with her boyfriend. The act was so simple but so endearing, especially when the guy blushed. You couldn’t help but grin as an idea sparked in your mind, making you wonder how Lando might react if you tried doing it to him.

“I want to try something.” You said, sitting up all of a sudden and catching Lando’s attention.

“What are you up to now?” He glanced at you, a little bit confused, but there was a hint of smile playing on his lips as he locked his phone.

“Just trust me.” You replied, your voice playful as you shuffled closed to him on the couch.

“Alright then, what do I have to do?” Lando nodded, still a little bewildered.

“Okay,” you instructed, holding back a smile, “make an ‘okay’ sign with your right hand.” You demonstrated by making a circle with your thumb and index finger.

“Like this?” He asked as he gave you a look of pure confusion, but like as always, Lando went along with it, holding his hand up in the gesture you asked for.

“Perfect.” You said with a grin.

“This is weird already, babe.” Lando chuckled, his dimpled smile making your heart skip.

You ignored his playful skepticism, and raised your left hand left hand and formed a thumbs up. Lando was watching you intently now, still not entirely sure what you were trying to do, but the curiosity in his eyes was clear.

“What is this even supposed to—” he started, but you cut him off.

You placed your left thumb inside of the circle of his hand, causing him to frown slightly, still puzzled. Then, you gently intertwined your fingers, locking them together in a way how it was done in the video. You could see the flush rising to his cheeks, Lando’s confusion from earlier had melted into something softer, sweeter, when he realized what you had just done. Lando’s cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue.

“You’re blushing!” You laughed, a teasing sparkle in your eyes.

“Oh my god,” Lando mumbled, trying to look anywhere but you, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You had expected a cute reaction, but seeing Lando so flustered sent you into a fit of giggles. He looked down at your now intertwined hands, his blushed just deepened, and the sight of it made you burst into laughter, unable to contain how really adorable he looked. Lando, still holding your hand, smirked playfully and tugged on it, pulling you closer to him until you practically toppled onto his chest.

“Come here you.” He chuckled, his other arm wrapping instantly around your waist as you settled against him, your laughter mingling with his. “Was that some sort of a ‘rizz’ move?” Lando teased, his face still flushed as he looked down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, it totally worked, didn’t it?” You shot back, grinning widely.

“Yeah, it really did, you cheeky woman.” Lando admitted softly, his voice dipping as he leaned closer to you.

Lando’s lips brushed yours in the gentlest of kisses, his hand still holding yours tightly, fingers perfectly entwined. The kiss was soft and sweet, filled with the unspoken connection between you both, and so in love with how it felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his smile now more relaxed and adoring.

“You’re way too good at this.” Lando whispered, his voice a little husky, though the playful glint never left his eyes.

“What can I say? I’ve got game.” You winked at him and giggled, squeezing his hand again. Lando’s eyes met yours and he leaned in again, pressing a few soft kisses on your lips.

“Yeah? You’re full of cheeky moves, aren’t you?” He smiled, whispering against your lips, his breath warm and gentle.

“Hm, maybe.” You grinned, your noses brushing.

“Well, whatever you called that, it worked.” Lando chuckled, pulling you even closer and pressing a kiss to your temple.

[bombsonboard]

metal arm brrr

Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)

A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.

*****

“Can you stop moving, please?” 

Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed. 

When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep. 

You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.

Nope, can’t do it. You shift again. 

“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”

With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.

He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.

“I swear if you say-”

“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation. 

“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”

“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer. 

“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm. 

“...If you could?”

“Seriously, fuck you.” 

Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?

“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.” 

Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away. 

In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad. 

With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist. 

You slept like a lamb after that.

*****

When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other. 

Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.

“The fuck is this?”

You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter. 

“A solution?” You shrug.

“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”

“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.

“You’re a fucking menace.” 

The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.

Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.

Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm. 

“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head. 

You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-

“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.

When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.

“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender. 

“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede

“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”

He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.

It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back. 

“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.

Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:

“That was an act of war James Buchanan Barnes!”

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I was thinking of reader being pregnant but not being aware yet but bucky can hear the heartbeat of his unborn child but what if the reader and Bucky weren't in an established relationship in fact the two don't really get a long at all but they hooked up once and Reader got pregnant. After a mission they end up in a safe house and Bucky realizes that he's hearing the heartbeat of their unborn child

Unexpected » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger/Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out Y/N is pregnant with his unborn baby when he hears the heartbeat.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Angst, language, mentions of sex (18+), kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @annekelovesreading 🩵

A/N #2: @little-miss-dilf-lover wrote a similar one shot. Just know I’m not copying her in any way. Her and I just got the same request. She said I can write this and I thank her for allowing me to write this🩷

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

“I had him, Barnes!” You yelled, panting.

“No you didn’t. You could barely-” That’s when he heard it, the noise he’s been hearing all week.

“I could barely what, huh?” You asked.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “Let’s just finish this mission so we can go to the safe house.” He says, gently nudging you in the direction you two need to go.

Bucky thought he had been hearing things all week. He has been hearing a little thumping noise. He only hears it when he’s around you which is weird, considering that you two don’t get along. He’s been trying to figure out what the noise is and it’s driving him crazy. That was the only thing on his mind as you two finished the mission and went to the safe house. It didn’t take long for realization to hit him. The little thumping noise he has been hearing all week is a heartbeat of an unborn baby. Meaning, you’re pregnant with his child. Bucky remembered the one time you and him had sex. You two got drunk off of Asgardian alcohol Thor gave you and him at Tony’s party a few weeks ago, making his eyes widen.

“Oh my god.” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth in the bedroom. If you knew, you would’ve told him, right? You wouldn’t keep something this important from him, would you? Or maybe you don’t know it yet. Instead of jumping to conclusions, he laid down on the bed and tried to relax, but that got him nowhere. He just stared up at the ceiling. Bucky already knew that he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night so he just tried to relax. He turned the TV on for background noise to drown out his thoughts. He soon fell asleep. A few hours later, he woke up from his dreamless sleep. A sigh left his lips as he got out of bed to get something to drink. He stopped in his tracks, hearing the heartbeat of his unborn child coming from your bedroom. Bucky was tempted to go in your room to hear the heartbeat better, but he didn’t want to wake you. He went to the kitchen and got some water and went back to his room. Bucky laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling once again till he fell asleep. When morning came, he woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the sun shining through the curtains. Bucky rubbed his eyes to wake himself up more before getting out of bed. He went to the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when the smell of coffee didn’t instantly hit his nose.

“You didn’t make coffee?” Bucky asks, slightly annoyed.

“No.” You took a sip of your orange juice. “For some reason, it’s been making me nauseous for the past couple weeks.” You tell him.

Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat when you mentioned being nauseous.

“That’s weird.” He says, clearing his throat.

Bucky got a cup from the cabinet and poured himself some orange juice. He went to the living room and sat down next to you.

“Just out of curiosity…” Bucky took a sip of his orange juice before asking his question. “Does anything else make you nauseous?” He asks curiously.

“Now that I think about it, some of my favorite foods have been making me feel sick lately.” You answered. “Wait a minute. We don’t like each other. Why are you asking me this?” You asked, looking at him.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of his orange juice.

“Are you thinking I’m pregnant?” You asked.

“What? No. I’m not thinking that at all.” He says, lying through his teeth.

That’s when Bucky heard the little heartbeats again. He glanced down at your stomach, listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child.

