#give me that cheese tray | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seaheaded · 1 month ago

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄

cregan stark x fem!reader

synopsis: everything you had from the moment you joined the dance of the dragons was ash in the wind — a metaphor you remembered queen rhaenyra using. yet, even after the losses, you could not find in yourself the will to give up on the world so easily. surprisingly, the wolf of the north seemed to care about your thoughts.

7.4K words

warnings: mentions/descriptions of death and war, violence and blood (brief), fire and blood spoilers, light angst, some canon divergence, making out, english is not my first language.

notes: i wrote this out of nowhere idk i was bored and paused my other works to write some silly stuff. i hope you guys enjoy it :))

“His eyes find you with the ease a compass points North.”

If you were not familiar with the princess — even in familiarity there were limits to be found in your interactions at times — you would not have scoffed at the words when she said them. In truth, you were glad she found you to be an amusing companion, or you would find yourself in a complicated position compared to the one you were in now.

I found a friend in her. Those were the words she used to describe you to her grandfather, Corlys Velaryon, when she demanded to remain close to you during the time of your arrival at the Red Keep. She sat beside the bed you woke up on, with a gentle smile and a tray on her lap, that she passed to you with both enthusiasm and worry.

You fainted outside of the Gate of the Gods, she told you then, as you ate bread and cheese for the first time in so long, savoring it in silence.

After that, Baela told you about the euphoria taking over King’s Landing as she helped to dress your aching body in clean clothes. It was unexpected, the joy spreading across the city, and spoken about with bewilderment. However, you understood it. Growing up like the rest of the small folk — as one of the most fortunate ones before you lost your parents two years prior — , you could relate to the relief of finding something to believe in again. Hope, as faint and ephemeral as it was, meant a lot when you barely had reasons to keep you standing on the ground instead of lying below it. Their fight differed from the soldiers’, but they fought for life nonetheless.

It was strange to think that if you were still one of them, you would probably sing about the events you were now part of in taverns. Would you ever find amusement in such songs again?

Following the people and most of the dragons, the euphoria had died as well, by the hand of the subject of almost every conversation winding the halls of the Red Keep since his arrival: Lord Cregan Stark.

Indeed, he was the formidable warrior you had heard about. With his army, he marched into the castle, his large sword in hand and a scowl that displayed pure frustration, alarming all.

You could comprehend why he was mad. Time was precious, after all, and he had spent his coming to King’s Landing, only to meet crumbs of the battle he and his men were promised. However, Stark’s judgment poured like ceaseless rain from that moment on, and you deemed his behaviour overly brutish at times.

The only thing that comforted you in those days was the company of Baela and Rhaena.

You shook your head.

“He looks at me that way because he suspects me,” You replied, watching the skirt of your dress getting kicked with each step. “I’m afraid he wants to chop my head off.”

Baela paused in her steps, pulling you to do the same.

“Do not say things like that,” She frowned at you. “Out of all people, you are the least deserving of any sort of punishment.”

This matter had been discussed before. According to Baela and Rhaena, Lord Stark may have brought the harshness of winter with him and cast it upon all people residing in the castle, but you would not be a subject of his penalty. They would not permit it.

Unfortunately, even with their reassurance, you found yourself tense as you rested your head on the pillow. Aside from the fact that he was still considering taking the lives of those he deemed traitors, and you did not wish to give him a reason to think of you as disloyal — as Rhaenyra once did — , you were still cautious about trusting your unconsciousness at night.

Clicking your tongue, you resumed your walk, and Baela fell into step with you.

“I apologise,” You said. “I just feel… Well…”

The gardens were finally coming into view, and you raised your gaze to the colorful landscape. Something inside you turned. All you could think of was the way the grass looked after the lethal kiss of dragon fire that night in Tumbleton. The smell, the smoke.

Addam. Dear Addam, the best of you all.

You still saw him and Seasmoke at times, the image of bodies on the burned grounds unwanted, but constantly plaguing your dreams.

“Hey,” Baela’s voice was gentle again.

Her hands found yours. Only then, you noticed they were shaking.

“Harm will not find you here, okay?” She continued. “And the way lord Stark looks at you... I think it holds mere curiosity. He is interested in you. Do not fear.”

There was no denying that you were a different sort of creature, compared to the royals and soldiers he knew. You were a bastard descendant, turned into a dragon rider, turned into a knight. But what even were you entirely? And why would he care about that?

“How do you know?”

“I have eyes,” Baela teased you. She intertwined your arms again as you entered the garden. “Do you not wonder what he thinks? From what Jace told me, he is a reflective man beneath the rest.”

You snorted. “Oh, you mean the way he walks like a bear, and that frown he has that is more like two bricks above his eyes?”

Baela’s small laughter grew louder like the chorus of a song people would stomp their feet to, and you found yourself giggling with her.

She tossed her head back. “Bricks—”

“Good morrow.”

You jumped like two scared chickens at the sudden voice coming from behind, and the laughter turned into gasps.

Cregan Stark’s scowl was adamant, it seemed. Even in the presence of Princess Baela’s lively laughter, it did not quiver. You would only judge him for it, or maybe laugh at the precision of your previous comment, if you did not feel guilty. He had undoubtedly heard your jest.

“My lord,” The two of you greeted together.

Cregan Stark stared at you as if he expected something else to come out of your mouth, causing your blood to boil beneath your skin.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Baela’s drifting between you and the man. She had a small, close-mouthed smile adorning her face. You wanted to pinch her to drop it.

“I suppose my lord wants a moment alone with the dame?” She asked.

Cregan Stark blinked, turning to her.

“I would, princess. Thank you.”

“Is this even suitable?” You asked as your anxiety grew, but the whisper passed by like a needle falling into the sea.

Still, you took the opportunity of the lord’s attention on the princess while she walked away to make him out.

It was hard to notice anything about him with the fleeting glances you exchanged before, but now, the light breeze of the morning caused his brown hair to dance over his face, although he did not seem to mind. Part of being a northerner is becoming used to harsher winds, you supposed. He wore his leathers, heavy garments compared to the ones you saw in the south your entire life, but the fur cloak in which he arrived at the castle had been discarded. That way, the emblem of his house caught your attention more than before, gleaming under the sun.

You looked away from the wolf on his chest when he turned back to you.

“Dame,” He nodded in greeting.

Since you were knighted by the late queen Rhaenyra, the word was attached to you. You preferred being called by your name, the way you grew up used to, and the way Addam, Baela, Rhaena, and Prince Jacaerys did it — although the last one spoke it with some disdain for some time.

Perhaps, the dislike for the title showed in your face against your will, because the lord frowned.

“Have I offended you?” He asked.

“No, my lord. I have something else on my mind.”

“May I ask what that is?”

“You may, but I will not answer.”

The scoff he let out possessed a hint of mirth, and was accompanied by a squint of his eyes, wandering over your visage.

Once again, you turned your head away. This time, you picked a leaf from the large bush beside you and twisted it in your hand for a distraction.

You hoped he would simply say what he wished to say and be done with it.

He cleared his throat. “I have been meaning to ask you a few questions.”

“Go on.”

“But why would I ask questions that you will not answer?”

You shrugged. “I will not answer that question, but you can ask others.”

“And you will answer them?”

You pretended to consider. “Perhaps.”

He hummed.

“Did you expect the words that would be said about you when you became a dragonseed?”

That was the last thing you imagined he would ask.

Was he indirectly asking you if you had become one for the recognition? You hoped not, because you already felt bad enough for being the only one alive at times.

“What do they say about me?” You asked, but the question held no real interest.

“That it is a surprise that you are alive,” He paused, thinking. “They started to call you ‘the last dragonseed’ after you survived the battle In Tumbleton.”

There it was again, the unhappiness of recalling that event causing you to feel sick.

“Nothing special about that.”

“I would say there is.”

“Are you accusing me, my lord?”

He hesitated, blinking a few times. “What?”

Your exhale trembled.

“I am aware that my dragon did not interact with the battle the same way the others did, but it was not for the lack of trying. She protected me, and fought briefly.”

Even after almost turning on you after the clash with Vermithor and Tessarion, you could not think badly of Silverwing. She had not offered herself to be a weapon the way you offered yourself to be a soldier.

You feared her cries would forever echo in your mind.

“I will not ask about that,” Lord Stark said, strangely compassionate. “My curiosity lies in your journey to the Red Keep.”

“Well," You gathered yourself. "I went to different places. I tried to find my dragon, or a way to Princess Baela. To no avail, of course.”

“So, you walked back to King’s Landing.”

You nodded. “I thought I would find Queen Rhaenyra here. I wanted to share with her the details of my friend's brave deeds, but she was already dead, and so was her brother.”

"Your friend?"

"Addam of Hull."

He nodded.

After another silent moment, he spoke. “I did not mean to accuse you of deserting battle or fleeing, dame. I simply am not familiar with you.”

But you wish to? You thought. How strange.

“I see,” You picked the leaf apart with small pullings. How could you change the subject and stop talking about those damned days? With a lighter tone, you tried. “I thought you were judging me from the moment you saw me, honestly.”

He frowned. “What is there to judge you for? You fought hard. Or so I’ve heard.”

“From who?”

Cregan Stark shifted in place, taking one of the hands from behind his back and levelling it up against his ribs as if he was measuring something as tall as them. “A boy. Very young. He has a wild look in his eyes.”

“The Blackwood boy?”

“So, you are acquainted. ”

“Barely. We met briefly after the battle.”

You pulled a piece of the leaf again.

“He said you were not the most skilled soldier…”

Something was missing from his sentence.

“But?” You lifted your gaze to him.

“It is a rather memorable description.”

“Tell me.”

“He said something along the lines of you making up for the lack of prowess by swinging your sword around manically, the way unfaithful husbands do with their cocks. Only yours is deadly.”

At first, you did not even move, taking in the words that had apparently come out of a child’s mouth.

Then, the bark of laughter that left your mouth shocked both of you, and you brought both hands to your mouth to muffle the sound. You had heard real and hurtful insults before, so if this was supposed to be one, it did not affect you. It had the opposite effect. You could not stop laughing.

Like unfaithful husbands do with their cocks? What sort of menace was the young boy to talk about people this way?

You wheezed, letting the feeling subside before attempting to speak again.

“I apologise, my lord. This is the most ridiculous way someone has ever described me.”

The corner of his lips twitched, giving into a smirk that made him look younger and somewhat teasing.

“So you didn't,” He said.

“What?”

“Expect the words said about you.”

