#T Bone Wilson

[jazzdailyblog]

George Freeman: The Jazz Guitar Maestro

Introduction: George Freeman, a name synonymous with mastery and innovation in jazz guitar, has left an indelible mark on the world of music. With a career spanning over six decades, Freeman has captivated audiences with his unique blend of blues, bebop, and soulful melodies. In this blog post, we will explore the life, music, and legacy of George Freeman, highlighting his contributions to jazz…

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

[kamwashere]

saw your tags and yes PLEASE do a proper fic rec list!

5 times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did by keikoHPfan [T, 1K]

Wade isn't a fool. And he knows better, whatever Spidey says. Or five times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did.

✦ kam's notes: The first ever SMDP fic I’ve ever read! I had this bookmarked in 2016 with a note saying, “I wanna scream but fam is literally right hEre so I'm just here making this weird sound in my throat this fic must be treasured for life.” Super angsty and fluffy!

The Perks of Being Smarter Than Everyone Gives You Credit For by alphasaceraptor, Orcusnox (Cat9894) [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 32K, WIP]

Peter Parker, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, is sapiosexual. You'd think, working as an intern under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, he'd have his pick of the best brains around. But apparently not. Someone's been lying about how smart a certain mercenary actually is, and that puts Peter in a sticky situation when said mercenary starts interacting with Peter. And with trouble brewing at Stark Industries, you just know this is going to be a wild ride...

✦ kam's notes: Sadly, I think this has been abandoned  as it hasn’t been updated since 2017 but it’s still worth a read! Featuring super smart Wade and super horny about it Peter. 

Propositions by stuckybarnes [T, 8K]

“Yeah…” Deadpool drawls. “Anyway, Pretty Boy, I have a proposition for you.” This makes Peter kind of want to throw up. Propositions by Deadpool always end up with them in varying degrees of pain, and a lot of explaining to do with the Avengers. OR Wade finally convinces a very tired Peter to go to New York Comic-Con with him and enter a Deadpool and Spider-Man cosplay contest, sure they'll win. Obviously. It doesn't go exactly as expected, and Peter is not thrilled.

✦ kam's notes: Spidey and DP go to Comic-Con! Fanservice, cosplays, banter, and feelings! All that fun stuff.

Ooh, Spicy by misato [E, 2K]

“It’s me,” he croaks, and Peter readies his web-shooter, aiming it at his mouth. He starts talking. Fast. “I’m Deadpool. Wade Wilson. I’m from another universe. In that one you’re dead and I’m more than a little bit bummed about it.” Surprisingly, that’s what gets Peter to loosen his grip. “You’re from another universe?” he sighs. “That’s so last week.”

✦ kam's notes: Hell yeah, another Peter B./Wade fic! This one is very spicy, kinda sad, but still sweet. Wade worships every version of Peter and I love that. 

baby, i’d victoria your secret anytime by ghostsoldier [E, 4K]

Peter’s known Wade for a while now, so he can maybe see how this makes sense -- like, maybe Wade has a thing about going commando and just happened to have an old girlfriend’s panties lying around, one thing led to another…but… “And the bra?” Peter croaks.

✦ kam's notes: Wade (unknowingly) seduces Peter with lingerie (!!!) and pancakes. Spice ahead!

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) by mokuyoubi [E, 42K]

There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point... OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

✦ kam's notes: I debated putting this here a lot since when I first read it, I did so without reading the tags or the notes and missed the Tom!Spidey disclaimer but please don’t be discouraged, it is still a very good fic. Peter is aged up (still feels like a weird loophole) and is a full-fledged adult. Anyways! This fic lovingly abuses the classic identity porn trope. Very good and there is a variety of MCU cameos.

what light through yonder window by hellornothing [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, 14K]

The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough. ‘Deadpool?’ - aka the one where they get together via late night window visits

✦ kam's notes: This fic has EVERYTHING: late night talking, identity reveal, pining!Peter, TLC. I really love Wade in this; he’s so tender, funny, and charming. This is also domestic in ways I can’t explain.

finger tap pulses by twentytwosevens [T, 3K]

"The first time Peter’s timer stops he is eleven years old. It times out in the middle of the night and wakes him up like an electric shock. The blank timer stares at him from his wrist as he yells and screams for his aunt and uncle." Spideypool AU with timers where Wade keeps getting killed and making Peter's timer go blank. By the time they meet he's pretty pissed off. This was certainly a summary with words, but they were not good ones. Based off a tumblr prompt that I cannot find anymore.

✦ kam's notes: Oh, this one has a delicate amount of angst and crack. Poor Peter! Deadpool-typical suicidal ideation, be warned. 

BDE (Big Dick Emergency) by DerRumtreiber [E, 6K]

“Oh my god,” he says again. “Oh. My. Gaa-awd, Becky. Did you?” Wade is visibly vibrating. “Did you really say ‘giant penis problem’? Really? Truly?” “What did you think I meant the first time?” Peter asks through clenched teeth. “I dunno, wrong hole?” ~*~*~ Or, the one where Peter is in need of some practical advice, and Wade is always happy to share his ass knowledge.

✦ kam's notes: THEE BOTTOM!WADE FIC, imo. Peter has unsatisfying sex life due to his Big Problem/Blessing and Wade is determined (and super thrilled)  to change that. Not to be a spoiler but he definitely succeeds. 

Love of a Different Lifetime by alicat54c [T, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 15K]

In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead. ... “Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.” Wade's arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk. Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.” The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”

✦ kam's notes: And to end this fic rec, I bring you the ultimate filmverse!Spideypool fic. It rewrites both DP1 and TASM1 and it entwines both of the film’s canon together. In this fic, Peter doesn’t have his powers yet but he does meet Wade pre-cancer. They fall in love. While Wade goes into the program, Peter becomes Spider-Man. Cue Deadpool being born, Spider-Man trying to stop him, heartaching reunion and all that. Loved this one. 

Oh, and also there are some Team Red moments!

As usual, I'll just add my own fics as well —

my heart is wild (and my bones are steel) [T, 9K]

Out of the corner of his eyes, MJ quietly takes the seat across the younger Peter, swiftly sliding into his place. He visibly relaxes, resting his forehead against hers. They belong together in a quietly intense way. Longing burns hot inside of him, like a branch caught in a forest fire. It’s strange. Even if this version of Peter has lost virtually everything, he still finds a way to be envious of him. He thinks of Wade. For some unfathomable reason he isn’t quite ready to examine yet, he misses the idiot.

No Way Home, but in Peter-Three’s perspective.

all the skeletons you hide (show me yours, i’ll show you mine)��[M, 23K, WIP] [Just updated]

A wave of affection and longing almost makes him stagger on his feet. Just seeing him in that suit—looking less than impressive, scratching his butt—makes him realize just how much he missed him. “Wade,” Peter cringes at how his voice catches, “Hi.” Wade turns around, turns back, turns again and does a double take. He eyes Peter up and down and to his surprise, turns away snootily. “Sorry cutie, any other day, I would be super into this hipster nerd slash skater boi with an I you’ve got going on—devastating combo, by the way—I’m sadly not in the mood.”

Peter, fresh out of his multiversal escapades, gains a new perspective in life. One that includes a certain mouthy mercenary, perhaps?