“Either you have a staring problem or you know something I don’t.” You say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, moving his eyes away from your stomach.

“You’re a terrible liar.” You tell him. “Tell me what’s going on before I interrogate you.” You say, turning your body to face him.

“Last time I checked, you’re not a detective or a cop.” He says, standing up and went to the kitchen.

“I was trained in that area, Barnes.” You followed him to the kitchen. “I’m going to ask you again, do you know something I don’t?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Bucky gave in with a sigh and turned to face you.

“Heartbeats.” Is all he said.

“You mean our heartbeats?” You asked.

“Not ours. An unborn baby’s heartbeat.” He says.

“What do you mean an unborn baby’s heartbeat? I’m not-” You stopped to think for a moment. “I’m not pregnant. Am I?” You say, more to yourself.

You kept thinking. You haven’t gotten your period in two months and most of your favorite foods and drinks make you nauseous. Some of your clothes don’t fit you like they used to. Your mind started to wander to the time you and Bucky had sex. That was two months ago as well. You two got drunk on Asgardian alcohol Thor gave you guys and neither of you thought to use a condom when you guys had sex. As you were putting the pieces together, it was beginning to make sense.

“Maybe I am pregnant.” That’s when your eyes widen in realization. “Oh my god.” You whispered. “I’ve been taking a lot of hits during this mission. What if- What if I did something to hurt the baby?” You say, looking at Bucky with tears in your eyes.

“Hey, don’t go there.” Bucky cooes, wrapping his arms around you. “You didn’t know, doll. I’m sure the baby is fine.” He says softly, rubbing your back to calm you down.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, holding you in his arms till you said something.

“How can we raise a baby together if we don’t get along?” You asked, looking up at him.

“We’ll figure something out.” He says, moving a piece of your hair from your face.

“What about the mission? I obviously can’t finish this mission in the condition I’m in.” You say.

“We’ll call Steve later and figure something out. As of right now, let’s get you comfortable.” He says.

Bucky lead you to his bedroom. You got underneath the blanket while Bucky stared at your stomach for a moment.

“Can I listen to the heartbeat?” Bucky asks.

“Of course you can. It’s your baby too.” You say with a smile.

You took the blanket off of you and moved your t-shirt just above your stomach. Bucky’s eyes filled with adoration when he seen your baby bump beginning to form. He laid down on the bed next to you and pressed his ear against your stomach, smiling when he heard the baby’s heartbeat.

“What’s it like?” You asked curiously.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Bucky says, completely astonished.

You couldn’t help but reach a hand down, running your fingers through his hair. Bucky hummed at the feeling.

“You know…” Bucky starts. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. That was in the 40s and I still want that now.” He tells you.

“Wanna know something?” You asked. “I’ve always wanted a daughter too.” You say with a smile.

A smile grew on his face. What Bucky did next surprised both of you. He leaned up and kissed you passionately.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, pulling away.

“No need to be sorry. I’m pregnant with your baby. You get to kiss me all you want.” You say, cupping his scruffy cheeks and rubbed your thumbs over his beard.

“Well, in that case…” Bucky kissed you again. “A kiss for my doll and…” He moves down to your stomach. “A kiss for our little one.” He says, kissing your stomach.

“You really think we can work this out?” You asked.

“For the sake of the baby, I hope we can.” He says, lying down next to you.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you protectively and pulled you closer to him, placing one of his hands on your stomach. You and Bucky spent the rest of the day cuddling and talking out your differences so you two can raise this baby together.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as your dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that need I no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

Your gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat the spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[ilys00ga]

𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗺𝗲?

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 897

➞ synopsis: just shy bf yoongi proposing to his gf :)

➞ genre: established relationship, shy bf yoongi, marriage proposal, fluffy fluff.

➞ A/N: I honestly can't believe I managed to finally write something just in a few hours lmao. BUTs this is actually inspired by a tiktok/reel i watched a while ago. i lost it now but it was about a guy proposing to his gf and the gf was so freaking cute she kept screaming and jumping around, he ended uo jumping along with her and screaming too lmao it was so cute i hope they r happy rn! enjoy babes <3

- ignore typos and mistakes :)

★ MASTERLIST.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Yoongi’s hands were trembling on his lap. The longer he waited, the more sweaty his warm palms got.

He would’ve enjoyed the atmosphere he was wrapped up in at that very moment, really. If it weren't for his irritated nervous system completely isolating him from the world outside of his mind, his being.

Outdoors, under the sparkling night sky, Yoongi laid on the grass with his lover by his side, stargazing. A blazed fire pit closely by their feet, paired with the splendid view of the mountains and the lake surrounding them, that was the kind of atmosphere he'd been preparing for his girlfriend for the past two months.

The rythmic, pulsating sound of night crickets chirping somewhere in the distance added a nice shade of color to their painting.

Perhaps, renting that vacation house for a few days was the one of the best decisions he'd made for his lover, but his plan was hanging off his entire body like some heavy metal armor, and it almost felt as though the small ring box hiding in his pocket was close to exploding at any moment.

Turning his head to the side, the sight of his girl smiling so brightly as she gazed up to the sky soared his heart up. Yoongi loved people watching. It’s almost in his nature, being a quiet, introverted person in his very core. He loved admiring people the most when they were busy with the things they loved the most, the things they found mesmerizing and beautiful the most. He loved watching people being people.

He loved it more when people were his person, his girl. And when she told him a few weeks ago about her love for stars, the idea popped in his head, and he couldn't help but make a secret promise in his heart. A promise that he'd make her spend one of her best nights under the shining bright sky, with him by her side.

So, when her eyes met his staring ones questioningly, he realized he'd bsent-mindedly uttered her name out loud.

That's when he took a deep breath in, felt the chill night air filling his chest up, and knew it was the right moment.

He dipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the hard box with his sweaty fingers. “I've been planning this for a really long time.”

Her questioning gaze turned confused when he sat up, attentively curious, but she let him speak. It only made him blush, though. And he tried to brush it off by looking down at the fist only he knew what's hidden inside of it.

Between his shyness and her amused chuckle, he pressed on his brain to function properly and carry his mission out.

“I had everything figured out. From renting this place, to setting this fire up. Yet, as I sit down here under the stars, with you right in front of me…this is all I can manage to do.”

With trembling, long fingers, Yoongi carefully and slowly opened the small box, presented it to the girl.

He watched her eyes leaving his to land on his hands, on the ring sitting prettily right in the middle of the box. In a matter of seconds, she stood up and gasped. The way her resting face snapped into a shocked one and her hand flew to cover her ajar mouth almost had him barking a short laugh out, but Yoongi smiled nervously nonetheless.

“Oh my god…!” She started screaming, jumping around in her place with so much excitement and glee. Yoongi couldn't decide whether to be grateful that her reaction helped quietening a lot of his nerves down, or burst out in laughter. Either way, his cheeks ached as he grinned so widely, too relieved and happy to even pop the question to his lady.

“Damn, you really were waiting for it!”

He waited patiently, letting her have her moment. His heart never slowed down, however. It beat so fast that he could swear he was getting slightly dizzy.

It didn't take too long for her to—momentarily—calm down, allowing the man who's been staring every so lovingly at her to finish what he started.

“Hold on, im supposed to be on one knee.” he said, but she stopped him right away.

“Youre doing just fine. Go for it, I don't care.” She took his free hand in hers and beamed at him. Yoongi was long since gone, by that point.