You smiled and shook your head. “No. Did you?”

“Of course not,” He said with a small laugh. “But you seem delighted to hear it.”

"I take no offense in it, my lord. I have always been better with a dagger, anyway. Never had the money to buy, or the time to practice with a sword before going to Dragonstone.”

“You have some skill with the dagger?” His curiosity seemed to have spiked again.

“Certainly not as much as you do with a sword,” You replied quickly, warning him. Then, you jested. “Don’t make assumptions about me so quickly, my lord.”

He did not answer for a few seconds after that and simply looked at you again. Yet, you could notice the weight of the thoughts running through his head. The coldness of his eyes had melted completely, replaced by a light you were not familiar with.

“Perhaps you should follow your own advice,” He said, quieter, as if you were not alone in the garden.

There was no bitterness or mockery in his voice.

Cregan Stark was a quick learner, you noticed. He did not break the walls around you with the sort of honesty that made you angry, he walked to the gates with the sort that made you comfortable to comply.

So he did hear it. You were both mortified and thankful he was not being mean about it.

“You are a strategist.”

“You keep up with it quite well.”

“I agree.”

He huffed another low chuckle.

“I believe we have both been studying each other,” He said. “But I would prefer it if we did it differently from this moment forward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you mind coming closer instead of running away from me?”

Your heart sang.

Cregan Stark was no bastard, but what a bastard he was for causing that.

“I would like that, my lord.”

The nightly breeze was a welcome remedy after a nightmare. It hit your sweaty skin like a bath of fresh cool water on a warm day.

Tonight, it felt cooler. Winter was indeed beginning to influence the weather. Even then, the breeze was not any less welcome than on other occasions.

You rested your forearms on the balcony, humming a song as you watched the city to prevent yourself from thinking about the memories that had recently tormented your mind and heart.

Oh, tell me Sabine

Are your leaves still green

What did you last see

The Stranger or Catherine?

Sabine, was she heaven?

Did her honey usher pleasure

They say you never relished me

But not why

You leaped into the sea

Your corse’s roots run

The ground bursts for dirt

Tell me where to hide

From your song

My worst wrong

Your first love was sow in barren

Yet your arms I see growing

Catherine you won’t reach

For your sake

Refrain from longing

Your humming was soon joined by the sound of steps coming from the dark hall, where you paced mere minutes ago, and when you tilted your head to find the owner of the sound, you quickly turned away so he would not see the giddy smile stretching over your face.

You would not admit it, but you expected it to be him. Not deep down, but all over. Painted on your face with warm cheeks, on your arms and back with a shiver.

When his steps came to a haunt with the squeak of his boots against the floor, you greeted him, still watching the scenery.

“My lord.”

He did not answer, but a couple of seconds later, he appeared beside you.

You had noticed before that Cregan Stark could be silent when he wished, but it did not stop surprising you when he was suddenly there.

“Was that you singing?” He asked.

“Humming a tune, not singing. But yes.”

“The Leaves of Sabine.”

His amused and mischievous expression came back when your gaze snapped at him with wide eyes.

“You know The Leaves of Sabine?”

“It is certainly not a northern song, but my late wife was infatuated with it.”

He stopped, wetting his lips, and you could see the recollection of a memory passing by him.

“She used to say she would sing it to Rickon, my son.”

The wind cooled your skin again.

You were never as informed about Cregan Stark’s life as someone from court or interested in gossip would possibly be, so the mention made your smile fade.

You thought about his little boy. Did his father sing to him?

Yours did.

At first, you wanted to step back from asking anything, but you remembered the eagerness to keep you close that the young man had exhibited these past two days. He did not have to speak for you to notice he wanted you there, but he never refrained from commenting either.

Not to mention the obvious…

Would you mind coming closer instead of running away from me?

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. It's okay, now.”

You swallowed. “Maybe you should sing to little Rickon, then.”

“Me?” He asked, incredulous. “It would cause the poor boy to cry, not to sleep.”

If a year ago, you were told that Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, would pour a newfound joy over your now shattered life and make you laugh freely around him, you would be careful to never cross paths with the person delivering the message again, for you feared people that spit crazy beliefs on others’ faces.

Now, there were you. Smile squinting your eyes and shoulders shaking.

“That only makes me want to hear you sing more, my lord.”

“Oh, no. I would do anything you asked but that.”

You bit your cheek. “Would you?”

He was already watching you when he agreed with a nod. Waiting, you noticed.

“Anything?”

“Go on.”

You thought. “No, but I will remember that, my lord. When I want something, I will tell you.”

“I will wait, then.”

You wished to know what went through his mind when you did not hold back from teasing him this way. He varied from holding everything inside or pouring it out in small but heavy amounts. You never knew what it was that he kept — though you enjoyed imagining it was the same you did.

“What brought you here in the dead of the night?” He asked, changing the subject.

The answer came meeker than you wanted to.

“Nightmares.”

“I see.”

He did not touch the subject, and that was something you appreciated.

You knew that he read you easily, the way you liked to believe you did him, but he did not hover, did not push you to speak of your pain. You wondered if he knew about avoidance as you did, having lost his family members in such a short period — for a man like him.

Aside from that, you wanted to know if he secretly waited for you to let your secrets out. Does he wonder what I have seen? Does he not know it already? All had heard of Hugh’s betrayal, of your and Addam’s escape, Tumbleton’s tragedies, and dragons dancing in the sky. In the company of young Benjicot Blackwood, he would certainly hear the details about those.

But your person? The life before? Your parents?

You caught yourself hoping he would be around for a long time, so you could both discuss intimate matters like those, and wanted to punish yourself for such desires.

Before you could attempt to shift the subject, he moved. His body was now turned to you, and you could see his hand finding something in the pocket of his pants.

He revealed a small, grey handkerchief.

“May I?”

Without thinking much of it, you nodded.

The fingers of his empty hand found your chin. His touch was lighter than the breeze. He tilted your head up just barely, and brought the handkerchief to your face.

You observed the way his expression became strained with attention, contrasting his hands as he patted your sweaty skin dry softly.

The fabric touched your forehead first, following a pat down to your cheeks. Then, he paused, turning the handkerchief around and passing it to his other hand, repeating the process on your other side. When he reached the area around your mouth and chin, his lips parted and his blue eyes met yours for a brief moment before patting that, too.

“There,” He sighed the word when he was done. “Your neck?”

“No need,” You mumbled, feeling shy. “Thank you.”

Then, he turned the handkerchief on his hand, folding it the way it was when he pulled it out of his pocket. Your eyes traced the movements.

“Would you…” You gestured towards the fabric “I could clean it for you.”

He shook his head.

“There is no need,” He said, placing the handkerchief back into its place. “I do not mind.”

“You don't mind the sweat?”

“Cleaning it myself.”

“Oh, right,” Find me, Stranger. I am ready. “Of course.”

He glanced back at the passage of the balcony, the moonlight casting shadows into the dark hall beyond it. His eyes then shifted to you, descending from your face to the hand that he was now reaching out for.

“My lady.”

Before you could protest, his lips pressed against your damp skin with a kiss.

You dared not move for the short moment that seemed to end it too soon for you to savor it, but when he released you, you pulled the sweaty hand back, covering it with your own.

The apology in your expression must have been evident, because Cregan Stark shook his head once again, and before taking his leave, he repeated:

“I do not mind.”

You stood on that balcony longer than you prided yourself on. Alone, catching the breath that had been petted and kissed away. Then, as your mind went back to his firm voice and gentle touches while you made your way back to your chambers, you realised…

He had addressed you as a lady.

It would be deadly silent if not for the sound of the thunder outside and Baela’s impatient pace, which without a doubt reflected the worry in her mind.

“He cannot do such a thing,” She said, “Aegon will be king. He commanded him to spare Corlys.”

“Sister,” Rhaena sighed.

The two of you sat at the round table, facing Baela.

Rhaena rested her arm on the table long ago, and now she lifted her hand to massage the spot between her brows. The meeting in the throne room had taken a toll on her the same way it did with you and Baela, but it revealed itself through exhaustion and anxiety, rather than restlessness.

You, on the other hand, rested both arms on the table, eyes fixated on the wood and mind drifting back and forth towards Corlys Velaryon’s honesty and Cregan Stark’s determination. What I did, I did for the good of the realm. I would do the same again. The madness has to end, were Corlys' words.

You did not doubt that the murder of Aegon II was not a bad decision. Yet, more than that crossed the mind of the Warden of the North.

Now, it was hard to think about him with affection. Your first impression had drifted back and covered him like smoke when he sat on the wooden bench in front of the throne and condemned Corlys to death.

You had not played the game as long as he or your beloved friends did, but you could feel yourself moving the pieces on the board as you had learned to do as one of the dragonseeds under Prince Jacaerys’ training.

There were still conclusions to be made, but you were certain of your decision when you first spoke.

Baela and Rhaena had spent the past minute discussing the current state of things, so your voice silenced them.

“I will speak to him.”

Your gaze shifted, from the table to the sisters, waiting for an answer. Their faces were confused. It was visible that they were not expecting you to come forward.

Rhaena called your name, extending her hand so you could hold it. Her thumb caressed its back, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“Do you think he will listen to you?” It was Baela who asked. It was not in a mocking manner, but rather a perplexed one. “He does not seem to enjoy being told what to do.”

Gathering all the confidence you had left, you shook your head.

“I will not tell him what to do,” You said. “I will speak to him, and let him know he is wrong.”

“I have a feeling that he would appreciate that even less,” Rhaena said.

“What other choice do we have?” You asked, caressing Rhaena’s hand back. “I do not want to see your grandfather die, too. I am not a princess, or a lady, but…”

Cregan Stark had called you a lady before. He had demonstrated affection and respect that night in the balcony, and on every other small interaction. You appreciated it, and wanted to believe he was better and smarter.

Baela approached you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“You understand that we both see your sacrifices, do you not?” She asked.

You were ready to reply, but she cut you.

“I do not speak of your growing affection for the lord as a sacrifice for us,” She said. “But the way you hold back from giving yourself to him entirely. I can see it. I know what it is like. But he… He might not be as you believe, and I do not want to see you hurt because of it.”

“Are you asking me not to try?”

She hesitated. “I am doing my best to think about your feelings. I do want you to try, but you are our friend, and I want you to remember that.”

“My apologies, but I do not see how you could convince someone so stubborn,” Rhaena said.

“Baela convinced him to spare her rescuers earlier,” You shrugged.