The problem is, the mercenary doesn’t seem to remember him. Like at all. He has a sneaking suspicion it has to do with that spell thing Peter-One was talking about…

‣ Both are a part of the new york isn't new york without you series

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Harringroveson Bones and All

For @now-showing-at-the-hawk-events Day 7 (and technically 9) Romance Movie/Horror Movie, Bones and All (2022)

Billy Hargrove always knew he was different from most people. His father never let him forget it. There was something *wrong* with him. Something he couldn't control. Billy was nine when he realized why his father looked at him like he was a monster.

It was a boy on his little league team. Joey Sandavol. They were walking home together when the other boy fell on the sidewalk and scraped his knee. Billy could smell the blood before he saw it. He watched the boy wince as he brought his leg up to his chest with a pained groan. That's when he felt it. An overwhelming hunger. Billy couldn't stop himself, his body lunging at the other boy as he buried his teeth in Joey's leg. He screamed, but Billy didn't care as he ripped into flesh and pulled. Blood was everywhere as things began to blur.

When he came to again, Billy was home. He sat on the couch in the living room as he heard his parents arguing in the kitchen. Looking down, Billy saw he was still covered in blood.

"-Neil, please, it's not his fault. He didn't know better!"

"Know better? Damn it, Cheryl, he almost killed that kid!" The sound of a fist hitting the wall made Billy instinctively jump. "God fucking damnit, if I'd known what you were, I would've never married you."

The fight devolved into screaming as Billy retreated into the bathroom and locked himself in, crying as he tried to wash the blood away. He was confused more than anything, but his mother disappeared into the night before he could ask any questions. He tried asking Neil questions about that day but stopped after the man backhanded him, telling him never to mention it again. For seven years, Billy was a normal boy again despite the constant hunger he felt. Then he met Duncan Wilson.

Duncan was funny. He always found a way to make Billy laugh, even on the bad days. When he asked to come over for a "study session," Billy was more than happy to agree. His father left with Susan for night which meant they had the house to themselves. Duncan made it easy to forget about his shitty dad and his shitty new wife as they kissed each other on Billy's mattress. The blonde's eyes were closed as the boy on top of him pressed closer to him when it hit him. The smell. God, the smell. A hunger stirred in Billy, and he felt it. The same feeling from years ago overwhelmed him as the kissing stopped when Billy bit into the other boy's lip.

Duncan screamed. The bite was hard enough to draw blood, only inciting the hunger more as things began to blur together. He remembered all of the blood. His teeth were tearing into flesh as the hunger was satiated for the first time in years. The bliss was overwhelming until he was snapped out of the trance by a new voice screaming at him. Billy's eyes focused again to see the bloody mess of viscera left on the floor. Looking up, he saw Max standing in the doorway. She was the one screaming. He'd completely forgotten about her.

It was a struggle, but Billy managed to stop himself from attacking his stepsister. Instead, he jumped out a window and began to run. Away from his family. His home. Himself.

That was almost a year ago, and Billy was still running. State to state, town to town, he ran away from everything. At eighteen years old, Billy had no goals except for making sure that his father couldn't find him. Billy knew if Neil Hargrove found him again, he would kill him. For his part, Billy thought he was doing a pretty good job of running, considering he was now in the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana. It was a small dive bar called "The Hideout." He was dressed in black skinny jeans and a loose fitting tank top. Easy bait for some creep to start hitting on him. The guy would ask to go to his car. And like that, Billy would get a meal and a ride to wherever the hell came next.

"Hey." A voice called out as they took a seat next to Billy at the bar top. "You're new here." The blonde turned, ready to up the charm when it hit him. The stranger didn't smell like everyone else. Billy blinked as he looked the man over. He seemed to be around the same age as the teen. The man's long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off a band t-shirt that read Corroded Coffin. "The name's Eddie." He stuck a hand out. Billy was hesitant to take it.

"You're....like me." Was all that could come out.

"Sure am." Eddie grinned as he put the hand down. "Let me guess, you've never met anyone else like you."

"...ugh, yeah." Billy watched as an excited look crossed Eddie's face.

"That's fine. Just means you have a lot to learn." Eddie turned his barstool around to point at the dance floor. Specifically, another boy. He was dancing with an older balding man who looked almost completely wasted. "That's Steve. We come here to hunt every couple of weeks. Easy prey. We bring them back to his place for easy cleanup. Saves us having to move around all the time. Maybe you'd be interested." Eddie said as he leaned closer to Billy. "You look tired. We can help make things a lot easier for you, stranger." Billy made a face, thinking for a moment before speaking

"Billy."

"Hm?"

"My name's Billy."

"Well, Billy, how'd you like a free dinner?" Eddie asked as Billy's stomach growled, almost on cue. That...sounded nice...

[asclexe]

ughhh fine ill succumb to peer pressure smh

MY HOUSE MD OC :3

insp by @wilsons-three-legged-siamese @sillyhyperfixator @cherrishnoodles :3

⭐️ BASICS :3 ⭐️

name: dr. fluoxetine pearl/dr. pearl

full name: fluoxetine millicent maxine marvin pearl M.D.

nicknames: flu, flux, flo

gender: enby (they/them), afab, fluoxetine is their chosen name, pearl is their dead name but they legally changed it to be their last name.

age: 34

nationality/ethnicity: filipino/french american. born in pennsylvania technically but raised in BALTIMORE 🔥🔥🔥

they have a slight new jersey and baltimore accent but it’s mostly general american

ppth position: head of gynecology/obstetrics, but they have a lot of emergency medicine and diagnostics knowledge due to their residency so they help around there a lot. youngest gyno head ever!!!

sexuality: aromantic allosexual bisexual

personality: quiet and spacey but not shy, they keep to themself mostly. they seem rude/apathetic but they’re actually very friendly, especially to patients. they tend to be very negative and pessimistic at times. they’re also quite secretive and a kleptomaniac. miserable by themself. fantastic at negotiation, a bit creepy and brooding at times, even. but they’re mostly harmless! there always seems like there’s something else going on with them..something much more…

appearance: warmly-skinned 6’1 masc appearing person. they had top surgery, so they have a mostly flat body, except for their softly round tummy. they’re very lanky, but not skinny. they have a good amount of meat on their bones, and they’re softly muscular. their hair is a choppy, voluminous short black wolf cut with two tacky strands of bleach blonde that fits their sharp face. they have black eyes and light freckles everywhere that are slightly visible on their dark brown skin. they face is sharp, but also youthfully soft. they look a lot younger than they are.

style: they wear a tight dark vest with either a basic white button down or nothing underneath with dark pants with their doctor’s coat on top most days, and it’s quite stylish and slick. occasionally, especially on days they’re not feeling well or an administration heavy work day or in general when they don’t leave their office, they’ll wear a big graphic t-shirt and baggy pants with a cardigan to work. they carry around a stylish but small, washed out messenger bag to hold their prescription pad, pens, etc along with anything else they might personally need. they wear low-top converse that are beyond beaten up everyday. occasionally they’ll wear a sweater vest, or maybe a tie. depends how they feel that day.

ART BI MY SUPER COOL MEWTUAL @magicmarkerz SHE’S SO COOL GUYS

they have diagnosed BPD. they’re completely deaf in their left ear. and they have PTSD due to something in their backstory, which i’ll delve into soon. they are also actively, but unknown suicidal but don’t sh.