“I don't know what to say anymore. I'm usually a very careful guy.” He gulped timidly, “I'm too wary to take huge steps like this one. But somehow, whenever I'm with you, I always know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm just… too sure to be reluctant about it.

“So, __, will you marry me?–” before he could even finish the last syllable of his little speech, she yelled out a series of ‘yes, yes, yes, yes!’ and jumped right into his arms.

Yoongi thought that all puffs of air left his lungs and that he stopped breathing as soon as the first ‘yes’ eagerly escaped her lips.

His arms wrapped up around her so tight, his eyes closed shut as he buried his face in her shoulder, and the stars shone bright above their heads. A silent key witness of yet another new stage of their love.

[soapsbaby]

Hi! Can I request silly horny autocorrect texting headcanons with 141 and whoever you wish to add? I couldn't stop laughing at Soap's "baby gorilla" so I hope my request is okay. Thank you! 🧡

Love your request! I couldn't really come up with enough autocorrect headcanons so I made more general texting ones! Hope you enjoy anyway mwah!

Summary: 141 + König silly texting headcanons Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" Mactavish, John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, König all in relation to the reader (some romantic, some friendly) Rating: slightest bit nsfw Word Count: 500ish

Simon

Simon texts you like he hates you all the time. One word answers, no emojis, no anything and then gets confused when you wonder whether he is mad at you. 

“Hey love, do you want me to get you something from the store while I’m there? love you!!” “no” “Simon, are you mad at me?” “no” “Promise?” “yes” 

He understands your point but he would rather be caught dead than use emojis

You have him saved in your phone with the ghost emoji as his name, he has you saved as your full legal name even though you’ve been dating for years now, just isn’t a big phone guy. 

Johnny

He types like he just slams his hand onto the keyboard and hopes for the best and there are more words with typos in his texts than there are ones without. Even autocorrect can’t save this man. 

He once, to your horror, told you about this “super cute rubber dick” he found at a store and how he’d bring it home to you so you’d have something to remember him by when he goes on missions. It took about an hour and him sending a picture until you realized he meant to say rubber duck. 

He’s been saved in your phone with the little duck emoji next to his name ever since.

Price

Old man texting all of the time. Does not understand memes (but laughs about them to make you happy), does not understand emojis and their meanings or any abbreviations. 

Is obsessed with the ability to send you gifs. You ask him a yes or no question? He won’t type it out, he’ll send you a gif of someone giving a thumbs up or of someone shaking their head.

If he gets the chance he will always prefer calling you over just texting.

Gaz

He makes typos all the damn time but god beware you ever mistype a single time because he will mock you for it until eternity. God beware the one time you told him you wanted to grab some food from “Windy’s” instead of “Wendy’s”. Now every time someone suggests to get takeout he’ll have this smug look on his face. “Oh, I think y/n would prefer Windy’s actually”.

Is the type to send you 6 minute voice memos about whatever he has been doing that day, get distracted halfway through and  then start the story over. 

Has like 7 hours of screen time on days that he isn’t at work. He’s the type to refuse to download tiktok and then scroll instagram reels for hours. 

König

He has German autocorrect on and it’s a mess. He can’t type to begin with but the autocorrect makes him borderline incoherent.

He is also a big user of emojis when it comes to texting you, he loves all of the smileys and hearts

“I am ging to the größere Story, do you nieder anything?” “Sorry what?” “Going to the Wal mart do you need any thing?” “No, thanks” “Ok Love you!!! 💕💞💖❤️”

Will send you pictures of everything that reminds him of you "Look at this flowers 😄💕"

[bubble-dream-inc]

i walk the line.

You had joked with Ghost before about getting married, never with a tone serious enough for it to be taken into account, even if it was something you dreamed about whenever you were alone with your thoughts. What you hadn’t expected was the question to come up at such an inopportune time. 

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Sergeant Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 2.1 K

a/n: i hate giving my fics titles so just assume the song in the title is the vibe i want the fic to have lmao. also this is unedited and not beta read so beware of typos and shit

warnings: estabilished relationship, profanity, whump, description of wound, mentions of death, badly timed marriage proposal, medical inaccuracies, fluff, happy ending

It’s cold.

No, scratch that. It’s fucking freezing.

God, you hate the cold. Considering how much you despise it, it amuses you to think you might have been a desert creature in another life. A lizard, maybe. The types to scurry really fast and eat small insects all day. What a life.

You’re lost in your musings but you think there are a few very faint voices calling for you. Where are they coming from? Above? Seems like it. First, you hear their voices getting clearer, and recognize a word. It’s your codename, meaning, it’s your teammates voices. But why do they sound so agitated? Next, you feel pain. Quickly rising, scorching hot pain in your abdomen. 

Oh, that’s right. You were shot.

A scream echoes out wherever you are and only later you’d recognize it as your own, in the same moment you recognize Ghost’s own booming voice frantically calling out for you, and the heavy weight of Soap’s large hands holding you down so you wouldn’t trash as much. It had been ironic, really, how much the mission went smoothly, 99% of it being completed without a hitch, but right as you were about to celebrate success, some fucker neither of you had seen before had decided to put a bullet in you - any of you - blindly, and it so happened it would hit you. The offender was long gone, a throw knife lodged in his skull as quick as a blink of an eye in the split second after the gunshot was heard, but the damage was already done. A few seconds before it happened, you had groaned how much you couldn’t wait for evac to come so you could take a hot shower and sleep, since your bones were aching, and Gaz had laughed and called you old-spirited. So much for that shower, you think as you take in the surroundings of what you could see of the abandoned safe house from your position on the blood stained table. It was painful to think about if that same table was used in the past for a family reunion or to gather folks around for good news, before hell broke loose and war tore apart the people, so you didn’t think about it. Ghost called your codename again and you cast your eyes downwards to look at him, the fear in his eyes sending a chill down your spine.

“Hey! Talk to me, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

You had screamed as he was removing the projectile from your flesh, you realized. Was not your first rodeo, a thought that made you want to laugh bitterly, but just the idea of laughing made you wince in pain. His hands were currently trying to stop the bleeding, and after taking one look at the wound, you suddenly felt at peace. 

It was pretty shitty you were going to die in an equally shitty safehouse, but that’s the life you chose. So, against your better judgment, you chuckle lowly and decide to follow your superior’s orders.

“Keep talking, eh? Alright.” You groaned once more when he applied more pressure to your gaping wound. “L.t, do you- do you remember when i told you…I wanted to retire early and - fuck - get to the countryside and get a big ass dog?”

He looked up at you briefly, glad you were talking but clearly wondering where you were going with this. You knew he hated when you spoke of the future as if you were going to die - which, right now, you were pretty sure it was really happening this time - but you couldn’t help yourself. Of course he remembers that conversation, it was in the beginning of your secret-not-so-secret relationship. You had asked him what he would do if he wasn’t a soldier, and he had given you a very cryptic and vague answer that resembled a lot like nothing. In turn, you told him your wishes half heartedly, as if thinking of living for 10 more years was a very distant dream. 

The relationship between the 141’s Lieutenant and one of its Sargeants was a sort of urban legend going around. People knew it was happening, but didn’t dare speak of it, and no one had ever really seen any proof of it, so, it was best to avoid prying into Ghost’s private matters as to not risk being at the receiving end of his annoyance, and, in turn, you both found solace in having something that only the two of you knew about. It never hindered your professionalism and it had been going on for a few good years now, so it became somewhat naturalized between the folks coexisting in the same space as you and Simon after a while. However, that never stopped the natural curiosity to flourish in a few people - namely, your comrades, who always knew there was something going on given the fact you’d literally look at your superior with hearts in your eyes - so you had to ignore Gaz and Soap’s expectant eyes on you as you spoke so tenderly, the intensity of witnessing the start of what seemed like a very intimate talk momentarily sharing space with the worry they were feeling over you. 