It was impressive. You were used to Baela’s intrepid nature, but seeing Cregan Stark smile and letting her ‘keep her dogs’ as she waved a sword around and threatened those trying to harm the men who had saved her raised your spirits.

“This is different,” Rhaena said.

You sighed. “I know. But Aegon’s wish to spare him has not been heard.”

There were no other ideas. All of you seemed to fall into a silent agreement that nothing else would grow in that soil.

“You will speak to him, and if he does not change his mind, do not let it break your heart, do you hear me?” Baela warned you. “He is a stubborn and cold man, beneath it all.”

Funny.

To you, it was the opposite. He was stubborn and cold outside, while the flicker of warmth and kindness hid inside.

But there was something to be doubted about Cregan Stark’s person, indeed: How far did that stubbornness, pride, and control go?

You nodded.

What was the threat of a broken heart to someone who had experience in putting it back together?

Ice, the sword, was magnificently frightening. Its blade was wider than your palm, and even on Cregan Stark’s back, the length did not contract to one less threatening.

Now, it rested over his lap.

“My lord.”

His gaze lifted from the blade he sharpened, ceasing his motions.

“My lady.”

“Dame.” You corrected.

He traced your face, trying to unmask the reason behind your sternness. In truth, you had planned to speak kindly, but you would be lying to yourself and him with false gentleness. You did not wish to lie today.

“Aye,” He said, carefully. “May I ask—”

“I would like to question you instead, my lord,” You said. You held your skirts, approaching the small sofa where he sat. You stood in front of him. “May I?”

“You may,” He responded immediately, but the puzzlement in his tone was clear.

“Are you aware that Corlys Velaryon opened the gates for you and your men even after the end, my lord?”

The confusion quickly became annoyance. Cregan Stark turned his head away from you, analysing your question.

When he lifted his head, he was scowling again.

“So, that’s what this is about?” He asked. “You are here to interrogate me on behalf of the traitor of kings.”

You frowned.

“Aegon II was a usurper and a threat to the realm.”

“What does that change about Velaryon’s actions?”

“It was not a simple betrayal. Do you know what Aegon was like?”

“This is not about Aegon II.”

“No?” You asked. “Why would it not count?”

“I would have to spare Lord Strong, and all the others if I thought this way.”

“It is not the same.”

“On that, we agreed. Corlys Velaryon’s betrayal was worse. At least the others were not turncoats.”

“Both times, I know he asked for peace. Is it not the same you are doing now?”

“I am serving peace, not asking for it.”

“This is what he did by poisoning Aegon. And it was not his direct action or command, either,” You shook your head. “It is clear to me now. You took control to make up for not being able to meet battle after deciding to march two years later, did you not?”

He got up then, laying the large sword on the sofa and turning to you with a posture less restrained than the one he usually had. Just like the day the doors opened to the large wolf of the north. Bitter.

“Do you feel remorseful for that, my lord?” You continued. “Is that the reason why you are so adamant—”

“My absence was justifiable, and so is my sentence for Corlys Velaryon. Do not toy with me.”

“The future king agreed to spare him.”

“He is a boy. The reason why he agreed was because of the whispers of his sisters.”

“His sisters seem to understand the needs of the realm, then.”

“Oh, indeed,” He said, sarcastically. His eyes sharpened. “They whisper in your ear too.”

You bit your tongue. “I am not a child.”

“Yet you let yourself be manipulated?”

“I do not let myself be manipulated, I chose to be here. Do you think I needed to be tempted to speak to you? That I was scared to come?”

“You seem out of place to me.”

“I am not,” You bit back. “Although, I can see you feed off the fear you have cast upon the others.”

He shook his head with surprise. “I am protecting the future of this land.”

“Yet you would let it bleed again!”

“In what way would I do that?!”

“The execution of Corlys Velaryon will only provoke revenge. His son, Alyn, possesses navy power and could easily blockade multiple cities. You know that. It should not be difficult to understand that this would only extend the war you wish to end.”

In the short absence of your argument, the sound of fire flickering in the fireplace became as loud as the storm brewing, mingling with both of your heavy breaths, which only now did you come to realize were closer than ever before — although not as close as once you had wished.

“Is that the point you came here to make?”

His voice was quieter now, thicker with hesitation. He was tired of speaking loudly as you were before.

You swallowed, drifting your gaze to the wolf on his chest.

You were tired too. For too long now, in fact.

“Yes.”

“If it was not for the good of the realm, would you let me proceed?”

You thought of Baela and Rhaena’s faces. The burnt scar across Baela’s cheek. My friends. Girls who had lost so much in this war, once again losing family and watching battles unfolding.

The understanding of such pain came with the will to not let it befall those you adored without trying to stop it first.

“I see your argument, my lord,” Your tone was hushed as well. You lifted your gaze to his. “If not for the good of the realm, the will to see you would be weaker, perhaps. But I would still be here. I have seen King’s Landing from places that you never had to. It is the main reason why I am here. But I care about my friends, too. I would never forgive myself for not trying to protect them.”

Not again.

“My last question is: as you look forward and see the deaths, do you care?”

“You forget that winter has come, dame.”

“Or do you? When my city becomes ruins, who do you think I will blame?”

That silenced him.

He took a step back, blue eyes slightly wider.

“If…” You fisted your skirts, shutting your eyes. When you opened, you did not let it waver. “If you would do only one thing that I ask for, my lord, let it be this. Do not sing for me, but let the city do it with songs of peace.”

The rain washed the blood of Larys Strong’s decapitated head, but it kept flowing from his body. Then, when you least expected, Cregan raised his sword again and sliced off his clubfoot.

For some reason, that made you hiss like you had not done when the head fell.

“Small favours, I suppose,” Came the voice of Benjicot Blackwood, who stood beside you. He looked up at you, raising his eyebrows. “Imagine having to worry about a foot in hell.”

You did not reply, but tilted your head at the comment.

“Who is it now?” He asked the other woman beside him. His aunt, Alysanne.

“The Velaryon,” She whispered, in a way you could barely hear above the heavy rain. “Now, shut up. His family is here.”

Her eyes met yours above the boy’s head, and she offered a polite smile that you tried your best to return.

Your lips trembled, and you knew it was not only because of the cold. If not for the rain, the tears falling down your cheeks, which matched Rhaena and Baela’s, would be a clear sign of your grief. Not only for Corlys Velaryon, but for the city you never grew to love, but learned to mourn for those who would never find anything better.

They would die there.

Rhaena stood between you and Baela, an arm intertwined with her sister’s, and her other hand holding yours. Her head was raised, but her eyes were cast down.

Baela, on the other hand, stood and stared. She was like a statue in place. On the receiving end of her piercing stare, stood the warden.

Cregan was soaked to the bone. His hair was glued to his face, and his cloak would protect his body if he had chosen to wear it, but he did not. The cold walked with him there.

He watched the body of Larys Strong be dragged away, then tossed his head up, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes from the downpour. He did not look tired, but the job was not welcoming in that weather.

Then, he turned around, and extended his arm as if to motion the guards to stop.

Everyone watched intently as he approached them.

“What is going on?” Benjicot asked for no answer.

Cregan then walked back to the center of the patio, raising his head for all to see him.

“The Sea Snake will not die today. As the hand of future king, Aegon III, I will grant his wishes to spare him.”

Immediately, the crowd erupted into enthusiastic and bewildered conversation.

Your head snapped to Rhaena. She let out a surprised cry, embracing her sister tightly as her hand pulled you closer to them.

“I thought you said you did not manage to convince him,” She said, loud only for the three of you to hear.

Baela smiled, victorious, hugging you with one arm.

“It was what I thought it happened,” You said, completely lost. “He was stubborn like you said.”

“What did you offer him, then?”

“Offer?” You frowned. “I… I didn't offer anything.”

When you looked back to find the man, he was gone.

You bolted through the halls.

The fabrics of your dress felt heavy in your hold, even heavier now that they were wet after standing under the ceaseless rain for a long time, and dripped water behind you as you followed the path from the previous evening — the one that led to Cregan Stark’s chambers.

That day had awakened dark, and so were the shadows being cast by the columns and window frames, limiting a bit of your vision as you tried not to misstep your way up the stairs.

There were no men outside his doors, so you pushed the heavy wood without knocking.

He walked out of the right side of the chambers quickly. He had Ice in his hands, but when he saw you, the desperation in your face, and the quickness of your breath, he lowered it.

His gaze studied you briefly, then he offered a polite nod, the same one he gave you the first time you talked.

“Dame,” He greeted.

You did not think before letting your feet take you forward. You did not speak, or greet him back. Instead, you welcomed yourself over him.

He froze when your arms embraced his shoulders, but you did not move away.

“Thank you,” You exhaled into his wet hair. Your head was nested over the covered space between his neck and shoulder.

You could not see him or his reaction to this, but you hoped it was not a scowl. Please, you thought. Although, you did not know what exactly you wanted either. Anything, perhaps. Whatever he had to offer.

You felt one of his arms wrapping around your middle, glued to his, and the other half of his body turning as he extended his arm. Then, came the sound of Ice’s blade, resting somewhere.

Lastly, his other hand found your head, caressing your soaked mane.

“You spared him,” You said, still stunned.

“You asked me to.”

You opened your eyes, exhaling in the comfort of his embrace. Then, you separated yourself from him.

His reaction was immediate, His arms rested beside him, and he stood erect and serious. The soldier he was.

“Did you spare him, and the city, because I asked you to?” You questioned, quietly. “I came to talk and make you see my side. I only pleaded for your mercy out of desperation.”

“You did,” His eyes darted between yours. “Make me see, that is. I apologise for my reaction, I… I think I am used to my authority and not to being told what to do.”

A tired smile crossed your lips before it fell.

“I did not tell you to do anything.”

“Yes, I know,” He agreed quickly, taking a step closer. “What I mean is that, even then, I find myself willing to do whatever you want.”

“I know you are no fool,” He continued. There was hesitance between his phrases, as if he was figuring out what he wanted to convey. “You see the way I look at you.”

The question flickered in his eyes. You responded with a nod.

“I also find myself thinking that this is not enough,” He sighed. “When you tried to convince me to spare Corlys Velaryon, I imagined you were being selfish for your friends. Then, you spoke of the city, of ruins, and I discovered the selfish one was me. I am not the best man in the world, and I will admit that much.”

“I am selfish, too,” You whispered.

He hesitated even longer this time. “For agreeing with my point about treason, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That does not make you selfish. You are more considerate. You are kind. And… you were right.”