⭐️BACKSTORY :3⭐️

tw for death, slight gore/injury description, :3

lots of yapping :3

it all started on a freezing winter night on december 18th, 1970 when a very pregnant dolores alma torres and a jean-gabriel adrian marvin archambeau were driving late at night, in the middle of nowhere, to visit dolores’ friend’s baby shower on an extremely icy road when dolores when into labor. jean-gabriel re-routed to find her a hospital, but quickly got lost in the dark backroads of pennsylvania. as tension rose and dolores got more short with him, as labor isn’t fun, jean-gabriel didn’t notice the deer he was about to hit and swerved at the last second. he hit the deer anyway in the million spins he did in the ice, and crashed into a ditch diagonally, killing jean-gabriel on impact. dolores waited there for hours in labor, in the dark with a fractured rib slowly puncturing her organs and a bunch of glass cuts next to her dead husband, until a car finally passed by and a kind stranger got some help. she gave birth in the backseat of their car and died shortly after.

her last words were naming her baby girl, pearl alma torres-archambeau, and that she was sorry, god.

they were sent to their french grandparents in baltimore after being cleaned up at the closest hospital, where they were raised pretty much happily until they were six, when their grandfather died of a massive heart attack and their grandmother of a grand mal seizure a year of quiet later. they were then tossed around foster care for a bit, until permanently being sent to an orphanage. they were a very quiet child due to all the tragedy following them. they read a lot of books, which gave them an interest in medicine early on. this interest was amplified when they needed to go to the hospital when their appendix burst. they were also incredibly clever, and earned top marks in all their classes. they didn’t have many friends, however.

when they were sixteen, they emancipated themself from the orphanage and graduated high school early. they applied to norte dame of maryland to study biology and chemistry for their undergrad and got accepted, also giving them a place to stay. they worked odd jobs and side hustles to pay for any tuition left after scholarships and spent their time studying mostly, and they had earned enough credits to graduate at 19. they applied to johns hopkins for medical school, and also got in. at this point they could afford an apartment close. and things seemed to go quite well for them!

well, until there was an armed robbery (baltimore 🔥🔥) at the little corner store they worked at after class. they were shot in the shoulder and twice in their left ear, but their co-worker took the worst of it and died to a gunshot in their heart. the er patched them up, unable to save their ear, and the robber was caught and jailed, but they quit their job and buckled down on school, spiraling mentally.

they graduated med school, started their residency, and changed their name. until the dean of medicine at princeton plainsboro teaching hospital had reached out to them, offering them a position in the gynecology department as that was their decided specialty. they got their top surgery there and was quickly offered be the ob/gyn department head due to their excellent performance :3

⭐️FUN FACTS :3⭐️

they’re left-handed!

they have a really weak stomach, despite their occupation

can speak french pretty fluently as well as english

they have genetic weak hormones, so they take hrt

they have two cats, morphine and xanax :3

besties with benefits with thirteen

sea shell/pearl collector!

i’ll prob be adding to this as i think about more things/their place in canon/the other ocverse :3

[lunarbuck]

" Are you wearing my shirt?"

AHHHHHH thank you for the ask alice <3

pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader (any race)

wc: 1.5k

Sneak Peek: I know what I want, what I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on you all those months ago. I just need you to say the word.

warnings: swearing, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), fluff

my masterlist | 1.5k sleepover

You grumble to yourself as you walk down the hall, your t-shirt sticking to you like a second skin. You know it was an accident, but still. No one enjoys getting beer dumped down their chest. 

As you approach Steve’s door and shove it open, you look around for his bag. The safe house is smaller than what you’re all used to, and everyone’s rooms are not only closer together than normal but way smaller. 

Since Steve did all the spilling, he told you you could steal one of his shirts. It’s only fair. You find his go-bag open on his bed, and as you dig through the few clothes the man brought, you find a soft, olive-green t-shirt and tug it out. It’ll be big, but you’ve always loved an oversized T-shirt.

You tug off your beer-sticky shirt and replace it with the new shirt you’ve found. The door swings open as soon as you pull the shirt over your torso. There in the doorway, in all his wet, half-naked glory, stands Sam Wilson. 

Your eyes follow a drop of water as it trails down his gorgeous muscular chest, his firm abs, and the v of his waist. The water continues its way down below the towel that’s wrapped tightly around Sam’s hips, and for a moment, you wish you were that drop of water.

Sam clears his throat, pulling your attention back up to his face. He grins confidently. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” 

“Shit, sorry,” you stammer, suddenly embarrassed at the way you’d just ogled the man. Sam has always had this effect on you; his ability to draw you in with just a glance makes you weak in the knees. His charisma, his charm, are all your kryptonite. Whenever he comes into a room, it sends butterflies bursting in your chest. But he’s never seen you that way, at least, that you know of. 

Sam can have any girl he wants. Why would he pick you?

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asks, stepping further into the room. You feel your heart begin to pound in your chest. Is this his shirt? 

“I– I don’t think so,” you answer, trying not to stare back at Sam. “I grabbed it from Steve’s bag.” Sam cocks an eyebrow, and a small grin appears on his lips.

“That bag right there?” He motions with his head to the bag you’d just gone through, and your stomach flips. 

You nod. 

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” he tells you, voice unwavering and calm. He steps even closer, forcing you to step back to try to keep the distance between the two of you. Sam’s resolve never breaks; he never loses himself. It’s something you admire about him but also something you can’t help but want to change. What would it be like if he just… gave in?

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say, internally scolding yourself for not having something better to say. Sam smiles, laughing lightly.

“You’re right, it is,” he agrees, turning to face you. “But I think what matters more is the girl wearing it.” Your fingers tingle with anticipation for what he’ll say next. Months of pining after this beautiful man has kept you on edge.

“Oh,” you breathe. Sam has managed to walk you back into the wall with nowhere to escape. But there’s not a bone in your body that wants to escape. No, you’re perfectly happy to be here, pressed against the wall by Sam.

Sam takes a moment before he replies. He runs his fingers up and down your arm, feeling the soft skin there. “I’m glad you’re here,” he tells you in a whispered voice. “In my room.” His fingers trace up your shoulders and neck until his hands cup your face. “Wearing my shirt.”

You’re putty in his hands, melting at his touch. Want and need settle in your belly, and you ache for him to close the distance between you two.

“Sam,” you whisper. 

“Sweetheart,” he replies. “I know what I want, what I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on you all those months ago. I just need you to say the word.” The smile he gives you makes your world stop turning. It sends you tilting on your axis.

“Please.” Sam’s lips are on you a breath later, sealing your fate. He kisses you sweetly, but you can tell that he’s barely holding back the fire and passion he feels. You want him to let go, to stop holding back.

Your hands fly up around his neck, pulling him closer, and you let your fingernails scrape slightly against his scalp. His hands leave your face, instead finding their way to your waist so he can bring your hips to his.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he practically moans into your mouth, pressing himself against you. Even through the towel, you can feel how hard he is, how much he wants you. 

“Then take me.” It’s like a switch flips in his head. In an instant, he tears the towel off, leaving him naked before you. You do your best to tug your pants down your legs, but when you go to take off the shirt, Sam stops you.

“Uh uh,” he teasingly scolds, shaking his head as he kneels in front of you. “When I fuck you, sweetheart, you’re gonna be wearing my shirt. Screaming my name. Coming apart on my cock.” You swear your heart stops beating in your chest. As the last word leaves his lips, he presses a kiss to your clothed clit. Sam soon remedies this, though, and the moment you’re exposed, he devours you.