“...Yes. I remember.”

He never forgets the things you say, even if you think it’s not important at the time. You hummed, ignoring the pain that came with it.

“Big dogs were never really my thing. I just-” A cough ripped out of you, and you didn’t need to look to know there was blood in it. “ I just thought it was the kind of thing you’d want. Big dogs fit you. It felt less scary to think about retiring once I added you in the equation.”

You were slurring your words and you knew it. As you regained your breath, you briefly saw a very wide-eyed and angry looking Price curse into his comm asking where the fuck was the goddamn chopper. Your codename being barked alongside the word “WIA” to a poor fellow soldier on the other side of the line left you with a bad taste in your mouth. You hate how scared Ghost looked, your big, scary, stoic Ghost, and you can’t help but feel selfish for leaving him, even if being shot was not your fault and wasn’t really in your plans when you left the base that morning.

“Stop talking like you’re fucking d-”

“We could have done it, you know?” Your laugh is, once again, bitter, and you’re acutely aware of the tears streaming down your face. Death has never scared you, but now that you got a reason to stay, you’re terrified. “Could’ve gotten hitched somewhere nice. Can’t really imagine you in a suit, though.”

The pain doesn’t stop, but it gets duller as you feel your consciousness slipping away, and you never fought so much to stay awake in your entire life. Simon yells something to Soap among the lines of getting something from somewhere so he can continue trying to save you, but you don’t register his words. His tone softens once his eyes are back on you.

“I’d wear a suit if you asked me to, sweetheart.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask, though.”

Not caring there are other people in the room, you smile at him, well aware it must be uncanny to see Ghost be so tender towards another person, but again, you were the lucky one who got to see it every time it was just the two of you, so you got used to it with time.

Your vision starts spinning more and more, and your eyes start to close the moment you hear the familiar, faint sound of a helicopter getting closer, Simon’s big hands suddenly on your face to try to keep you grounded, and he sounds even more exasperated than before. He calls your name - not your codename, for once.

“Stay alive, do you hear me?! You gotta stay the fuck alive so i can take you to the bloody countryside and get bloody hitched-”

“You askin’ me to marry ya’ in my deathbed, sir?” You manage to slur out, your smile growing despite the panic you don’t have the energy to express settling in your bones, and Simon’s eyes widen even more behind the mask.

“Yes, I am, so stay with me, that’s a fucking order-”

You chuckle, closing your eyes as the frantic sounds around you all blur into a garbled mess. Faintly you feel your body being moved around, a strong wind on your blood and dirt caked hair, hear some more shouting, but then,

Silence.

——————————

Feels like the thousandth time you have woken up, and the feeling of coming in and out of consciousness is unbearable at best.

The first time - or the second, you don’t remember - there was a strong light above you, but you had no energy to open your eyes, so it lasted a measly second before you were out again. Later, you heard an unfamiliar voice saying something about an induced coma for a few days for a better recovery. You wondered if they were talking about you (they probably were). This happens a few more times before you actually feel your consciousness coming back for good, and, before you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is how warm it is, and, if you could, you’d smile. The spring air smells good, and you think you catch a whiff of cleaning products while you inhale, suddenly aware of how empty your lungs felt. The third thing you notice is the weight on your hand, and once you open your eyes, you find a familiar set of skeleton gloved hands on top of your own. A few years back you had told him with a laugh the print was very 2000’s, and he had just brushed you off with a scowl, but you’ve never been so glad to see the tacky thing. His thumb caresses your skin as he patiently waits for you to become more aware of your surroundings, and you instantly smile when you finally meet his gaze, which looks extremely relieved.

“Hi.” Your throat feels parched, voice straining as if you’d swallowed a kilo of sand, but Simon thinks your voice never sounded so sweet to his ears.

“Hi.” 

It hurts to move, but you do so anyway, slowly sitting up despite Simon’s protests just so you can see him more clearly and grasp his hand a little better. While you are busy cringing at the dull pain in your stomach from the stitches, he extends a glass of water for you, to which you grab and gulp down immediately, quenching your thirst and looking over at your partner with such gratitude an onlooker would have thought he was a literal godsend. 

“How bad is it?” Your voice still felt rough from disuse, but at least it sounded a bit more familiar to your ears. 

“Pretty bad.” He doesn’t bother you with details; he knows you were never a fan of hearing about your wounds descriptively. “But you’ve always been tough.”

You flash him a grin that has him silently flabbergasted both with how beautiful you are and how quickly you seem to bounce back from a near fatal injury. Suddenly, you remember your last words before you blacked out, and your smile turns shy as you cast your gaze down to where your hands meet.

“...Did you mean it?” 

Simon has always been extremely observant and smart, he knows what you are talking about immediately, and you like to think he is smiling under the mask as he goes back to gingerly caressing the top of your smaller hand with his thumb.

“I did, sweetheart.” His voice is low, and every time he calls you a pet name it has your heart doing somersaults. “I’m sorry I don't have a ring yet and I don't know when we would have some time off to have a ceremony, but I want to marry ya’. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Feeling like your smile would grow so big it would rip your face, you beamed at him, acutely aware of how you must have been looking like a mess with a - hospital - bed head and tired eyes, but you’d hoped he could notice the hearts in your eyes as obviously as you felt them. Things always seemed to fall in place with Ghost; no need for extravagance or huge acts, and the fact that your marriage proposal was exactly that, made you fall even more in love with him. You watched lovingly as he raised your hand to press a mask covered kiss on the top of it, and shook your head, laughing gently.

“Of course i’ll marry you, Simon.”

[koukaaa-descent]

30 tag limit 💔

regardless. pangolin what if I GOT you. This is genuinely so interesting to contemplate. And I ran out of tags to use. the dynamics. both the same and inexorably different. Goodness Gracious . it’s very interesting to try and contemplate what buddy would do because, before now, it was just ‘the masked, buddy’ in my head. Now there’s this whole person, fully aware and ‘human’, starting off in the story as not an entity but rather an individual. I think I could work on the phrasing of that, but the thought is there I think. it’s such a strange and interesting flip of the dynamics. Buddy taking care of them (even still) and the masquerade taking care of it (even still). both different and almost the same. i am NOT surviving the winter

on a kind of related note; contemplating buddy as a creature and as a human are two comparisons that are so fucking . Nuts to me. i need to be able to study buddy beneath a microscope

mildly crack AU for Four Of Them verse, roleswap. enby employee who lost it's crew but finds them again but oops they're all Masked now!

this is so funny to me. instead of one masked trying to claw its way into a ship, it's three masked trying to convince an employee to stay with them in a facility (in the most terrifying physically-grabbing-it way possible), and reluctantly tailing buddy back to the ship. likelihood of random death via mask the first week increases by 80% in this au at minimum. buddy goes off the deep end faster than the default four of them crew because its only company are the giggling rotting corpses of its team and it knows they watch it sleep. it forgets how to communicate like a human in two weeks. when the bodies give out it joins a team of three and kills them all in their sleep with the masks it snuck on board. the masked are all remarkably more calm and content in company life because they're around each other (other masked). they love their weird non-masked masquerade member very much. meanwhile buddy has cracked like a thin pane of glass and doesn't know how it's still alive

[lovebugism]

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration. 