When your eyebrows shot up, he nodded.

“We got here too late. There was nothing left for my army. I was spiteful.”

“You were not entirely wrong for what you did,” You said. “You put an end to the war.”

“It would relent, if not for you pointing this out and making me understand,” He looked down. “I could not let myself be the cause of more destruction, nor your hatred. I did not come here to be that man.”

You closed your mouth, understanding it.

Deciding to consent to your wishes, you stepped forward as well, until you found him as close as he was on the previous night.

Your hands found one of his, enveloping it and bringing it close to you. Then, you lifted your head.

This time, there was no mirth, no confusion, and no anger. He was there as he was, and you could feel it in your bones.

“I am not the best person in the world, either, Cregan.”

His gaze fell to your mouth when his name came out of it.

“You are better than me.” His other hand came to rest on your face, and he smiled at you. “If I were you, that night on the balcony, I would ask you to be mine immediately.”

You mimicked his actions, removing one of your hands from his and bringing it to his face. “Well, you did spare Corlys Velaryon. In exchange, I would like to give you the only thing I have to offer.”

He understood your words instantly.

“I did not do that because I wanted something from you.”

You almost threw your head back, not being able to contain your laughter this time.

“That is exactly why I am here,” You told him.

“Tell me, then,” He asked. “That you want to be my lady.”

You hesitated.

“Will you listen to me when I talk about my nightmares and the person I was before I became a knight?”

“Every day,” He promised. “Will you let me take care of you and ask for your counsel?”

“I will.”

All that was left for you to do was mold yourself in his hold as his mouth searched for every bit of flesh and breath in yours.

His arm that previously held your middle was back there, pulling you tight enough to make you feel hot under the wet fabric, and his other hand rested on the side of your neck, tilting your head gently as your damp lips met with wet sounds that made you and him grunt softly whenever they collided perfectly.

Soon enough, he walked with you in his hold, provoking your hands to pull him by the shoulder and grip his hair.

Your backside found the heavy table of the room, but instead of sitting you on top of it the way you expected, Cregan rested his hands on your hips to keep you there, making arch your back as his mouth found your neck.

“Don't worry, for I will not take you here,” He said. “But, please...”

“I’m not worried,” You gasped, closing your eyes. “I would not mind if you did.”

He hummed, mouthing a spot on your neck continuously for a few seconds before raising his head.

“Not like this,” He kissed your lips once. “First, I will let you pass from a dame to a lady.”

You snorted, making him cease his movements.

“Are you mocking me?” He asked.

“No, I swear. It's just… I hate being called a dame.”

Cregan blinked. “You do?”

You nodded, laughing. “When I was knighted, I thought I was going to be called ser, like the rest. Then, Daemon Targaryen called me a dame. Oh, I hated it.”

The man laughed freely now.

“Every day,” He repeated. “I want to listen to you every day, my lady.”

The droplets of winter rain ran down your body, but in him you found warmth for a lifetime.

he licked his lips after kissing the back of her hand like a DOG!

wishing all of you a great day/night <3

unrelated, but i was thinking about making a character x bard reader fanfic. do you guys have any suggestions for what character should be her love interest?

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine

259 notes · View notes

waughymommy · 3 months ago

Text

MOMMY KNOWS BEST

Chapter 5

They pulled into a McDonalds and Rebecca opened Brian’s door. He had successfully finished his second juice of the morning. She smiled as she unbuckled him. She unclipped his pacifier and stuffed it into her purse. “I will give you a break since we are out in public,” Rebecca whispered. “But remember, if you have to go potty, you tell mommy.” She grabbed his hand and led him inside. At the counter, Brian started to make his order, but Rebecca stopped him before he could get two words out. She shot him a look that let him know mommy was in charge. “Good morning. He will have a sausage biscuit and an apple juice. I’ll have a bacon, egg and cheese with a large black coffee. Thank you,” Rebecca said confidently, knowing that the cashier was giving the couple strange looks.

Rebecca grabbed their tray and they made their way to a table. Brian started to complain, “Why can’t I have a coffee?”

Without missing a beat, Rebecca answered, “Coffee isn’t for babies.” Disappointed, Brian went to grab his breakfast, but she slapped his hand, “Let mommy do that.” She opened the rapper and began cutting the sandwich into bite size pieces. She opened his juice, but reminded him to be super careful since she left his sippy cup in the car. “Now eat up sweetheart.”

Brian kept his head down, certain that every person in the restaurant was staring at him, but the truth was every went about their own business. The two ate in relative quiet. He finished his juice. “My baby must have liked his food, you finished it so fast. Mommy is almost done.” Brian cringed and his eyes scanned the restaurant, praying that no one could hear her. “Alright sweetie. Before we leave, do you need to go potty?”

Brian was mortified, “NO. Can we just go please?”

“Relax cutie,” Rebecca was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.

They walked to the car and once again she buckled him in. She pulled his pacifier back out, “Be good for me and suck on your binky. We will be at the store in just a few minutes.”

They arrived at a department store, “Mommy wants to buy some clothes. If baby is on his best behavior, maybe you will get a treat.” As they walked inside, Brian realized that he still had is pacifier in his mouth and quickly shoved it into his pocket. Rebecca pretended to not notice, but it just reinforced that Brian was never going to let himself be little on his own. The two walked inside and found the women’s clothing section. Brian had always been a patient husband and bought whatever her heart desired. He had endured countless shopping trips, but this was different. With every step he took, he could feel the material of his pullup. He felt paranoid that everyone in the store knew his secret. He just stood behind his mommy as she perused the racks. She made sure to take her precious time.

She picked item after item to try on. Brian squirmed knowing that this was going to take awhile. Every minute felt like an eternity. He just stood outside the stall as she tried on different outfits. He was unsettled and bored all at the same time. He just wanted to get out of there. But then he noticed an ache in his bladder. No way in hell was he going to ask her to take him to the bathroom. He would just wait till they got home where he would hopefully be able to slip away and use the bathroom on his own. With every passing moment, his need for the bathroom grew more and more intense. Rebecca opened up the stall to model a new outfit, “What do you think sweetheart?” She immediately recognized the look on his face. “Brian, baby, do you need to go pee-pee. Mommy can take you. All you need to do is tell me.”

�� “No, Im fine,” Brian responded hoping that she believed him.

“Ok baby. I’ve got a few more things to try on,” as she walked back into the stall. Brian took a deep breath, desperately trying to will away his need to pee. He crossed his legs hoping to relieve some pressure.

“Are you almost done,” Brian asked in a whiney tone.

“Not quite sweetheart, be patient for mommy just a little bit longer,” Rebecca said from behind the stall door.

Brian tried to take his mind off of his predicament. He tried looking through the racks, but his mind kept racing back to the fact that his wife of nearly ten years was turning him into a baby. He had always fantasized about it, but it was always just that: a dream. This was real life and it terrified him. How could he give up control? He needed to be the provider so that his wife didn’t have to be. She had always been so sweet and supportive of him. The least he could do was work hard so she didn’t have to. He could still remember the day he saw her. He was absolutely smitten. He saw her in a coffee shop on his way to work. Her wavy brown hair flowed over her shoulders. Although she sported a hoodie and jeans, he could tell she was curvaceous. Something about her drew him in like a moth to a flame. Brian was never one to openly flirt with women. He was always a bit shy and reserved. But with her, he had to try. He plucked up his courage and walked up to her table, “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Brian and I couldn’t help but notice you. I don’t normally do this, but would you grab coffee with sometime.”

Rebecca looked up at the dapper man standing before her. She flashed him a smile. She could sense the shyness of him which conveyed a genuineness about him. He was tall and fairly fit. Why not, he seems harmless.

“I would love to. How about tomorrow at noon?”, she asked. He was thrilled, over the moon happy. That moment of bliss Brian daydreamed about was soon shattered by a sound that jerked him back. It sounded as if someone was peeing. He was confused, until the warmth spread across his crotch. The daydream had broken his concentration and he was flooding his pullup.

“Ok, I am all done baby boy…Brian are you ok?” Rebecca asked as she exited the stall. She saw the look of total panic on his face and a growing wet patch on his pants. His pullup couldn’t handle it and pee dribbled down his legs. Brian burst into tears. In that moment all he wanted was mommy. Rebecca flung into mommy mode. She set aside her clothing and went to comfort her baby boy. “Why didn’t you tell mommy you needed to pee-pee? I guess you aren’t ready for pull ups? Where is your paci baby?” she asked.

Brian could only point to his pocket. She reached into his pocket and then nestled it between his lips. “Come on baby, lets get you home.” Rebecca grabbed his hand and led him out into the parking lot. Every patron in the store just witnessed a grown man with a pacifier and wet pants, be led like an overgrown toddler out of the store. But Brian was too upset to notice. They reached the car. “Brian before you get in, we need to take those pants off,” Rebecca said.

Brian fearfully scanned the parking lot to see if other people were watching, “But but people might see me.”

“Brian I can’t put you in the car with soaking wet pants,” she said forcefully. She unbuttoned his pants and starting pulling his pants down to his ankles. “I need you to step out baby. Mommy packed another pullup, but she didn’t bring any pants.” She ripped open the sides of the pullup, leaving his bare bottom exposed. He closed his eyes and just prayed no one could see him. He felt the cold touch of baby wipes around his crotch. “Ok baby step into this pullup. There, nice and dry. Hop in the car for me sweetheart.” She leaned in and buckled him up. She then kissed the top of his head, “Everything is ok sweetheart. You were so brave while mommy changed you. I promise, mommy will never get upset at you for having accidents. Lets get you home.”

231 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Stolen Goods 5

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

“One triple fudge with oreo,” Lloyd bursts into the room as you lay on your side, dazed and distraught. You blink as he walks sideways into your view. “Hey, baby batter, you asleep?”

You sniff but don’t answer. You just rub your stomach. You’re starving. You sit up with a groan as you eye the covered tray in his hand.

“Got a few other things,” he raises a bag in his other, “so, if you want your dessert, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

“Huh? Earn—But you said--”

“You give, I give, it evens out in the end,” he sets the tray and bag on the dresser. “So you can have that hunk of sugared cheese but only--” he pauses and reaches into the bag, rustling it, “if you’re wearing this!”

He pulls out a lacy white teddy with a split front. The sort that when you put it on won’t hide much, especially not your stomach. Your eyes round and you sputter.

“What?”

“Yeah, babes, come on. I got you bottoms, don’t worry.”