All you can do is hold on to him for dear life as he eats you out with a fervor you’ve never experienced before. He eats you out like a man starved, like you’re the first drink of water after he’s been lost in the desert. Every time his teeth graze over your clit, you see stars, and when he presses two of his thick fingers inside of you, you nearly keel over.

“You taste so sweet,” he tells you, sucking a mark into your inner thigh. “Just how I knew you would.” Sam plays you like a fiddle, feeding the fire in your belly until you’re about to fall over the edge.

“Please, Sam,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.” He smiles up at you, and the sight alone nearly makes you come.

“Come all over my face, sweetheart. Lemme taste it.” Your orgasm hits you like a truck, sending you spiraling. Sam doesn’t slow down; he just works you through it, prolonging the pleasure until it becomes too much. When you finally push his face away, he stands, a million-watt smile on his lips.

“Oh my god, Sam,” you say, laughing as you come down from the high.

“You’re perfect,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. The taste of yourself mixed with him is intoxicating. Sam reaches around you and picks you up, walking you over to the bed. He lays you down carefully, and you take in the sight of his sculpted body.

“Please fuck me, Sam,” you whisper, surprising yourself. Sam flashes you a big smile in response. He takes a second to grab a condom from his bag, and you watch as he rolls it into his length.

When Sam returns to the bed, he hovers over you and kisses you breathless before lining his cock up with your pussy. When he presses into you, you bite back a moan at the perfect way he stretches you. 

“So tight, sweetheart. So fucking perfect.” Sam sets a perfect pace, hitting spots so deep inside you that you see stars but quick enough to build your pleasure all over again. His lips worship your lips and neck, pecking and nipping at your skin. His hand anchors on your hip, holding you where he wants you.

Everything works together to bring you right back to the edge. Sam doesn’t let you come yet, though. He watches your reactions and changes his pace to tease you. The entire time, he whispers words of praise of how well you take him, how good you feel. You’ve never felt so cared for during sex before, and his words alone could make you come at this point. 

“Shit, baby,” Sam grunts, thrusting deep inside of you. “Need you to come for me now, sweetheart.” You nod, moaning wantonly. Sam snakes a hand between the two of you and uses gentle fingers to circle your clit.

“Please,” you moan, moving your hips with him. “Please, Sam.”

“Come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my cock.” You come apart under his touch, writhing and moaning as you fall over the edge. Your vision practically blacks out, and Sam picks up his pace as he follows you in finding his orgasm. 

Sam rolls off of you with a sigh, tugging you into his side. His fingers trace over your back, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt against your skin. “You should wear my clothes more often,” he jokes, tickling your sides. You laugh and snuggle closer, soaking in the smell of him and the way his body feels against yours.

You make a mental note to steal another one of his shirts as soon as possible.

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[pnchinbeez]

Guys I been feeling ideas recently

And one happens to involve jedtavius

So basically ig for if the ever make a show (the show idea has been popping up on my timeliness alot) I need an episode where a different museum goes on tour and end up at the natm museum (I forgot the name soyeah) I believe it would be funny if they had most of the same human exhibits but a little different like

Wax figurines jed, octy, and the Mayan leader guy ig idk

Instead of teddy you have like jfk (he was consider one of the nicest u.s. presidents)

Marco polo as an famous explorer

King tut or cleo would be a cool one for their pharaoh, I lean towards tut because I feel like a snarky and sarcastic 12-13 yr old would be amazing

Maybe we could get calamity Jane? Idk shes cool (she's the most famous frontier women ever basically, put her name in Google and no joke what shows up is probably what happened, also fun fact I was named after her!!)

Also because we have lancelot in the one movie I feel like we would need one of these three arthur, merlin, or Guinevere, maybe bother merlin in arthur idk that idea needs to be thought of more on my side

Instead of dexter we could have miss baker the squirrel monkey (the first monkey to survive coming back from space) but I think have laika the dog the first animal to go to space,one because I live her and it's so sad what happened to her (search up Brenning Davis's "Fist Dog In Space" IT will make you cry) but also I just think it's such a cute idea in general

Miniatures could be Qin Shi Huang the self declared first emperor of China and the guy that made the terracotta army to protect his tomb in the after life and maybe Victorian Era people

I would also like a plague doctor played by Adam Sandler (WE HAVE OWEN FUCKING WILSON AND HUGH JACKMAN, NOW GIVE ME ADAM OR ONE OF THE RYANS) but beggars can't be choosers

Maybe some Greek pottery and the pictures on them come to life like the paintings in the movies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Instead of a t-rex or dinosaurs like that there could be a prehistoric ocean exhibit like whale bones and fish that swim (was that already in a movie?? I feel like it was , idk)

I feel like cool extinct animals should be on display are

barnary lion: the biggest baddest lion ever its the ones the Romans would fight in the colosseum and are also bigger than normal lions they look bad ass

PASSENGER PIDEON: these guys don't get enough recognition they where the funniest things ever and also one of the best messaging pigeons, then we hunted them to extinction, so yeah

Carolina parakeet: this bird went extinct fairly recently, in the late 1980's actually, they where one of the smartest non domesticated parakeet species out there and they are super cute ( another fun fact when my dad went fishing as a 20 something yr old with his dad in the 90's he swears he say a flock of them in an old tree by the lake they were in , around the Georgia border to North Carolina, pretty cool honestly)

Also the night guard for this group should be played by Jack black, channing Tatum,or ben schwartz

Nicky should be either walker scobell or a (and hear me out ) Tommyinnit with gyed brown hair

Weirdly they both kinda are like nicky I lean towards tom because in the animated movie nicky is very skinny and walker randomly got a bit buffer as of now soooo idk

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So basically this story would follow the timeline of the museum got super popular so they go on tour to another one and meet this group but as both the night guards figure out nicky and the other night guard try to warn each other that their exhibits come to life (nicky ahkmenrahs tablet but the other night guards is a curse on the sarcophagus of which ever Pharoah they have) and then all the exhibits meet and stuff and I think that both big jed and octy and little jed and octy to be dating their respective partner,, it would make for a funny scene

Also big jed and big octavius should basically parent king tut if that's the Pharoah because the real jed grew up with about 10 brothers and sister and had one son of his own supposedly. But octavius was recorded to have a daughter Julia the elder (a very fascinating women) that he exiled and was recorded feeling guilty about it and probably died feeling guilty about it also I think they would make a good parenting duo

Jfk and teddy interaction are strictly mandatory

Marco polo and wea

The miniatures from our museum and the miniatures from the other need interactions NOW

lots of jedtavius please and thank you

King tut and ahkmenrah interactions????

I feel like their relationship would be cool uncle and nephew type

The extinct animals go on a rampage at some point (we need cowboy jed and herder teddy )

Miniature escapades and shenanigans as always

And that's it

Maybe I'll finally write a fanfic for this series but idk

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

House M.D. One-shot

Tw suicide Tw self-harm Tw assisted suicide Tw Overdosing Tw Drug Use

House keeps living after Wilson's death just so he can keep his promise to Thirteen.

He struggles after Wilson's death, seeking comfort in drugs and alcohol, anything he could get his hands on.

He laughs to himself one night, thinking, "They all thought I had a problem with the pills. Look at me now. A proper addict."