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full. 

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear. 

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand. 

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue. 

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride. 

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying. 

In some ways, it feels like you are. 

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles. 

It makes you laugh too. 

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring. 

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop. 

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist. 

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint. 

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard. 

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah. 

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him. 

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem. 

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else. 

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin. 

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again. 

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose. 

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest. 

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife. 

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble. 

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk. 

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you. 

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt. 

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you. 

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty. 

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now. 

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all. 

It’s that exact thought that scares him. 

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking. 

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline. 

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away. 

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious. 

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed. 

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you. 

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition. 

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once. 

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—” 

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more. 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway. 

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him. 

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you. 

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again. 

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy. 

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw. 

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console. 

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat. 

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back. 

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card. 

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet. 

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently. 

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer. 

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again. 

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real. 

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her. 

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head. 

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you. 

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth. 

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear. 

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of. 

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door. 

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,” Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes. 

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin. 

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right. 

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise. 

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then. 

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to. 

You don’t. 

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry. 

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”  

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears. 

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free. 

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver. 

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room. 

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe. 

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him. 

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them. 

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85. 

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you. 

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you. 

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch. 

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny. 

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.” 

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it. 

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in. 

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red. 

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides. 

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely. 

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all. 

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises. 

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway. 

For Max, for Steve. 

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there. 

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel. 

Maybe that’s what this was. 

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else. 

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him. 

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again. 

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette. 

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore. 

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in. 

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs. 

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.” 

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you. 

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone. 

You’re grateful for it. 

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head. 

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her. 

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you. 

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers. 

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.” 

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers  “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between. 

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

 “That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him. 

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear. 

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

[heliosheart]

this show, oh my god????

---

Just realized I made a typo so I attached the one with the correct lyrics lmfao thank goodness for the edit button

[silentgravesdontexist]

Mnnhh...there's something a modern AU with Sabo who hates getting his picture taken due to the scar on his face. And there's you, a photographer, who despises taking portraits of other people. So, here's a drabble abt it~

Sabo x GN!Reader

CW: Unedited. Oh, there are typos? Ignore it (pls—)

Word Count: Around less than 1k

An eye through the viewfinder as you attempt to take a photo of the sceneric cherry blossom trees by the river. Your eyes sparkle at how perfect the composition and lighting is. Just a click of a button and you'd capture it—

A man with blonde hair passes by the frame just in time. The expression on your face immediately sours at the thought of someone interrepting such a breathtaking view. You go through the camera to check if it was somehow salvable if you just crop it.

Salvable? There wasn't even a single flaw.

You, who detest taking photos of people? Gawking in awe at the beautiful capture within your screen? Impossible. But there you were. Staring at the visage of his serene expression on the screen.

The way the light casted over his features. How his eyes seem to encapsulate an unnamed emotion while he stares at the falling petals. In the way that the wind plays with his hair just perfectly. It was fascinating how someone could fit into such a scenery seamlessly.

Your eyes lift up to try and find him. He's already walking farther away from you. Oh, how your heart raced with this newfound excitement within you. Before you could even think, your feet had been stumbling on one after the other until you were sprinting after him.

"W-Wait!" You call out breathlessly.

The blonde man hears your voice and pauses his movements. He slowly turns to face you as you come to a slow stop. His brows furrow slightly as he stares at you— a complete stranger catching their breath after chasing him.

Oh, by the gods, you were simply in awe.

Even then, just by looking you then and there. You had to resist bringing up your camera to take another shot of him. Eyes shamelessly drinking in how utterly divine he looked at that moment. It was simply unfair how such a person could topple your beliefs in such a brief moment.

Sabo, that's his name— from the introduction you two have had. You stumble over your words, a blush creeping to your face upon the realization on what you were doing. What were you doing? Asking a complete stranger to let you take more photos of him?

What a creep you must've been to him.

For a moment, Sabo does entertain the idea you're just messing with him. Of all the people, you wanted to chose him as the subject of your photos? Weren't you disgusted by the scar on his face?

But all it took was that godforsaken earnest look in your eyes. You were telling the truth. Going through lengths to pretty much embarrass yourself just to ask him this. He wanted to laugh— and he did.

You wanted to protest. He was laughing so whimsically while you were there absolutely flustered. But by the gods, all you wanted to do was to take photos of that smile. As if all you'd ever want from now on was him within the frames of your camera.

Nothing and no one else.

"Alright," Sabo muses. His head tilts slightly as he casts you a boyish grin. "I'll let you take photos of me— if you buy me a meal."

Obviously, you immediately agreed. Uncaring whether how costly it would be. All that mattered was for you to satiate the growing obsession within your chest.

And how did his heart flutter a bit at how serious you looked. It made him turn away in the guise of leading you to a nearby restaurant when in reality, he just didn't want to risk letting you see the blush on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~