He turns back and fishes out a lacy thong. “See?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. Dead horny,” he smirks and tosses them on the bed. “Now you can put them on and I’ll serve you cake on the tip of my dick if that’s what you want. Or you can see if you get through me. Your choice. I don’t mind either.”

You look at him. You haven’t forgotten how strong he is. Look what he did at the grocery store. How easily he took over. Now you’re all alone with no one to cry out to for help. You should have done that when you had the chance.

You pout and reach for the teddy. You hook your finger in the string of the thong and stand. Your moping turns to a grimace.

“You’re a pervert.”

“Sure am, sugar tits,” he eyes your dress as he licks his lips. “Fuck, I can’t wait to get all up in the baby goo.”

“Ew,” you turn and shudder.

You go into the open bathroom and slam the door. At least there’s that sliver of privacy even if it’s redundant. This damn lingerie won’t hide anything.

You take your time. You pee then wash your hands before you untangle the lingerie. You undress and mutter as you pull on the thin fabric. Your nipples are pert beneath the sheer cups and your stomach peeks out between the split tails. The thong rides up uncomfortably.

You turn and give a start as you find yourself gaping back from the full-body mirror on the back of the door. You frown. You don’t look bad but you’re still adjusting to all the changes. Your hips, your tits, your tummy...

You grab the hand and brace yourself. A knock comes from the other side, “you need help in there, shortcake?” Lloyd calls through.

You answer him as you swing open the door. A swell of irritation creeps up your spine. You lift your chin and shove his stomach. He hums as he devours you in a glance.

“There. Now give me the cake.”

“I don’t hear a please or thank you,” he scoffs.

“I want the cake,” you growl. “Now.”

You push past him and he lets you past. You go to the dress and uncurl the edges of the tin tray. You peel off the lid and the dusting of oreo crumbs makes your mouth water and your stomach roar. You lick your lips.

“Allow me,” he approaches as he pulls a knife from inside his jacket and unfolds it, “can’t have you handle sharp objects.” You eye the blade and he points it at you, “Don’t think about it.”

You back away and he slices into the cake.

“Bigger,” you demand as he cuts it too small.

“Damn,” he cuts another piece, “that good? Or you want the whole thing?”

“May as well,” you grumble.

He reaches into the bag and takes out a napkin. He wipes the blade off and folds it away. He plucks out a package of paper plates and splits the plastic. He slides one out then finds the box of disposable cutlery. He scoops out the hunk of cake and serves it up with a splat.

“Here you are,” he faces you. “I want you to eat with your legs open.”

You shiver. He’s so gross. You’re so hungry you don’t care. You take the plate and the fork from him and retreat. You sit on the foot of the bed and stop before you can stab into the cake.

“The crust... isn’t oreo.”

“Hmm?” He crosses his arms and tilts his head. You push your knees together.

“It’s graham cracker,” you sneer at him. “I said oreo crust!”

“Ah come on, shortcake, how could I know? Cake is cake, right?”

“No, I want chocolate!”

“There’s chocolate--”

You snarl and drop the plate on the floor. “You said you would get me what I wanted.”

“Okay, well, you don’t have to be a child about it--”

“I don’t-- you abducted me! You put me in a trunk,” you kick your feet as your eyes water. “I’m pregnant and all you’ve done is mistreated me.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration--”

You cover your face as you heave, “you’re mean!”

“No, I got you cake. You’re just being picky.”

“I’m scared and emotional and hormonal,” you lift your head and growl at him. “And I’m hungry!”

You stand and step around the cake. You march towards him and he winces. You jab him in the ribs.

“I need food for my baby and if I don’t get an oreo crust, I’m going to—I'm going to--” your blink as another flow of tear swells, “I’m going to break down!”

Your tears stream out and you try to mop them away. He looks startled as he stares down at you. Then his eyes fall down to your chest and his brows rise.

“You know what, baby, I’ll get you the right cake,” he grins. “And I’ll lick all the crumbs off your tits for you.”

You snivel and wipe your nose, “why are you so gross?”

“Wish I could say but all the bloods no longer in my brain,” he shrugs and gives a wink. “Now, let me go find you that damn oreo crust.”

#stolen goods #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #au #the gray man

214 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 2 years ago

Text

Love Comes Walking In - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie didn’t want to go to prom, until he wanted to go with Chrissy. You wanted to go to prom, but not if Eddie is going to go with Chrissy. But above everything, you want Eddie to be happy.

Note: this whole thing mostly came about because I wanted to write the one scene with Dustin. You’ll know the one.

Words: 6k

Eddie teasing you was nothing new. His lighthearted jabs about your skirt making you look preppy or having sleepy eye boogers first thing in the morning roll off your back, occasionally even making you laugh along. But when he teases you about wanting to go to prom, that gets under your skin.

Wanting one special night to wear a pretty gown with glowing makeup and neatly styled hair didn’t sound stupid to you. To your best friend, it seemed like torture. The whole school year Eddie would rag on you about buying into the whole conformist commercialism that you thought of as a rite of passage. That makes it even worse when he suddenly changes his tune just a week before the dance.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeff complains.

Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m ridiculous,” he argues.

“You changed your mind because of a girl!” Gareth shouts.

Jabbing your green beans with your plastic fork, you stay silent as the boys bicker back and forth. Part of you was also afraid to open your mouth, unsure of what would come out.

“You say that like I’d go to prom with any girl,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not saying I’m going, I’m saying I would go with Chrissy.”

The fork is clutched so hard in your hand that you think it’s going to snap in half.

“What’s wrong with wanting to go with anyone?” Jeff asks.

Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him and wrinkles his face up in distaste, not bothering to give a verbal response.

“Hypocrite,” you mumble under your breath.

“I am not.” Eddie stares at you and your head jerks up in surprise that he heard you.

“Yes, you are,” you say. “You’ve made fun of me all year for wanting to go and now because you have a crush, it’s different? Bullshit.”

“I changed my mind,” Eddie reiterates.

“Fine,” you say with a huff. It’s not worth arguing with him over.

“Maybe you should apologize,” Dustin suggests softly.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Come on, you have been on her ass about it all year,” Dustin says.

“Thanks, Dustin,” you say. “But it’s fine.”

Eddie opens his mouth, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. Chair legs scraping against the floor, you push your seat back and stand up from the table. The guys all watch as you leave, dumping your tray in the trash before stalking out of the cafeteria.

Arguments with Eddie rarely happened. They’re so rare that neither of you know how to react when you next see each other. Are you still fighting? Has it been long enough where you both can pretend like nothing ever happened? There’s no chance to talk to one another in your shared algebra class the next day, so it wasn’t until lunch that you really came face to face. Eddie’s at the table before you, and you plop down in your usual seat next to him.

“We cool?” Eddie asks as you’re in the middle of lifting a forkful of mac and cheese to your open mouth.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, eyeing him over your full fork. “I guess.”

“Good.” He slouches down in his seat, as if he can relax now that he knows you’re on good terms. “Oh shit, here I got you something.” Eddie reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar. “Band kids are selling candy, so I bought your favorite for you. Hide it before Henderson gets here or he’ll steal it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a grin. This was exactly the reason why your feelings for Eddie would never go away. Just when he pisses you off to the point where you swear you’re never going to sit with him at lunch again, he turns around and does something sweet and thoughtful without expecting anything in return.

“Breaking news, losers,” Gareth says as he drops his tray on the table. “I have a prom date.”

“Well shit, I guess hell has frozen over,” Mike says as he and Dustin join the rest of you.

“You’re not a senior,” Jeff points out.

“No, but my date is.” Gareth’s smirk is enough to earn an eye roll from both you and Eddie.

“Who’s that desperate?”

Gareth throws a French fry at you - which you dodge - before he answers.

“Calling Kel desperate?”

“What?” you almost screech. “How are you going with one of the sweetest girls at school?”

“I’m super cool,” he says, making the rest of you bust out in laughter.

“But seriously,” Jeff says.

“You’re all assholes,” Gareth says before digging into his food. “At least I have a date.”

Eddie goes to reply, but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say, so you scoop up your backpack and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once you step out of the cafeteria, you roll out your neck and shoulders, trying not to think of Eddie back in there talking about prom with the guys. You push the girl’s bathroom door open and breathe a sigh of relief when you’re the only one in there. Dropping your bag on the floor between your feet, you lean forward on one of the sinks and look at yourself in the mirror. A few deep breaths later, you feel your body relax. It’s short lived, however, when the door squeaks open on old hinges and two cheerleaders step in.

You feel bad for the guttural reaction you have to seeing Chrissy’s blonde ponytail swinging behind you in the mirror. She is a complete sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the jealous green-eyed monster rears its ugly head and your fingers dig into the cool porcelain.

“It really sucks,” the other cheerleader says to Chrissy. You know you’ve seen her around, but you don’t know her name. Both cheerleaders park at the sinks next to you to touch up their makeup. Chrissy throws you a bright smile and a friendly wave before taking her lip gloss out and turning back towards her friend.

“I know,” Chrissy says. “I knew we were going to break up, but I was hoping for it to be after prom. How am I supposed to find a new date in a week?”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that,” her friend assures her.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says with a sigh. “Everyone probably has their dates by now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your pulse is raging in your ears and sweat is starting to make your hands slip against the sink. The internal debate rages inside of you. Do you let your jealousy get in the way of something that will make Eddie happy? It would throw away any shot you had of going to prom with Eddie yourself - but you know that was a long shot anyway.

Still undecided, you take a step back from the sink, and your backpack falls over. You bend down to pick it up and the Three Musketeer bar falls out. It feels like your gaze should melt the chocolate that’s laying before you. Damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness at buying you the stupid candy. You toss it back in your bag, wincing as you prepare self-destruction.

“Hey, Chrissy,” you say.

She turns to you with a smile, putting the top back on her lip gloss.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say as you slide your backpack on. You can’t manage to look her in the eyes as you speak. “But I know someone who doesn’t have a date yet.”

“You do?” She perks up in interest and the souring of your stomach almost keeps you from going further.

“Yeah.” It sounds painful coming out of your mouth and you hope neither cheerleader notices. “Um, Eddie? Eddie Munson.”

“Really?” her friend asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts a hip out. You’re two seconds away from smacking the snotty look off her face when Chrissy speaks up.

“Eddie is great,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder at her friend before looking back at you. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Think he’ll say yes if I ask him?”

“I do.” Those two words were almost the hardest to get out. It was killing you how much of an understatement it was.

“Okay!” The eagerness in her voice makes you want to cry. There’s no way you’ll be able to face Eddie back in there.