He floats around, never staying in the same spot too long, just trying to survive from one high to the next. When the drugs aren't doing enough, he takes to other forms of self-harm. What's it matter if he can't use his hand properly anymore after breaking it so many times? Nothing matters anymore. His leg hurts, his hand hurts, his head hurts, his heart fucking hurts.

He lives on the edge, breaking the law every single day but never exposing himself enough to risk getting arrested again. The closest he gets to anyone from his old life is when he stands in the back of Wilson's funeral. Wilson's mom is crying, and House feels like he should say something, but he can't bring himself to step up and speak to her. He overdoses that night, multiple hard drugs running through his veins.

He hallucinates Wilson. His wavy brown hair and big brown eyes, throwing out some witty remark. House overdoses again, this time on purpose after that, just to see Wilson. He's living on borrowed time.

Every time he sees Wilson, he wants to grab his shoulders and cry.

"I was supposed to go with you."

"I promise I'm coming."

House doesn't believe in an afterlife, but when he's sprawled out on the dirty floor of some abandoned building high out of his mind, he likes to pretend that he'll see Wilson again. House died when Wilson did, and all the important parts of him left with him.

Weeks drag out into months, and months drag out into years. House has no idea when it is. Time means nothing once you're dead. Eventually, he figures it must have been enough days, enough months, enough years, for him to find her.

Thirteen looks almost as bad as House does once he comes face to face with her for the first time in years. She stands huddled at the door, nothing but skin and bones and an oversized sweatshirt. Her face is shrunken in, and her hands are shaking, and she stares at the man outside her door with awe.

House doesn't remember when the last time he shaved was. The years of hard drug use have taken their toll, and he would wager that he weighs less than Thirteen does. He looks like a dead man, and at first, Thirteen thinks she's seeing a ghost.

"Looks like I'm right on time." Even his voice sounds different, hoarse and gravely and broken. It shocks Thirteen out of her stupor, though, and she knows immediately what he's referring to. "We thought you were dead."

"I am."

"God House, what have you been doing?"

"Waiting for you. I made you a promise, didn't I?"

A look of understanding crosses her face. "I guess you are right on time." She's ready. She's been ready for a long time. The disease has progressed to the point that it's taken over her life. She's got nothing left. She's said goodbye to everybody already, planning to take matters into her own hands.

She lets House in, and then she starts to laugh. She can't stop laughing. Tears roll down her face, and her cheeks turn red, and her face hurts. House looks at her fondly. He's always felt paternal towards her.

Once she composes herself, she answers the question she knows he wants to ask.

"It's just - I don't know how you knew, but you did. I already picked today."

House smirks, it looks more like a grimace, but the intent it there. "I guess I'm just that good."

Thirteen has more then enough drugs, and when House brings them all out, she looks at him knowingly. She ends up laying on the couch, both of them quiet as he injects the drugs into her bloodstream. House lays on the floor after that, using the rest on himself.

They wait in silence until Thirteen speaks suddenly. "Do you think there's any chance of a heaven? Honestly. None of that bullshit edgy stuff you used to always say."

House doesn't answer right away, and when he does, his speech is slurred, the drugs finally settling in. "I hope so. I hope he's there."

His body feels heavy, and he struggles to move. It takes a few tries, but eventually, he manages to reach up and catch Thirteens' hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

His time is up.

[snprblu72]

No Time to Sleep|T|500 Words

Read on AO3

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz

Characters: Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Tags: Whumptober 2024, "who said you could rest?", Injured Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley, Vehicle Crash, Mentioned Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley is in the Hospital, Hospitalized Evan "Buck" Buckley, Medical Inaccuracies, Broken Bones, Worried Eddie Diaz

Summary: A vehicle goes through a crash scene.

Whumptober 2024 Day 29: “Who said you could rest?”

[wilsons-corner]

Hi, if you’re on this blog, I’m a bundle of small raccoons with different personalities in a trench coat. General

The names Wilson, I accept any pronouns

Im LGBTQ+, a proud Ace

I don’t tolerate discrimination of any sorts, the front door is wide open and I will kick you out if you’re discriminatory to anyone I know

I do have type one diabetes, so blood sugar memes will be common when I suffer most

There is one (1) social raccoon in this trench coat so if you are a mutual or someone I follow I will reach out occasionally (through asks)

should I have the courage or encouragement I will post what I write/poetry/ocs of mine

I am autistic, so hyper-fixations galore here <3

Fandoms I love most:

italics = current hyperfixation

Monk (2002)

Professor T

Only Murders in the Building

Sherlock And Co

BBC Sherlock

Kingsman

Twisted Wonderland (Courtesy of a friend)

Good Omens

Our Flag Means Death

Shadow and Bone (Netflix and Books) (Kaz fanatic)

Six of Crows

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

A series of unfortunate events

That’s not my neighbour (yes I’m there for Francis)

The Hobbit

Marvel

BBC ghosts

Percy Jackson (Lester my beloved)

(New) The Bone Catcher/Lincoln Rhyme series

You’ll never guess it, but Gravity Falls.

Fallout

Dr Wilderness (PLEASE go check out the comic)

Currently Writing For:

Kingsman

Credit to @sillylittlereptileguy for the blinker!

Credit to @ginnyw-potter for the banner of shame

IVE ACTUALLY UPDATED THE FANFIC - 19/10

[alivingfire]

rules: list 9 favorite books of 2023 or 9 books on your TBR list for 2024

this is a wide variety on my TBR list this year. i'm trying to expand my nonfiction reading so if anyone has recs, hit me up!

Nettle & Bone - T. Kingfisher

The Iliad translated by Emily Wilson

A Novel Arrangement - Arden Powell

Piranesi - Susanna Clarke

Eve - Cat Bohannon

Drunk on All Your Strange New Words - Eddie Robson

Bunt! - Ngozi Ukazu and Mad Rupert

The Only Good Indians - Stephen Graham Jones

Rise of the Videogame Zinesters - Anna Anthropy

i know i've seen some others do this but they've blurred together in my mind, so apologies if you did and i missed it! but i'm tagging @geddyqueer @r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e @tsnbrainrot @noburrowingtactics @grandwretch @grimweathers and anyone else interested in doing it!

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs where someone from the batfamily kills a person (or jason kills the joker)

bury the dead where they're found by withthekeyisking Dick's little brother is dead, and he can't stop thinking about all the other people who have died because of the psychopaths that run rampant in Gotham. Can't stop thinking about how many more will die in the future. Can't help but remember that quote: If there's something wrong, those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action.

AKA the Joker kills Jason Todd, and Dick isn't going to let that slide.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r

Swimming in a Sea of Expectations by withthekeyisking Dick looks down at his blood-covered gloves and has no idea what to do now.

M | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

zero at the bone by Anonymous Dick has killed thirteen people by the time he calls Jason.

M | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

lonely town by TheResurrectionist Bruce doesn’t kill the Joker.

But that was Dick’s little brother, damn it.

Not Rated | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

World Gone MAD by Havendance Ask the GCPD about the Joker’s death, and they’ll tell you he died of natural causes. Ask the Justice League, and they’ll tell you that it’s a matter that’s been resolved internally. Ask Batman and he won’t give you an answer, because he’s Batman. The truth of the matter, however, is this: Dick Grayson beat the Joker to death.