This...became much longer than I expected??? I wanted it to be a cute and quick drabble but— Oh, well! If you enjoyed this, here's my masterlist for more~

~~~~~~

Taglist: @sukunas-play-thing @lynndt-chocolate @ofoceansandtombsanew (the brain rot is strong—)

[nectardaddy]

'88 Ford | Kita Shinsuke

chapter ten | a crime of passion

masterlist

ignore timestamps

track ten. . . beneath oak trees

spinoff -> serendipity , a soon to be collection of random situations and insanity between kitayn because I'm too in love with them to let them go

cw/notes: hurt/comfort (I'm sorry yall I have no excuses anymore but it works), good but intense feelings, kita is the sappiest man alive™, this is the last chapter before the epilogue :'), dylan gossett is carrying this fic I love his music, IT'S HAPPENING IT'S HAPPENING!!!, ignore typos if you see them I was so excited

Dusk was quickly approaching, the sound of crickets being the tell tale sign before the sun dared dip below the horizon. The pair finding themselves within the acres of rice, mud and dead crops crunching underneath each step they took. Walking aimlessly, as it seemed like the right thing to do, side by side; contrary to how the man usually walked behind her.

She felt his fingers brush against her own, calloused and warm, as she walked next to him. The sensation making her feel like a little girl again, nervous and jittery, for once in her life not knowing what to do. Anger couldn't take a foothold here, the interaction making her heart swell instead of burn in fury. A fire that subsided long ago, now left with embers and a swirling stomach - he noticed.

He took her hand. Interlocking their fingers together without a word and a crimson driving to his cheeks he hoped the sunset would hide. A boldness in the motion that almost made him nauseous if he thought about it too long, shoving down the nerves to the very pits of his mind. He was terrified.

"You meant it, right?" She blurted out the question amidst the sound of crickets and evening air, almost breathless as she looked over to him in worry. An anxiety washing over her as she thought back to the interaction only an hour ago; realization of how interrogatory she was hitting her in the chest and shoving her down.

"Lovin' you?" Her question made him falter, stopping his steps to look over to her with a small frown pulling at his lips. There was a gentle pull on her hand, not noticing he had stopped and tried to keep going. Halting when there was tension and looking back at him, taking a small breath when she did. There's no way I deserve a man like this. The handsome man with pretty brown eyes. A golden hue from the sun set cascading down him that made him seem almost ethereal, contrasting his dirt ridden appearance. She felt herself fall in love with the man all over again. "I don't think I've ever been so certain about something in my whole life."

Oh my god. She felt her breath leave her lungs at his words, locking eyes with him without a word and letting the statement process. Letting a moment of development rock her to her core and leave her at a lack of words. All she could do was squeeze his hand, grasping it with all she had in her to fight the lump she felt forming in her throat; her other hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Eyes becoming blurry as she broke eye contact with him, looking to the ground with a shaky breath hidden by her palm.

Dammit, why am I crying? I look fuckin' stupid. She didn't mean for this to happen, to be so overwhelmed by emotion it caused a crack. And a crack is what make dams break. Feeling him squeeze her hand back made the dam completely collapse in on itself. Hot tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at the ground, if she looked up she would unravel wholeheartedly.

The man didn't say a word to her disposition, knowing full well if he did her anger would take its place. So he stayed silent - she needed this moment. Silent as he squeezed her hand once more for good measure, silent as he gently pulled her towards him. Not a singular word as he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly and promising himself he'd never let go. He couldn't let go if he tried, his heart decided right then and there he didn't care if he lost his job anymore. This was an unmatched feeling he would be chasing for the rest of his days.

"I love you so much." He decided to speak after a brief pause, the evening air filled with her quiet cries. "I realized it when we were in the rain together, but I think I've been in love with you since I met you." Fuck, why would you say that to me?

She grabbed at the fabric of his shirt in desperation, grounding herself as the words made her want to spiral all together. Trying to hide the fact a sob wanted to escape her lips, she furthered herself in his chest and took a deep breath.

"Then why did you avoid me, Shinsuke?" Shakey, murmured words left her throat. The whole interaction left him in awe. "Why did you ignore me even though you love me? Why did you tell me everythin' about me was important to you and run away?" His shoulders slumped and he felt his heart shatter, millions of tiny pieces promoting an onslaught of regret to hit him square in the face.

"Because I'm an idiot," a breathless response, one that was the first thing to come to mind. He sighed. "And I was scared."

"I scare you that much?"

"No." He shook his head and sighed once more, closing his eyes in shame. "I like your righteous anger, it's your dad I was afraid of. 'Thought I'd lose my job."

She loosened her vice like hold on his shirt at his words, his latter statement tying up loose ends of her confusion. Oh, jesus fucking christ, he's serious. There was another pause, crickets chirping louder as the sun began to drift below the horizon - until she laughed. A sad, sorrowful laugh that cut through the tension like a knife. He felt it. Felt her lungs regain air they desperately needed as she took a deep breath, only to laugh again. Lifting her head from his chest to show him tear stained cheeks, a black eye, and a sad grin.

"You are a fuckin' idiot," spoken between giggles that left him confused. Scrunching his brows, dumbfounded, until she opened her eyes to look at him. "My dad knows! He's the one that told me you were in love with me, you moron!" Another laugh, turning into a fit of giggles as she couldn't help herself but to watch his confusion turn to embarrassment.

"What?"

She couldn't contain her amusement, finding herself holding onto him to keep herself upright in fear of toppling over from laughter. "Shinsuke-" she gasped between chuckles, "oh my god y'really are too good for this world! My dad knew the whole time! I told him I loved you and he said he already knew!" More laughter, to which he finally joined in at his own idiocy. Thinking to himself he'd rather laugh than to feel any singular ounce of regret more - this was nice. It was peaceful. Laughing in a field of rice seemed healing almost.

A laughter than died down after a short time, all smiles as she locked eyes with him. "You're so beautiful." A breathless sentence from him with a soft smile, every syllable laced with care and adoration. He looked at her as if she were the only person in the world that mattered, because to him she was.

"Even with a black eye?"

"Even with a black eye." He repeated, "how did you even get one this time?" Cautiously bringing a hand to her face, brushing over the skin of her cheek with warm fingertips. Stopping as his thumb traced over the bruised undertones on her cheekbone. He felt as she smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing as her lips pulled upward. Felt as her cheeks increasingly became warmer from his words and his touch. Felt himself fall deeper and deeper in love with her as every second passed.

"A crime of passion." She rolled her eyes before meeting his once more. Absentmindedly leaning into his touch, making him chuckle. "And y'say 'this time' like a bad thing."

"Never," he shook his head. "They always deserve it."

His hand never left her cheek, to him it felt like a crime to pull away. Vowing right then and there to never, ever pull away from her again as long as he lived - he'd rather die than run away from her again. "You're doing an awful good job of suckin' up to me right now."

"Good. That's what I was goin' for."

Another moment of silence striking them, looking to one another with anticipation. A silly feeling swirling in her stomach as she watched brown eyes flicker in between her own. She couldn't help but let out chuckle. "Just kiss me, you idiot."

"Anything for you." Finally closing the gap between them. She melted right into the palm on his hand.

taglist (open for serendipity! ask to be added)

@wyrcan @chizunata @seroh @chemiru @froyaoya

@h3xi2g0n3 @localgaytrainwreck @mollyrolls @causenessus @diorzs

@rory-cakes @phoenix-eclipses @pattys-got-cakes @girlkissersco

@jaynawayna @aliensstolemyheart @le000xxgrd @cherrypieyourface @theycallmenanamisgirl

@softpia

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Needy Soldier » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend/Avenger/Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky is in desperate need of Y/N.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, sub Bucky/dom reader, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, riding, mommy kink, praise kink, size kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names for Y/N (doll), pet names for Bucky (baby, baby boy)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Doll.” Bucky whispers, trying not to interrupt your conversation with Natasha.

You reached behind you, placing a hand on his arm without looking at him and continued talking to Natasha.

“Doll.” He whispers louder, tapping on your shoulder.

“Buck, not right now. I’m talking to Nat.” You say.

Bucky huffed and pouted. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, knowing how much you love it when he does that. You shivered when you felt his stubble against your skin when he placed kisses on your exposed shoulder. Your eyes widened when you felt his bulge against your ass.