“You can, um, ask him now if you want,” you say with a shrug. With a deep breath, you head towards the bathroom door. You stop halfway out the door and turn back around. “Oh, if Eddie asks,” you say, doubting he would because he’d be too consumed by the fact that his dreams were coming true, “can you just tell him I wasn’t feeling well and left?”

“No problem.” Her brow furrows in concern and she takes a step towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve told in a while. “Cramps.” You put your hand to your lower abdomen and Chrissy gives you a sympathetic nod.

“Feel better!”

Without answering her, you walk out of the bathroom and down the hall, to the school exit. As soon as you slide into your car, the tears start. They start pouring so heavily and your hands shake so badly that you can’t put your key in the ignition. Momentarily giving up, you drop the keys in your lap and drop your head down to the steering wheel.

Giving yourself enough time to get the worst of it out, you pull back and use your sleeves to wipe down your face. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to center yourself. After a few breaths in and out, in and out, you’re able to get the keys in the ignition on the first try. You pull your car out of the parking lot and head towards your house. The conversation you had with Chrissy keeps going through your head and you can’t keep from picturing the euphoric look that will be on Eddie’s face when she asks him. The saving grace you’re holding on to is the fact that Chrissy immediately defended Eddie to her friend. There aren’t many people in the school who would do that.

Luckily, no one is home when you get to your house and you’re able to go inside and sulk in peace in your bed. More tears leak out as you hug your pillow to your chest. You must end up falling asleep because the persistent ringing of your doorbell jolts you awake sometime later. Heart racing from the adrenaline, you pull yourself out of bed and drag yourself to the front door.

Eddie’s standing on the other side and it’s the first time his smile has ever broken your heart.

“You are the best!” He swoops into your house and wraps you up in his arms. “Oh shit, sorry. I forgot, Chrissy said you’re having some girl pains.”

Right.

“They’re better now that I’ve rested,” you say. “And you don’t have to thank me. Just doing what a good friend would do, right?”

“The best friend in the world!” He takes your head in his hands and presses a loud smacking kiss to your forehead. His happiness is infectious and despite your foul mood, a small smile curls on your mouth.

“Now,” he says, taking both of his hands in yours. “We have to find a date for you.”

“Oh.” Your face drops and you shake your head. “I’m not going to go.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would still be thinking about how you wanted to attend prom. The idea of his own perfect date should’ve been occupying his whole brain, but damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness.

“What?” Eddie immediately frowns and it tugs at your heart. It tempts you to tell him you’ll go, but the mental image of Eddie dressed up and dancing with a flawless-as-usual Chrissy makes you bite your tongue.

“You were right before,” you tell him. “It’s dumb and there’s shitty music. Plus, the dresses are way too expensive.” The dress you planned on wearing was already in your closet, but Eddie didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure?” Eddie dips his head down to meet your eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you questioningly.

“Yeah,” you tell him.

“I’m going to miss you there,” he says, and you almost slip up and laugh out loud at his statement.

“Oh please, you’ll be having way too much fun to notice I’m not there.”

“Like that could happen,” Eddie says with a skeptical look.

You don’t bother arguing with him, even though you know he’s wrong.

On your way to the cafeteria the next day, you can’t bring yourself to walk in. You know if you do then you’re just going to be hearing about plans for prom and you don’t trust yourself not to break down in tears in front of everyone. There was no way you could avoid the guys entirely until prom, but you couldn’t face them today. Eddie doesn’t want to be with you. He wants to be with Chrissy. And you have to make yourself seem okay with that somehow. Just not today.

There’s a vending machine on the way to the gym, so you pick up a bag of crackers and a bottle of coke. The gymnasium is empty, so you take a seat on the bottom row of bleachers and start to eat your sad little lunch. It’s easy to let your mind wander, so you try to redirect it away from where it wants to go. Usual calming fantasies revolve around Eddie in some way, but that’s out of the question right now.

Your mind can’t stray far from Eddie though, so you let your mind divulge in a little dark fantasy as you eat. What would happen if you just ran away? What would happen if you just threw some clothes in a bag and bolted? You would never actually do it, but imagining Eddie being sad over you leaving brings you a sick sort of comfort. Because he would miss you. You know he loves you, it’s just not in the same way that you wish.

As you crumble up your wrapper in your hand, the gym door opens and a familiar hat over tousled curls walks in. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, as he walks your way with his hands in his pockets. Sneakers squeak across the shiny floor and come to a sudden halt as he stops in front of you.

Dustin dips his chin down and raises his eyes to look at you. He takes one hand out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

“Yes?” you ask, looking between his eyes and his hand.

“I know what you did for Eddie,” he says. “We all know. Except for him, he’s an idiot. But it really was a nice thing to do. I never could’ve done it.”

“Thanks,” you say skeptically, unsure of where he was going with this.

“He told us you said you don’t want to go to prom. I know that’s bullshit. So,” he says, bringing his hand back and extending it to you again, “I am asking you if I may take you to the prom.”

Your eyes immediately well with tears as you look up at the boy in front of you. Dustin was always one of the sweetest people you knew, but this was taking it to a whole other level.

“Oh, Dustin,” you say. You take his hand and tug his arm until he’s sitting on the bleacher next to you. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve gotten in my entire life. But I can’t go to prom.”

Dustin sighs and nods his head.

“Can’t see them together?” he asks.

“Correct.”

He wraps his arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“So, everyone knows, huh?” you ask.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stare at Eddie a lot.”

The laughter that bubbles out of you is so unexpected that you bring your hand up to cover your mouth.

“I know,” you admit. “I do.”

“And you look at him differently than you look at anyone else,” he says.

“Like he’s an idiot?” you ask and Dustin chuckles.

“No, I think we all look at him that way.”

You sigh and pick your head up from Dustin’s shoulder. You pat his arm and give him a grateful smile.

“Dustin Henderson, you are the best. And if I were going to go to the prom with anybody at all, it would be you.”

“Well, when I go to my senior prom, I hope I go with someone half as awesome as you.”

That makes the tears spill over and you hastily wipe them off your cheeks.

“God, I love you.” You throw your arms around his neck and give him the tightest hug you’ve given anyone in a while. He chuckles as he hugs you back.

“Who doesn’t?”

The night of prom comes, and you stand in your kitchen, alone in the house and in your comfiest sweats, making cookie dough. Screw warnings of not eating raw eggs, you were making this dough to eat, not cook. The last few days at school you went back to eat lunch with the guys but used a fake sore throat as an excuse for staying quiet and distant. You really only needed to fool Eddie though, since the other guys knew what was really going on with you.

You take the bowl of cookie dough into the living room and set it down as you flip through the VHS tapes you’d rented earlier in the day. Steve had known about you not going to prom because, of course he did, Dustin tells him everything. You assured him it wasn’t a big deal, just wanting to get out with your movies.

Settling on The Outsiders because you could stare at Rob Lowe all day, you pop the tape in and settle on the couch with your favorite blankets and your bowl of cookie dough. You can only eat about a quarter of the dough before your stomach has had enough. It sits on the table in front of you as you watch the rest of the movie. It’s not even eleven by the time the movie’s over but you don’t feel up to sitting through another one. You take the bowl of cookie dough back into the kitchen and stick it in the refrigerator. Thoughts of what’s happening at the prom have been trying to jam their way into your brain all night, but without the movie to distract you, those thoughts finally break in. Is there a slow song playing right now? Are Eddie’s hands on her hips or is one wrapped around her back while the other holds her hand? Is he having a good time? Are they playing any music that he likes? What did he end up wearing? You know you’ll end up seeing pictures but you’re not looking forward to seeing how pristine Chrissy is all dolled up when she’s naturally so beautiful on her own. Right now, you can imagine she’s wearing a garbage bag and her hair is all rolled up in curlers and her makeup looks like a clown’s. But once you see pictures, that illusion you’ve clung to will burst like a bubble in your heart.

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to try and stop the impending tears from falling. A few deep breaths and you get it under control. This heartbreak shit sucks.

Before heading up to your room, you grab a water bottle from the fridge and your blanket off the couch. On your nightstand is a small radio and you click it on so you won’t be alone in silence with just your thoughts for company. The sheets feel cold and crisp as you slide into them. Putting your blanket back on top of you, you curl up on your side and nuzzle your face into your pillow. The light’s still on in your room, but you didn’t feel like getting up to turn it off.

The dial on your radio must’ve gotten knocked at some point - which happened often as you fumbled with things on your nightstand constantly - because smooth jazz starts playing and you huff a laugh into your pillow. You weren’t moving to fix that, either. When your parents come home, if you’ve already fallen asleep, your mom will turn both the radio and light off for you.

But the jazz is actually more soothing the longer it plays. It calms your frayed nerves and helps you start to doze off, body finally giving in to the exhaustion you’ve been feeling from all the stress lately.

In your half-asleep state, you hear your parents come home. They’re not exactly quiet walking around downstairs, but they also probably didn’t expect you to be sleeping this early. The thudding of your mom’s heels coming up the stairs echoes in the quiet hallway, drifting into you even over the radio. The footsteps keep coming towards your room and you’re looking forward to the sweet darkness you’ve craved when your mom gets to your room. But the lights don’t turn off. Instead, the bed dips next to you and you feel someone lay down beside you.

She means well, you know, because she knew that you were bummed to miss prom, even if she didn’t know why. But the last thing you wanted right now was to have her try and talk to you about how you’re feeling. You know you’ll lose it and end up crying yet again. She stays quiet beside you though and you’re thankful for it.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

The deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open. Eddie’s laying down on his side, facing you, head propped up on his arm. He’s smiling at you. It’s the first thing you notice before your eyes travel down, taking in the suit he’s wearing. Partially a suit, anyway. He’s wearing nice black slacks, which you didn’t even know he owned, with a maroon button up shirt. No jacket, but you’re not sure if he had one on earlier or not. He’s still your Eddie though, because he has his pick necklace on and his many rings adorning his fingers.

“Look at you.” Your voice sounds a bit froggy between almost being asleep and all the crying you’ve done. “Not a stitch of denim in sight.”

Eddie chuckles. It sounds so nice. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Came by to see my best girl,” he says. Maybe he still says it out of habit, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be losing that title shortly.

“But prom,” you say, whinier than you intended to.

“It’s over,” he says.

You frown and crane your neck to see the clock on your dresser. The neon green tells you that it’s just after one in the morning. You must’ve dozed longer than you thought.