[Or: A few months after the death of the Joker, Tim Drake comes to Haly’s Circus, looking for Dick Grayson.]

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Dick Grayson

It Wasn’t Me by nolongersun The stained glass of Gotham Cathedral casts a saturated glow down onto them, painting the two brothers and the body in a golden light. It makes the blood staining the carpet look like wine.

Tim moves closer to Dick. Places a cautious hand on his brother’s back. “Dick, listen to me.”

He makes a decision.

“We need to move the body.”

How many Gotham vigilantes does it take to cover up a crime from the Batman?

T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Dick Grayson & Everyone, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

so, you've killed the joker by stupidandsad Jason’s mouth is dry and his blood just starting to clot when he shoots the Joker in the head.

The Joker’s neck whips back, and before it can right itself, Jason shoots the Joker in the head again.

OR

Jason kills the Joker, and everything that comes next.

T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd

yeah, dad, maybe no one is perfect by Luvo There’s the sound of a grappling hook hissing and light feet landing on the platform. “Hey, Batman,” Robin says. “What’s—uh. What’s happening?”

Stephanie laughs louder. Above her, Batman looks over her head, face grim. “We’re not taking in the Cluemaster,” he says.

“Yeah, I figured. He’s, um. Dead, and all. What—oh. Did she…”

Stephanie swallows her laughter, taking a breath to steady herself. “Yeah,” she says through a smile, “I pushed him. I killed him.”

“Right,” Robin says. “Okay. So, do we…” He looks helplessly at Batman and asks, “What do we do now?”

It's a story about murder, it's a story about motive, it's a story about mommy issues. Or: Stephanie Brown kills her dad!

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Crystal Brown & Stephanie Brown, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne

Living is Harder by Sohotthateveryonedied Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god.

Tim did this. He was…he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and…he didn’t mean it.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Sins of the Brother by Myrime “Do you have a death wish, Replacement?” Red Hood asks him as he advances on the rooftop.

All Tim knows is that he cannot go home and that he’d rather deal with torture at Red Hood’s hands than to face Bruce and be thrown out of his home.

“I killed someone.”

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Refuge of Last Resort by wildsofmarch Someone trips his window alarm at 4:08 in the morning and Jason twitches awake. He grabs his sword as he rolls out of bed. His current safe house is located in one of the better neighborhoods in the Fashion District, and he doesn’t want to shoot a gun here if he can help it.

In the living room, he sees a shadowy figure straighten out of a crouch.

“Don’t shoot,” the intruder says.

Or: Jason can't believe the Replacement has the audacity to come through his window looking for help.

T | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Tim Drake & Jason Todd

with crimson hands by envysparkler It was always quieter on a new moon night. Jason knows to expect the lingering fog of death. But he’s definitely surprised by where it comes from.

M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Watch Me Fall by Nanimok After an encounter leaves Tim reeling, he begins to question about what it means to be a hero and what it takes to protect the people of Gotham.

Slowly, Tim understands Jason a little better.

M | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

dirty work by Goldmonger The man holding Damian flexed, and the boy made a noise Alfred had never heard from him before. He was gasping, his congested lungs making him hack, making him whimper against his will. His eyes were streaming. Master Damian’s eyes. Master Damian, who never cried.

*

There's no such thing as murder in war. Alfred learned that a long time ago.

T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Alfred Pennyworth & Everyone, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd

Too Much Fucking Salt by pez_the_platypus A rural housewife instinctively understood the law of quantity into quality. Add a pinch of salt to a soup and it tasted better; add one pinch too many and you ruined the batch. Jason had been in limbo for a year and a half, trusting things would get better even though everything just seemed to be getting worse. It was something small that set him off, but really, it was an accumulation of a lot of things that led to this. He was going to kill the Joker.

M | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Roy Harper & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Joker (DCU) & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Gotham City & Jason Todd

[jewish-ship-showdown]

Ships that have already qualified (read before submitting):

Jude Lizowski/Jonesy Garcia

Tyler Kennedy "TK" Strand/Carlos Reyes

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Gwen Stacey

Willow Rosenberg/Winifred "Fred" Burkle

Francine Frensky/Muffy Crosswire

Susan Ivanova/Marcus Cole

Kate Kane (Batwoman)/Renee Montoya

Barry B. Benson/Vanessa Bloome

Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago

Willow Rosenberg/Tara Maclay

Jack Zimmermann/Eric "Bitty" Bittle

Justin "Ransom" Oluransi/Adam "Holster" Birkholtz

Danny/Reuven

Larissa "Lara" Bogdan/Jasmine

Kelsey Pokly/Isabella "Stacks" Alvarado

Rebecca Bunch/Audra Levine

Rebecca Bunch/Greg Serrano

Rebecca Bunch/Nathaniel Plimpton

Samantha "Sam" Manson/Danniel "Danny" Fenton

Bruce Wayne (Batman)/Selina Kyla (Catwoman)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)/Clark Kent (Superman)

Clark Kent (Superman)/Lois Lane

Harley Quinn/Pamela Isley (Poison Ivy)

Barney Guttman/Logan Nguyen

Leah/Chanan

Shay Goldstein/Dominic Yun

Marvin/Whizzer

Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld

Perchik/Hodel

Tzeitel/Motel

Monica Gellar/Chandler Bing

Molly McGee/Libby Stein Torres

Rachel Berry/Noah Puckerman

Fiddleford McGucket/Stanford Pines

Cristina Yang/Owen Hunt

Cristina Yang/Preston Burke

Levi Schmidt/Nico Kim

Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam

James Wilson/Gregory House

The Baker and/The Baker's Wife

Kim Possible/Ron Stoppable

The Jewish People/The Shabbat Bride

Alec Hardison/Parker

Max Eisenhardt (Magneto)/Charles Xavier (Professor X)

Steve Rogers (Captain America)/James "Bucky" Barnes

Arnold "Arnie" Roth/Michael Bech

Arnold "Arnie" Roth/Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Billy Kaplan (Wiccan)/Teddy Altman (Hulkling)

Bobby Drake (Iceman)/Hank McCoy (Beast)

Bobby Drake (Iceman)/Johnny Storm (The Human Torch)

Layla El Faouly/Mark Spector (Moon Knight)

Matthew Hawk (Two-Gun Kid II)/Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Betty Brant

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Eugene "Flash" Thompson

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/ Felicia Hardy

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/ Harry Osborn

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Katherine Anne "Kitty" Pryde

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Mary Jane "MJ" Watson

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)/Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Steve Rogers/Bernadette "Bernie" Rosenthal