“I’m sorry, Nat.” You apologized. “Can we continue this conversation later?” You asked.

“Of course. Have fun you two.” Nat says, winking and walked away.

You sighed and turned around to face Bucky.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” You asked him.

“Need you.” He whispers in your ear.

“I’m right here, baby.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“No. I need you.” He says with emphasis.

It didn’t take you long to realize what he meant. You bit your bottom lip and looked around the room to see the Avengers talking amongst themselves.

“Let’s go to our room.” You say, grabbing his hand.

You lead him to the elevator and quickly got on it. You grabbed his open jacket and pulled him down towards you for a kiss when the elevator doors closed. Bucky steadied himself by grabbing your waist. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. You grabbed his hand and went to yours and his bedroom. You closed the door and locked it behind you. You used all of your strength to push him up against the wall and kiss him hungrily. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, rubbing his abs. One of your hands went lower, stopping on top of his bulge and gave it a squeeze causing him to gasp.

“Please.” Bucky almost whimpers.

“What is it, baby boy? Tell me what you need so badly.” You say.

“I-I want you to suck my cock.” He says, feeling his cheeks heat up.

You giggled and sunk down to your knees. You unbuckled his belt and got to work on his jeans. You pulled down his jeans just enough for his hard cock to spring out, his tip leaking with precum. You wrapped your hand around it, pumping it in your hand a few times.

“Pl-Please.” He begs with a whimper.

You swiped your thumb over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant. You licked the length of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip and sucked on it. You slid the rest of his cock in your mouth, pumping whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth and began sucking him off. Bucky threw his head back against the wall when he felt your tongue on the underside of his cock.

“Fuck!” He moans.

It took everything in him not to pull your hair and fuck your mouth. You looked up at him, batting your eyelashes and moaned around his cock.

“Oh god, yes!” He moans.

Your hand left his cock, taking the rest of it in your mouth. You gagged a little when his tip hit the back of your throat, but relaxed your throat. One of your hands held on to his thigh to steady yourself and the other one massaged his balls.

“Fuck, mommy!” Bucky moans loudly.

You hummed around his cock, pleased with his reaction. Bucky made eye contact with you when he looked down. The way you looked up at him while batting your eyelashes innocently almost made him cum on the spot.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop!” He moans, loving the feeling of your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Bucky felt his orgasm building up soon than he liked.

“I’m gonna cum!” He moans.

You took your mouth off his cock making him whine and look down at you.

“I don’t know if you deserve to cum.” You say, slowly pumping him in your hand.

“B-But I’ve been a good boy all day.” Bucky says, trying to reason with you.

“Good boys don’t interrupt their girlfriend’s conversations with her friends.” You tell him.

Bucky pouted, feeling bad for interrupting your conversation with Natasha earlier.

“I won’t do it again. I promise.” He says, sticking out his bottom lip.

“Hmm…” You think to yourself, still pumping his cock in your hand. “Alright. I’ll let it slide this time. The next time, you interrupt another conversation, I’m handcuffing you to the bed. Understand?” You say.

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. You pinched his hip, a yelp left his lips.

“Use your big boy words or you’re not cumming.” You say.

“I understand, mommy.” Bucky says.

“Good boy.” You praised.

You wrapped your lips around his cock again and bobbed your head faster than you did before. The words “yes!” and “oh fuck!” left his lips when he felt his orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Fuck, mommy! I’m going to cum!” He moans.

“Give it to me, baby boy.” You say.

Bucky threw his head back against the wall, a loud moan of your name leaving his lips as he came in your mouth which you swallowed. He leaned against the wall, a panting mess. You stood up and kissed him hungrily.

“Mmm.” You hummed against his lips. “Be a good boy and unzip my dress.” You say, turning around.

Bucky unzipped your dress and watched closely as you took it off. He couldn’t help but place kisses along your shoulders.

“I have the most beautiful doll.” Bucky says against your shoulder.

You walked to the bed as Bucky watched with hungry eyes. You stopped at the end of the bed, hooking your fingers in your panties and bend over to take them off. Bucky licked his lips at the sight of your wet pussy. You beckoned him over to you. He walked over to you. You stood on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

“Strip for me, Soldier.” You whispered, placing a kiss just below his ear.

You laid down on the bed with your legs hanging over the edge, propping yourself up on your elbows and watched as Bucky took his clothes off. He stood in front of you naked and his cock hard, waiting for further instructions.

“Get on your knees and make mommy feel good.” You tell him.

You spread your legs wide open as Bucky got in between them. Bucky placed kisses along your inner thighs, making his way up to your wet cunt. He licked in between your wet folds before latching his lips on your clit, his tongue circling it. A moan left your lips as your head fell back. You reached a hand down to his head, your fingers tugging at his long hair. His stubble scratched your inner thighs just the way you love it.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. “You always know how to make mommy feel good, baby.” You say, looking down at him.

Bucky moans against your clit in response, sending vibrations against your clit. Your jaw dropped, breathy moans leaving your lips. Two of his metal fingers sliding inside of your pussy caught you off guard.

“Oh Bucky!” You moaned.

Your moans encouraged him to move his fingers faster. Your elbow gave out and you fell back on the bed. You other hand joined your other one, tugging on Bucky’s hair.

“You’re being such a good boy for mommy.” You praised. “Do you want me to ride you, baby boy?” You asked.

Bucky moans in response, sending vibrations against your clit.

“Faster!” You moaned.

Bucky’s tongue moved faster against your clit, his fingers moving in and out of your pussy, trying to get your orgasm to build up. Your cunt clenched around his fingers when they hit that one spot inside of you.

“You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that.” You moaned, moving your hips against his face.

It was Bucky’s mission to make you cum. He always took your pleasure seriously. His tongue moved faster against your clit and his fingers thrusted faster in your pussy. You felt your orgasm building up to the point where it felt like you were going to burst. A loud moan of his name left your lips as you soaked his face. Bucky stopped his movements with his tongue and fingers, removing them from your pussy. You laid there panting as he sat up from in between your legs. Once you caught your breath, you grabbed the chain of his dog tags and pulled him down for a much needed kiss, moaning when you tasted yourself on his lips.

“Still want mommy to ride that big cock of yours?” You asked.

“Yes please, mommy.” Bucky says politely while nodding his head eagerly.

“Lay down for me.” You instructed.

Bucky laid down on the bed, patiently waiting for you to make the next move. You got on top of him. Your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him. You picked up his hard cock, pumping it a few times before lining it up at your wet entrance. His tip slipped past your tight entrance causing the both of you to gasp. You slowly sunk down on his cock. His tip instantly touched that one spot inside of you. You placed your hands on his muscular chest, lifting yourself up off his cock, only leaving his tip inside of you and went back down. You rode him at a decent pace, but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“F-Faster please!” Bucky begs.

You obeyed his command and started bouncing on his cock faster. Bucky quickly became mesmerized by the way your breasts were bouncing, making him lick his lip. He couldn’t help himself but reach up and place his hands over your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. His fingers pinched thumb causing you to gasp. Bucky was please with your reaction and did it again causing your pussy to clench around his cock this time which made him moan at the feeling.

“You’re so needy for mommy, aren’t you, baby boy?” You say.

“I’m always needy for mommy.” Bucky says with a moan.

“You’re mommy’s needy little soldier, huh?” You say.

Bucky whimpers and nods his head yes. You moved your hips faster against his. Your clit rubbed against his lower abdomen causing you to moan. Bucky felt his second orgasm building up causing him to whimper.

“Can I cum, mommy?” He asks with a moan.

“Not until you make mommy cum.” You say.

Bucky threw his head back and whined. You gripped his jaw, tilting his head down to get him to look at you.

“You want to cum or not?” You asked.

“I want to cum.” He says.

“Then stop your whining and make mommy cum.” You say.

Bucky’s metal hand went down to your clit, his metal fingers rubbing it in circles causing your cunt to clench around his cock. You felt your second orgasm building up. Your jaw dropped, his name leaving your lips as you came on his cock.

“Cum for mommy, baby boy!” You moaned.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to cum. Ropes of his cum was released inside of your pussy. Your bouncing came to a slow stop. You sat on his cock panting while your hands were pressed against his chest to hold yourself up. You leaned down and kissed Bucky sweetly before getting off of him. His cock slipped out of your cunt and you laid down next to him.