“How was it?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer.

“Pretty much how I expected it to be.”

“Oh yeah?” The fake smile on your face is starting to feel second nature, and you hate it. “Everything you’d hoped?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. He shakes his head and twirls the ring on one of his middle fingers with his thumb. “I was right the first time. Shitty music. Horrible punch - which Principal Higgins was guarding like he was trying to keep the Huns from invading China. People at our school can’t dance for shit, myself included. And to top it all off, my favorite person wasn’t there.”

Your brow scrunches together and you sit up in bed.

“She stood you up?”

“What?” Eddie asks. When he realizes what you mean, he closes his eyes and smiles. “No, you dork. I meant you. You weren’t there.”

“Me?” you ask. The skepticism in your voice cuts right to Eddie’s heart. He frowns and scoots forward on the bed so he can rest his hand on your hip.

“Yes, you. You’re doubting that you’re my favorite person?”

“Well, kind of,” you say quietly.

“Why?” he asks, and his frown makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

“It’s just, you were so excited to go with Chrissy.”

“I was,” he admits. “But just because I had a crush on a girl doesn’t mean that you’re not still my number one.”

Had. The one word sticks in your mind and you know there are other things you should say, better things, but the question is burning your tongue so it has to come out.

“Had a crush?” you ask.

Eddie nods and rubs his thumb over your hip bone.

“Turns out a lot of crushes can go away quickly if you actually spend time with the person.”

“Did she say something? Do something?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply. “She’s great. There was just nothing to talk about after the first twenty minutes or so. She knows nothing about my interests, and I know nothing about hers.”

“Just didn’t click?” you ask.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, mouth pursed in thought. “This is a horrible analogy, but it’s what came to mind. It’s like when a present is sitting there in front of you, and it’s wrapped beautifully. Ribbons and bows and all that jazz. You just stare at it and want it, imagining what kind of fun thing could be inside. Then, you finally get it, you can hold it in your hands. You open it and it’s a new shirt. It’s nice, but not what you were expecting. You don’t dislike the shirt, it’s just not the present you wanted.”

“Look at you with the metaphors,” you say with a smirk. “Senior English three times and you’re a full-on scholar now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and playfully squeezes the skin at your hip.

“I was being serious,” he says.

“I know. And I get it. You kissed a frog who didn’t turn into a princess.”

“And you thought I had an odd way of putting it,” Eddie says with a laugh. “But I didn’t even kiss her before I knew there was nothing there. Once the excitement wore off it was pretty boring, actually.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted,” you tell him honestly.

“I’ve always known the prom itself would suck. Just thought it might be fun with the right date. And it might’ve been, but I didn’t have that.” He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “I should’ve brought you.”

The tears are coming but you force them to hold their position. It’s hard not to yell at him that that’s what you’ve wanted all along. But there’s no point. Any begging or pleading before the prom wouldn’t have gotten him to agree to take you. So, instead of living in the ‘if you realized this sooner I could have gotten to go to my prom’, you let it go by and just appreciate the fact that he wishes he had gone with you instead of Chrissy.

“But I’ve had an idea,” Eddie says as he pushes himself off your bed.

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” he says as he walks over to your closet. “First things first, I’ve got to see what we’re working with here.”

“Why?” You scoot down to the foot of the bed to see what he’s doing more clearly. He’s going through your clothes, inspecting every piece, and deeming them unfit for whatever scheme he’s cooked up in his brain.

“You’ll see. Wait. Are you kidding me?” He reaches into the back of your closet and pulls out the gold dress that you had bought for prom. “You told me you didn’t get a dress!”

“How do you know I haven’t had that dress for a while?” But your blush won’t let you get away with the lie.

“Well for starters, the tag is still on it.” He brandishes it to you and you huff.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, I had a dress. But I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t think you’d end up riling through my closet anyway.”

“Put it on,” he says, tossing its hanger into your lap.

“I’m sorry, what?” The dress tries to slide from your lap to the floor, so you pull it up and lay it down on the bed next to you.”

“Put it on,” he says slower this time, as if that should clear up everything.

“Why?”

“Because I want to dance with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’d dance with you in your sweats, but I thought you might want to get all dolled up like me.” He smirks and runs his hands down the buttons of his maroon shirt.

“You want to dance with me?” Maybe you’re still asleep and this is all a dream.

“Yeah.” Again, he says it as if it’s something you do every day. His casual tone is making you think you’re the one who’s not making sense.

“Okay,” you say as you stand. “I guess I’ll go change.”

“This is your room,” Eddie says, heading to the door. “Change here, I’ll wait out here.” He walks into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him.

You slip the sweatpants down your legs and tug the sweatshirt off over your head. The single strapless bra you own is at the bottom of the drawer and you have to dig your way down to find it. The gold dress has a halter neckline so there’s no way you could wear a regular bra underneath. You squeeze the bra on, and even change your panties from blue ones with butterflies on it, to one of the few lace ones you own.

The dress unzips easily and glides down your body as you get situated. You can’t zip it yourself, but Eddie can do that for you. Most of the makeup you own is in the bathroom, but you can make do with the little bit sitting over on your dresser. Looking in the mirror, you do a soft layer of makeup and then inspect your hair. It strikes you as funny when you see yourself in a golden dress with makeup on, but total bedhead up on top. You yank the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head to toss your hair around. It looks better but not great. Your eyes land on a silver hair clip dotted with pearls and you reach up to tuck some of your hair back and secure it with the pin. There. The look is done.

When you open your bedroom door you expect Eddie to be waiting there but you don’t see him. You stick your head into the hall and look both ways but see no metal head.

“Eddie?” you call.

“Coming!”

He jogs out of your dad’s office a few doors down, carrying a few sheets of paper. Eddie comes to a halt as he takes in your appearance. Heat blooms in your face as you watch Eddie scan every last detail of this ensemble.

“You look gorgeous,” he says. It’s enough to make you pass out, but you somehow stay standing firm.

“Thank you,” you say. “You look very handsome. Did I tell you that when you first got here?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Just a remark about me not wearing any denim.”

“Which is truly a miracle. But you do look handsome. Very handsome.”

He smiles and takes steps towards you, paper still in his hands.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“I’m not very good at origami, but I did my best to turn this sheet of paper into a corsage.”

Your heart leaps at his words and it’s another battle of wills with your tears when Eddie slips his improvised flower on your wrist. Some tears win the battle, and they trail down your face. Luckily, you were smart enough to apply waterproof makeup.

“Eddie, this is…” you trail off, not having the words to express how you’re feeling.

“You wanted prom, so I’m giving you prom.” He takes both of your hands in his and guides you back into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Can you zip me up?” you ask. He nods and you turn around. His hands against your back sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps break out over your arms. You hear him chuckle and he trails the tips of his fingers over your shoulders as you turn back around.

“What’s with the smooth jazz?” Eddie can’t help but laugh at the saxophone solo coming in over the speakers.

“I hit the dial again.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” He bends down and turns the dial to find a good station. The static goes in and out, some songs coming through in pieces, or sounding like they’re underwater. It finally lands on a clear station and Eddie grins in triumph. “Perfect. Love Comes Walking In.”

“You know I love Van Halen.”

Eddie stands up straight and takes the few steps over to you. He bows in classic dramatic Eddie fashion, and he comes back up with a frown on his face.

“You’re not wearing heels. Or shoes at all.”

“Eddie, I would’ve kicked them off the moment I got there anyway,” you tell him with a laugh. “Barefoot is fine.”

“Just checking. Want this to be an authentic impromptu prom for you.”

You giggle and Eddie reaches his hand out to you. You take it and he instantly pulls you in and holds you against his body. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t feel or hear your heart beating so fast it’s like someone is dribbling a basketball beneath your ribs. His right hand takes your left and he twines your fingers together. His other hand snakes around your waist until it settles warmly on your back. You place your other hand on his shoulder and smile up at him.

“This is already better than actual prom,” he says. “Good music. Perfect date.”

Red rises to your cheeks and you duck your head shyly.

The pair of you sway to the beat of the song, bodies moving along with the rhythm. Eddie spins you and it makes you let out a giddy peal of laughter. He pulls you back into him and you wrap both arms around his neck. He places his hands firmly on your waist as you start to sway again.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“You brought all the best parts of prom to me. I didn’t have to suffer through the shitty parts. I’ve got my dress, my music, my favorite person. It’s perfect, Eddie.”

“I’ll dance like this with you anytime,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”

The way he’s looking at you stirs some butterflies up that have been dormant until this point. He’s never looked at you this way and you’re not sure what it is. You know every Eddie facial expression and what they mean, but this one is new. His face is soft, and his eyes are wide, as usual. The brown irises are twinkling and there’s the barest smile on the left side of his mouth.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“You,” he says. No further explanation, which leads your mind to grasping for answers as usual.

“What about me?”

“Just…you.”

“Okay, I take back what I said about being a scholar now. You’ve lost the ability to words,” you say and wrinkle up your nose playfully at him. He catches you by surprise, though, when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the very tip of your nose.

The blush you had before was nothing to the one now gracing your features. Eddie chuckles when he sees it and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“Do you want to have another prom tomorrow?” he asks.

“What’s that entail? Dancing with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good music?”

“Of course.”

“Can I wear comfy clothes?”

“I’ll be wearing mine.”

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to consider it. “Can we get food too?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say with a smirk.

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie, I’d have this kind of prom with you every single day.”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction

4K notes · View notes

strongheartneteyam · 10 months ago

Text

𖧷 Headcanons

Neteyam bringing you breakfast in bed ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

(human AU)

Pairing: human!neteyam x female!reader

cw: wholesome fluff, neteyam treating reader so damn right, use of "baby" and "princess", kissing, oral sex (female receiving), brief dirty talk

This was an idea from this cute anon 💕 I hope you enjoy, angel 💌

Not proofread. Sorry but without my glasses I can't do much reading :’(

♡ Neteyam is the kind of boyfriend who is always busy with the many activities he likes to do as he's a very active person (such as his studies, exercising, work, archery classes) + how he's incredibly often taking care of Tuk or just looking over Lo'ak and making sure he doesn't get into too much trouble at school (and also tutoring him because our boy Lo doesn't have big brains, you know?)

♡ Despite his busy schedule, he always makes an effort and ends up finding enough time to be with you and to pamper you with cute dates, gifts such as stuffies and your favorite foods and to have you sleep over at his home (he's got his own apartment now as he's in his early, almost mid twenties)

♡ Last night you two went out to eat pasta in one of your favorite restaurants, one that serves many kinds of pasta, from more traditional ones to ones with seafood on them. You two ate so much, your tummies got big and you both slept like babies once you got to his small but cozy apartment.