Wanda Maximoff/The Vision

Midge Maisel/Susie Myerson

Hal Emmerich (Otacon)/Solid Snake

Casey Goldberg-Calderon/Lunella Lafayette

Fran Fine/Max Sheffield

Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar

Winston Schmidt/Cece Parekh

David Jacobs/Jack Kelly

Seth Cohen/Summer Roberts

Scout Touzani/Elias Wyrick

KJ Brandman/Mac Coyle

Lavinia Asimov/Poison Oak

Phineas Flynn/Isabella Garcia-Shapiro

Anon's Mom/Dad

The person reading this & their partner

Jerry Seinfeld/Cosmo Kramer

Simon Lewis/Isabel Lightwood

Danielle/Maya

Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier

Miryem Mandelstam/The Staryk King

David Rose/Patrick Brewer

James T Kirk/S'chn T'gai Spock

Worf Rozhenko/Jadzia Dax

Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Brian Jeeter/Krejjh

Bobby Singer/Rufus Turner

Jonah Simms/Amy Sosa

Reish Lakish/Rabbi Yochanen

King David/Yonatan

Devorah/Barak

Moses/Tzipporah

Ruth/Naomi

Yaakov/The Angel

Rowan Roth/Neil Mcnair

Klaus Hargreeves/Dave Katz

Cecil Palmer/Carlos The Scientist

Josh Lyman/Donna Moss

Little Ash/Uriel

Lucille "Lucy" Kensington/Dr. Edison "Ed" Tucker

Fox Mulder/Dana Scully

Anshel/Avigdor

Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer

Wanda Maximoff (The Scarlet Witch)/Jericho Drumm

Bruce Wayne (Batman)/Shondra Kinsolving

Bruce Wayne (Batman)/Talia Al Ghul

Ben Grimm (The Thing)/Alicia Masters

Velma Dinkley/Daphne Blake

Velma Dinkley/Marcie Fleach

Didi Pickles/Stu Pickles

Velma Dinkley/Coco Diablo

Babushka (Tatiana)/Dedushka (Ivan)

Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin

Natasha Romanoff/Wanda Maximoff

Marc Spector (Moon Knight)/Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Hillel/Shammai

S'chn T'gai Spock/James T Kirk/Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

S'chn T'gai Spock/Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson

Annie Edison/Jeff Winger

Maxine Myers/Paula Cohen

Baby Houseman/Johnny Castle

Tevye/Golde

Michael "Mike" Wazowski/Celia Mae

Talmudic couple having gay sex in the attic

Tim Drake/Kon El (Conner Kent)

Violet Baudelaire/Quigley Quagmire

Reuben Kent/Feliks Kaufmann

Anshel/Avigdor/Hadass

Amram/Zelikman

Anshel/Hadass

SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN UNTIL MAY 8, 2023 @ 12:00 AM EDT

[edupunkn00b]

House Call

Photo by Insung Yoon via Unsplash

Rated: T - WC: 1553 - CW: swearing, medication, vomiting and nausea, terminal illness

Wilson's been away and House goes to investigate.

(For my Sanders Sides friends, there are some familiar archetypes in this material. You might find it worth the read.) -

Thunk-thunk-thwack. Thunk-thunk-thwack. House had swiped this squash ball from Wilson a year, maybe a year and a half ago by now. It had been so long since Jimminy Cricket had been to his office, he still hadn't noticed his theft. Bouncing the ball against against the floor, then the wall, House tilted his chair further. The steady thwacking and the faint creak of his chair nearly drowned out the sound of the latest batch of interns’ greetings. Maybe farewells. He looked out the window and watched the parking lot lights click on. Farewells, then.

Desiccated leaves had collected in Wilson’s parking spot, the cement tire stop now edged in enough moss he could see it from three floors up. Were the maintenance guys even bothering anymore? House stared as a fresh eddy of fall's detritus danced over the vacant spot, one last thwack of rubber against his palm deciding for him.

He put down the ball and picked up the small amber bottle on his desk, then pushed up from his chair.

He had a house call to make.

It took an embarrassingly short time to pick Wilson’s lock. As soon as he opened the door, he was struck with the scent of sickness. Not just the sour-sweet odor of vomit, but plastic and rubbing alcohol, stuffy air and sweat. Pain.

“Working from home, my ass,” he muttered, kicking aside a blue recycling bin overflowing with empty electrolyte bottles. He closed the door with his elbow and the hall was plunged into darkness. After a moment, House’s eyes adjusted, a blueish glow spilling in from the kitchen and a dim splash of yellow from the opposite hall.

He followed the light and was greeted by the unmistakable sound of retching.

“Really tied one on last night, I see,” he said before he stepped into the bathroom. Dressed in a faded Princeton Rowing Crew hoodie and flannel pants, Wilson curled over the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl. “You know you need protein more than electrolytes for a hangov—”

Wilson straightened and looked back at him, eyes bloodshot under a thick woolen beanie. He was jaundiced, skin stretched over the sharp, too, too sharp bones of his face. The flesh around his lymph nodes was red and puffy.

His eyebrows had fallen out.

In the corner next to the trash bin was a small red sharps collector and red plastic bag half-filled with drained IV bags in various sizes. Oh.

“So the cancer doctor gets cancer,” House muttered, eyes narrowed and grip tight on his cane. “‘Medice, cura te ipsum,” he said with a little flurried jazz hand. [Physician, heal thyself.]

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Wilson snapped—no, panted— back at him before falling silent again. House could count the veins in his eyelids, the shadows underneath a dark bruised purple. Cheeks sunken beneath his high cheekbones, his lips trembled, chapped, thin, and pale. He didn’t need a meter to tell him Wilson was hypoxic, most likely from his vomiting and whatever damned cocktail he’d dosed himself with.

Wilson's eyes cracked open and House caught a glimpse of shiny brown before he turned away from him and addressed the collection of bottles laid out on the counter. “Opening up a pharmacy?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to get a side gig.” If it weren’t for Wilson sounding so fucking broken, they could’ve been bickering in his office about Cuddy’s latest HR memo. “Metastatic cancer treatment’s expensive.”

“You’d get a better margin turning tricks. Though you’d have to keep from puking on your johns.” House scowled down at the empty glass vial in his hand before tossing it in the sink. He picked up a large amber bottle and turned to glare at Wilson. “You’re combining talquetamab and nilutamide?”

He barely shrugged.

House stared. Wilson’s eyes had fallen closed again, head lolling against the side of the shower. He looked so…

“Get up.” House snapped and hobbled across the room. He leaned hard on his cane, the tip wedged into the corner of the tub and the wall. Keeping his weight on his good, well, his better leg, he reached for Wilson’s upper arm.

Wilson’s eyes shot open, darting and wild, softening only once he focused on House’s face. He’d fallen asleep. Or, given the mix of chemicals he was marinating in, more likely lost consciousness. “Still me,” House muttered and grabbed his arm. His whole hand wrapped around Wilson’s bicep. “You should be in bed.”

Eyes closing, he shook his head and fumbled blindly at the tank before his arm dropped back in his lap. The meaning was clear. 

“Nope.” House didn’t let go of his arm. “I’ll bring you a bucket. Now come on, Dr. Wilson—” The catch in his throat was nothing more than the jolt of pain that shot through his hip as he helped him to his feet. Wilson had always been trim, annoyingly light on his feet. Now, though? Now he was like a bird, hollow-boned and just as fragile.

Wilson’s bedroom didn’t have much furniture. A bed and a nightstand. A tiny desk littered with marked up and flagged medical journals and thick, ominous envelopes from the hospital staff’s insurance company. There was an IV stand next to the bed and a cooler emblazoned with Property of Princeton-Plainsboro in big, red letters. The bedding was twisted, the comforter half-draped over the floor. Between the late hour and the pajamas, House guessed Wilson had been hoping to sleep off the meds. When did that ever work?

House waited to speak again until he’d gotten Wilson settled under his covers, a plastic-lined pail next to his bed, and a fresh bag of saline drip, drip, dripping its way into his arm. “You mind?” he said after sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. Besides the desk chair across the room, there was some fluffy Edwardian number that looked like he’d managed to free from the grip of his ex-wife’s claws. It also looked like it weighed more than Wilson did and House wasn’t delusional enough to try to drag it over just for the sake of propriety.