“Come here, baby boy.” You say, patting your chest.

Bucky laid his head on your chest and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You ran your fingers through his long hair.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky mumbles before falling asleep.

“I love you too, baby boy.” You say softly, kissing the top of his head.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[yeahyeahchloe]

love love LOVE your works! 💗 So i randomly had an idea, hear me out!

drummer abby and bassist reader. I literally can see abby getting jealous if a fan approaches the reader and gets a bit touchy (not like a wired way, like hugging her ecc)

oh anon...i love me a jealous gf...

drummer!abby x bassist!reader

synopsis: You just wrapped up your last show of your tour, and run into some fans backstage who are acting like a bit more than just fans...

cw: smut18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, strap use (r!receiving), slight choking, some angst, fluff at the very end, me being too lazy to give the bandmates names, my mid smut writing (im learning lol), my excessive vocabulary

(a/n: pls lmk if u see any typos! )

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The crowd thundered with screams and applause as the final guitar cord strummed the final song, of the final tour.

Stage lights shown onto your face, encouraging your skin to sweat and your eyes to water.

You decided to relish in the feeling, as it was the last of it you would experience for a while.

Turning around you spotted a face adorned with pride and glee, showcasing a stoic grin.

Blue eyes met yours and that grin seemed to break just a small bit wider.

You, and the rest of the band inevitably had to step off the stage for the last time, and the second you were behind that curtain you were immediately wrapped in a strong hug.

But the hug was unfamiliar.

Very unfamiliar.

"Oh my god, I love you! You looked so incredible up there it was seriously like an angel on Earth or something!" said the body that was previously hugging and was now holding both your hands.

The girl was accompanied by another, who was standing slightly behind her, each holding a starstruck expression.

You quickly got over your initial shock and went into greeting mode.

"Oh! Thank You! Means a lot you enjoyed our last show,"

"Its seriously like nothing I've ever seen. And its so cool back here! My Dad runs tech so he let me in,"

Figures.

"Mhm, I bet,"

"Oh! I almost forgot, I made you something!" The girl reached into her pocket, pulling out a bracelet adorning the lesbian flag colors with a name in the middle.

Gracie.

You glanced at her wrist to see she had one with your name.

"O-oh thanks!" You said, now slightly creeped out.

"Ok, picture time!" she grabbed your waist pulling you in tight as her friend snapped a picture, "Thank you!! I'll see you on my feed," she attempted a joke at this point you wouldn't find funny, and walked away.

Turning around to your bandmates you made a wide-eyed expression and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Jesus what was that?" one of them asked.

"No fucking clue," You answered before realizing Abby had gone, "Hey, where's Abs?"

"She left just a second ago, towards the dressing rooms, looked pissed as fuck,"

You nodded in thanks before walking in the direction of yours and Abby's shared room.

You knocked before entering to find her getting her things together.

"Hey Abby," you greeted timidly.

"Can you get everything you need? 'm tired 'nd I wanna go to the trailer," she said, only glancing my way.

You knew when Abby was frustrated it was best to let her cool off, so you simply gathered your things, walked over to her to show you were ready, and she placed her hand on your lower back to guide you out of the room and to the trailer.

Once inside you both set down your stuff, and you decided that you would talk to her now.

You walked over to her as she sat on the slightly small bed and sat down next to her.

"You okay?" you wearily asked.

She managed a soft "mhm fine" before getting up and walking to where her clothes were, pulling off her shirt leaving her in her bra and jeans.

"Tell me what's wrong," you said, walking up to her slowly.

"I said I was fine, jesus," she grunted, rummaging around for her pajamas.

"Abby," you asserted, finally getting her to look at you, "Please,"

She turned away before saying "You're just too fucking nice to people sometimes,"

"What?" You asked, half not fully catching what she said, half wanting her to go on.

"I mean if some fucking weirdo comes over and hugs you, why wouldn't you deck them?"

"Okay, are you talking about that fan? What do you expect me to do; be a dick and shove her off?"

"Yes-No-I don't fucking know," she stuttered before stomping off back to the bed and taking a seat once again.

You sat next to her, in the same spot you were originally in before asking much more gently, "Abs, what's actually wrong?"

She sighed, "Its just, her fucking hands were all over you, and then she gave you that ridiculous thing like she was trying to claim you or something and it pissed me off,"

"Abby, are you jealous?" you asked, slightly teasing.

"Oh fuck off. I have no reason to be, nobody will ever make you feel as good as I do," she said, turning to you, her eyes now displaying her anger had morphed into lust.

"Yeah?" you asked, breaths becoming shorter.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna prove it to you,"

Before you could get another word in, her lips passionately, yet aggressively slammed into yours.

You immediately reciprocated the kiss and reached your hands us, one cradling her face and the other holding her still bare upper waist.

Both her hands creeped around your hips and gripped them harshly as your tongues met, lifting you and placing you straddling her.

You felt her move her lips from yours and quickly move them down to your neck, kissing and licking up until she got to your ear before whispering "you're mine, and no one's gonna fucking change that,"

Your hips grinded down on to hers as you let out a breathy moan at her words, and the new found bulge you felt in her pants.

"Yeah, feel that? Knew I was gonna fuck you tonight, got ready just for you," she whispered in your ear once again, sending waves of exitment throughout your entire body.

She moved her lips back to yours to continue kissing you as she took your shirt and removed it exposed your tits to her.

Abby took her mouth away from yours and hungrily moved them down to your nipples, sucking and biting at them, eliciting a moan from your chest as you grabbed her hair tightly.

You felt her hands reach down and unbutton your jeans before flipping you on your back so she was now hovering over you.

She quickly moved down, removing your pants and underwear together, revealing your sopping wet pussy to her.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Who makes you this wet?" she asked, toying at your lips, pulling them apart so she could see all of you.

"Mmmh you do," you answered her quietly, aching for her to touch you.

"What's that? You have to speak up sweetheart," Abby said, now looking up at you.

"Fuck, Abby, you make me so wet, you're the only one who makes me this wet," you whimpered in response.

You saw Abby smirk before placing a small kiss on your clit before removing her own pants to reveal her strap, looking as ready for you as ever.

"Do you want my cock baby?" She asked, sliding it up and down your pussy, teasing you.

"Shit-yes, Abby please. Please I only want your cock,"

Abby didn't even have to ask and she had you begging, it gave her an insane ego boost that only got her off more.

"Good girl, learning so fast," she praised before painfully slowly sliding her strap deep inside of you, stretching out your walls with each inch that entered.

She pulled out just as slow as before, and without warning, slammed into you at an alarming speed.

Screams of pleasure roared out of your chest as you felt her hips clip yours with every deep thrust.

Abby sat above you, seemingly watching every square inch of your body with pride as she fucked you senseless.

"That's right, my perfect girl taking my cock, perfect little thing," She groaned, feeling intense pleasure of her own from the sight of you mixed with the way her strap rubbed her clit deliciously at every move.

"Oh, god Abby! 'S too good...always so good,"

Abby loved it when you praised her, it made her feel like nobody else could ever compare to her.

And she fucking needed that right now.

She slithered a hand down to wrap around your throat and she squeezed lightly, just the way you liked it.

Abby saw the way your eyes were repeatedly rolling back at each moan as they became higher pitched and she knew you were about to cum.

"You gonna cum for me, huh angel? Cum on my fucking cock?" She asked, burying herself impossibly deeper.

All you could muster up in response was a weak nod and a feverish moan.

"That's right, go ahead, let it go,"

As soon as you heard those words you felt your orgasm wash over you in a wave and Abby's relentless pace slowed down to an eventual stop.

She slid out of you before getting a damp washcloth and cleaning you up, before slipping the both of you under the covers.

Abby wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close so that your head was resting under her chin.

After a long beat of silence you spoke up, softly saying, "I don't think I would ever love someone like I love you,"

Abby pulled your head out from under yours, and leaned down to give you a long, lovingly kiss.

"I'm sorry I got mad, I mean, I was jealous. I just-I just never want you to leave me," she spoke softly with vulnerability in her eyes.

You cupped her face with both hands, placing a kiss on her forehead before whispering, "You aren't ever going to have to worry about that,"

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