Wilson didn’t answer, but he let his hand rest in the space between them. House drummed his fingers against his cane grip before blurting out, “How long?”

Deep chocolate eyes searched his. He’d broken capillaries in his sclera, maybe even a little opportunistic conjunctivitis for flavor. Wilson tried to hold his gaze. “‘Til I’m dead?”

“I don’t need an oncologist to tell me that.” House cleared his throat and refocused. It was easier to watch the pulsepoint between his eyebrows. “How long were you planning on keeping this a secret? It’s been, what…” He lifted Wilson’s hand, forefinger and thumb meeting around his bony wrist. “Eighteen months?” Wilson looked away, a huff of laughter turning into a rattling cough. 

House waited until he'd stopped and wiped his mouth with the cloth on the nightstand. But he didn’t let up. “Your last annual was six months ago and you’re too far along for that to have been when you caught this.”

“Twenty-three,” Wilson muttered, head heavy on the pillow. “Found a mass in the shower.”

“Two years?” He stabbed his cane against the floor. “Two years!?” Wilson still wouldn’t look at him. Two fucking years. That was… that just after Amber and… “God dammit, Wilson, you idiot! You’ve been hiding this from me for two years? Who else knows?” Who was keeping this from him? Who was helping Wilson hide his sickness?

Wilson didn’t speak.

Anger came easy. “Who. Else. Knows?” House’s voice was low and dangerous and Wilson’s continued silence confirmed it. “Oh…” He looked away, slowly nodding. “Everyone.” His… friend had told everyone he was dying but him.

“No-one,” Wilson whispered, fingers grazing the edge of House’s sleeve. “If I couldn’t tell you…” House watched Wilson’s hand as it fell against his own, words not making any sense. “There was no-one to tell.”

“Bullshit. If you’re not going to be straight with me—” House pushed on his cane but he couldn’t make himself stand. 

Wilson’s fingers curled against his hand. “Why would I lie now, House?”

“Everyone lies,” He spat back but he didn’t move away. Wilson’s hand was so damn cold. “You’re telling me you didn’t tell Cuddy?”

He sighed, breathe wet and rattling in his lungs. “Would I be here with stolen meds if she knew?” 

“You moron!" He pounded the floor with his cane, punctuating each word. "Why didn’t you…” House's throat seized, choking out the rest of his question. Why didn’t you tell me?

Wordless, Wilson turned his head and closed his eyes. House didn’t need him to actually say it, did he? The rest of his words sat in the air between them, each of them quiet enough he kept time off some clock ticking out in the living room. Wilson was still enough that House thought he might have fallen asleep. He was considering moving over to the chair when Wilson’s eyes cracked open and he turned his hand next to House’s, palm up. An invitation. A request.

“You know now,” Wilson whispered.

The rubbing alcohol he’d used to prepare Wilson’s IV hung in the air, stinging his eyes and drawing out hot, heavy tears. He nodded and took Wilson’s hand. “I know now.”

[themculibrary]

ADHD Masterlist

Attention Deficit (ao3) - DrewWrites bucky/steve/tony G, 2k

Summary: It’s not that Tony doesn’t want to pay attention, it’s just that he can’t pay attention to everything that happens in a day. Not unless he wants to be emotionally exhausted by the night.

From Alleyways to Outerspace... (ao3) - InvisbleDragon bucky/tony M, 7k

Summary: Tony never expected this. But he can't complain. Not really, anyway.

it will never be you (ao3) - anyabarnes bucky/steve/tony T, 4k

Summary: of course tony had to get roomed with the school’s hottest couple during their international school trip. it just so happens he has a crush on both of them. oh, and there’s only one bed.

Losing My Religion (ao3) - avengstark sam/bucky G, 1k

Summary: “Hello? Earth to Barnes? You've got me worried here, Grandpa. Do I need to get the nursing home on the line?”

Bucky blinked. Slow, lethargic. “Nah. Unless your bones are aching? You trying to tell me something? I'm not giving you a massage, Wilson.”

overidentification (ao3) - Feather (lalaietha) T, 2k

Summary: It's about one in the morning when Tony wakes up, stumbles back out to his living-room without a shirt, bleary-eyed and messy-haired and glowering.

overwhelmingly (ao3) - Feather (lalaietha) T, 5k

Summary: And you know, there is common sense, and there's courtesy, and then there's the fact that Tony has refused to take pseudo-gods, monsters, flaming fire-breathing people and his own (apparently) inevitable death all that seriously (or at least refused to admit it), so he completely gives into temptation and breaks the tense moment of Barnes actually coming into the room by announcing, "Ahah! Winter is coming!"

seeing the world through your eyes (ao3) - itsallAvengers steve/tony T, 9k

Summary: Sometimes Tony does things that Steve doesn't really understand. Turns out, there's a reason for that. But it's not really one that Steve is all too aware of, what with him being from the forties and all. Back then, they would've called it laziness.

Now, apparently, it's ADHD.

Steve's still got a lot to learn about the future. And his boyfriend. But never say Captain America isn't up for the challenge.

sitting still and focusing (ao3) - genesis_frog N/R, 1k

Summary: bucky always had a hard time sitting still.

sunlight (ao3) - Flowerparrish G, 1k

Summary: Clint smiles before he processes anything else, because, oh, Bucky’s just so lovely.

The Habit (ao3) - Here_Be_Spideychelle mj/peter G, 1k

Summary: Peter Parker, who has always suffered from ADHD and anxiety, has formed unique coping mechanisms

Tony Stark vs. the World (ao3) - TheGriefPolice T, 3k

Summary: (Tony has ADHD and the team finds out~)

Two Hours (ao3) - parkermunson_bright G, 1k

Summary: Tony's in a meeting. It's been two hours. You can only imagine how bored out of his mind he is. Luckily a certain Spider can get him out of this.

What She Meant (ao3) - delicatelyglitterywriter G, 969

Summary: If only she had...

If only she hadn't...

She wouldn't have failed her team.

(4 times Daisy is affected by her RSD)

yapping and tapping (ao3) - ErrorInLoading T, 770

Summary: Peter Parker has ADHD and he forgot to take his meds while he’s with Tony. That’s it. That’s the fic.

[ao3feed-sambucky]

and then i go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like "i love you"

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/zc5FSZl by f3ralfa3 Sam was falling. Not flying, not diving, but falling. Falling through the air after the small missile that had been tailing him exploded, taking out one of the thrusters on his wing pack and sending him careening down to the ground. A desperate scream tore itself from Bucky’s throat as he nearly punched through the face of the goon that he was fighting. He took off running towards Sam, urging his legs to just go faster, dammit. Sam continued to fall, and Bucky could do nothing but run. Run as fast as his legs could carry him, ignoring the worried voices of Torres and Bishop on the comms. --- Bucky accidentally confesses to Sam after he gets injured on a mission. Words: 3892, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Kate Bishop, Yelena Belova, Joaquín Torres Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes & Kate Bishop Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Broken Bones, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Inspired by a Frank Sinatra Song, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Bucky Barnes Loves Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam Wilson Loves Bucky Barnes, Awesome Kate Bishop, Rated T for swearing and like one sex joke, Angst with a Happy Ending read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/zc5FSZl