♡ You wake up with a tender kiss on your forehead and when you open your eyes, you see Neteyam standing in all his 6’1 glory, smiling and holding a huge tray in his big hands, full of delicious food. You can smell fresh made black coffee - he knows it is your favorite. “Morning, sleepyhead. I'd ask if you're hungry but you always are so…” He steals a joyful laughter from you with this sentence

♡ When you sit down and Neteyam sits next to you, your eyes see how many different foods he brought you. Besides coffee, there's froot loops with milk on a pink bowl (he keeps dishes and spoons etc just for you at his home <3), a croissant, another pink bowl with strawberries, kiwi and banana cut in pieces. There's also slices of cheese and some fried bacon. You smile widely “Baby, you didn't have to spoil me like this!” Neteyam answers “Of course I have to. You're my little princess and I love you.” He gives you a sweet kiss on the lips “I love you more. You're the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

♡ Neteyam happily watches you eat and you two talk about trivial stuff and act like a cute couple in love. When you're finished eating all that food, you hear him say: “Now open these legs ‘cause it's my time to eat” You almost choke on the coffee you're drinking. Neteyam takes the tray away and puts it on the nightstand.

♡ You see Neteyam sneaking between your legs, kissing your inner thighs and looking up at you with pervy eyes. His kisses are so good and he looks so fucking sexy that you just can't say “no”.

♡ Neteyam starts taking your panties off while kissing your belly slowly (you slept in only panties and an old cotton t-shirt of his) and when your pussy is exposed to him, he helps you lay down on your back and opens your legs for him. Neteyam laps at your already wet folds with his warm tongue, tasting you. “God, how do you taste so good, baby? I'm addicted to eating you out.” He starts sucking your clit, making you moan in pleasure. You close your eyes and just enjoy the incredibly skilled oral Neteyam is giving you until you're crying in ecstasy and your legs are shaking.

𓂃

Taglist:

@criticallybella

@yeosxxx

780 notes · View notes

writingchalamet · 3 months ago

Text

Angels Like You II

Angels Like You Chapter I

A.N: Hope you enjoyed part 1, things will be heating up from here and we will be getting a lot more Y/n and Bucky interaction!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, violence, blood, mentions of S/A, mentions of graphic physical abuse, fluff, y/n has a child, Bucky being protective

Chapter II

Your day had begun like any other, waking to the sound of Forrest stirring on your baby monitor. You walk into his bedroom finding him sitting in his cot a beautiful smile instantly gracing his face as you enter the room, rambling the word 'mama' or an iteration of the sort over and over, you were both all smiles all morning as you most days, getting Forrest ready for day care was perhaps your least favourite part of the day, he still cried when you dropped him off and it broke your heart in two everyday. After Forrest was dropped off at day care, you start your day at work, keeping the door to the Bakery locked until your other baker joins you in an hour, you make a start on your breads taking your premade doughs out the fridge, giving them a quick kneed before placing them in their baking trays. Then onto pastries and cakes you can whip up from scratch, deciding on lemon and blueberry cupcakes with cream-cheese frosting as your 'chefs choice' for the week.

You hear a tap on the glass door and go through kitchen into the main shop to kind your employee Kay standing at the door smiling, clutching a bunch of flowers in her arms. You unlocked the door opening enough to let her in before securing the lock again, "Hey Kay, how are you?" you embrace her in a side hug "I'm good thanks, I got these flowers for the counter, I saw them yesterday and they reminded me of you, so you know" the thought brought a smile to your face in an instant. "Oh thank you, that's so cute" You find a jug to put them in, arranging the carnations on the counter next to the till. Yourself and Kay continue baking and prepping for the day ahead, finishing off some icing and glazing before placing the first batches into the display counter and finishing setting up.

The morning flew by, your regulars came in for their morning coffee and pastries, the couple of old ladies who come by once a week to pick up a loaf of bread and some cakes stopped by and had a chat, and a few college students stopped in, you were happy with how business was going, until you saw a certain head of curls across the street, dark eyes looking your way, his figure loomed over you like a dark omen, you just knew something terrible was about to happen, you could tell by the way he sat there chain smoking and swigging from his coffee cup, that was most likely not coffee, he wore a smug smile across his face while he continued to stare at you.

"Okay Boss, I'm gonna run down the road and grab some lunch, you want anything?" You tore your gaze away from the menacing stare of your ex to meet Kay's. "Uh, no I'm good thanks" she nodded and headed out the door, down the street and out of sight. You were alone. Shit. You look up again and see that Matt had moved from his spot on the wall across your shop, and was moving hastily towards you. You clamber over the counter and try to make it to the door before him, but you're too late. The sweet ding off the bell above the door ringing leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. "Get out Matt, you can't be here" you try to be firm but your voice only comes out broken.

"Or what, you gonna call the cops? You know they won't do anything" He stalks towards you until your backed up against your counter, the hard wood digging into your back. "Matt seriously, leave me alone, please" you were willing yourself not to cry but couldn't help the few stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. Matt picked up the jug of flowers smashing them down against the counter with force causing the glass to shatter, a few shards cutting your arm in the process. "Don't you fucking cry or I'll give you something to cry about" His hands wrapped around your neck cutting off your supply of oxygen while he threw you against the window, keeping you pinned there by your neck. You sputtered out a choke as tears slipped down your face, only making him grip you impossibly tighter, "You wanna fucking cry, you ran away while you were pregnant with my child, I have a right to see them, huh, where is the little brat" He shook your neck bashing your head against the glass. You only hoped he would tire himself out, he usually didn't last long when he'd had a drink anyway.

Over all the commotion you didn't hear the bell of the door opening, and you didn't see Bucky coming to stand behind Matt but thank the lord he did. "You're gonna wanna let the lady go" As soon as you heard his voice your senses ignited, your eyes opened and the tears stopped flowing immediately. Matt loosened his grip but refused to let go. "yeah or what" he scoffed before throwing his head over his shoulder catching a glimpse of your rescuer. You could have sworn you saw him recoil into himself, something you had never once seen. However his fear was short lived and soon replaced by anger once more. "Who's this guy huh? what you just opened your legs for the first guy you said hi to here, you whor-" the second his grip tightened around your neck once more it was enough to send Bucky into overdrive.

He reached forwards wrapping his hand around Matts wrist bending it backwards until you were sure you heard a snap, while Matt screamed Bucky secured an arm around you, giving you the once over, not stopping until you gave him a nod. "Oh I'm gonna fucking kill you, you stupid bitch" in a poor attempt to throw a punch Matt practically threw himself at Bucky, who didn't seem the slightest bit phased, caught Matt by his throat with his vibranium arm, squeezing until he was red in the face. Matt coughed attempting to pull back, Bucky only pulled him closer, clenching his fist all that bit harder. He pulled him close enough that his mouth reached Matts ear. "If you come near her again, I'll fucking finish the job" with those words he pushed Matt away from the two of them, Matt scrambling away and out the door nearly falling to the floor in the process. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding, feeling the weight of the world fall off your shoulders for just a moment.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks again in slow steady streams, burning the skin in their wake. "Thank you" you breathed out, your shaking hands reaching up to wipe your face, it's then your realise the blood dripping from a glass made gash on your arm, dripping down your fingers and onto the floor. "Hey, let me take a look at that, make sure you don't need stitches" you pull your arm away from him recoiling into yourself, "no it's fine, you've done enough, you can go, thank you Bucky" You stare at the floor the entire time watching as small droplets of blood begin to litter the tiles. "I'm not leaving in case he comes back, in fact I'm gonna patch you up and we're gonna get Forrest and go home, okay, sound good?" His hand raised to your cheek gaining your attention from your disoriented state, he wipes away the tears as they form under your eyes, brushing them away from your skin, you close your eyes for a moment allowing the feeling to sooth you.

"Alright lets get you cleaned up"

After the incident at the bakery Sam, Bucky and Sarah had been on high alert, Sam brought up the fact that they could have Torres flown in to be your own personal bodyguard, the thought daunting, that you might actually need one. Then Sarah brough up the fact that there are two more than capable 'bodyguards' here if they want to help. And that's how you ended up here, with Bucky living in your spare room for the past two nights, seemingly watching your every move afraid you'll shatter like glass.

What shocked you the most was how quickly Forrest had taken to Bucky, usually he was shy around people for weeks, hell he’s been going to nursery for a year and still won’t let some of the day care assistants hold or play with him. In a way you were glad he was so reserved, made you think that he would never just run off with a stranger, or your psycho ex. But with Bucky he was different, he seemed to open up pretty much straight away, showing him his favourite toys, wanting to sit next to him on the sofa, wherever you looked you would see Forrest’s little hand reaching up for Buck’s trying to show him something, the sight bringing a dull ache to your chest. Maybe it was the lack of a male presence in his life that made him take to Bucky so well, but you were grateful either way.

You were settling down for the evening after feeding Forrest his dinner, the three of you snuggled up on the couch watching a Disney movie before you put Forrest down for bed. You couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling filling your body as you watched Forrest nuzzle into Bucky’s side, his head leaning on his chest. You found your head lulling to the side more often than watching the film, admiring the pair of them, Forrest occasionally pointing to the screen and muttering some gibberish to Bucky excitedly. Towards the end of the film, Forrest had fallen asleep, cuddled into Buck’s side. “I better get him up to bed” you sighed in content beginning to sit up from your comfy seated position. “I can take him up if you want” Bucky spoke in a hushed tone, already slipping his arms around the boy and standing from the sofa. “Why don’t we go up together?" You smiled, getting up from the sofa and following Bucky up the stairs into your sons’ room, you admired the way Bucky gently placed him down on the changing table as if he had done it a thousand times, and stood aside letting you get the baby changed ready for bed. Once he had a fresh nappy and pyjamas on, Bucky picked him up once more, leaning over the side of the cot and smoothly placed Forrest down into his bed, without him stirring once. You both stood there and smiled over the sleeping baby for a moment before retreating back downstairs.

You opened a bottle of wine grabbing two glasses, heading back into the living room finding Bucky back in his original spot on the sofa once more. “I never really got the chance to thank you for the other day, or explain…” You avoided eye contact as you sat down, fiddling with the stem of your wine glass in an attempt to distract yourself. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’m just glad I was able to help is all” Bucky responds coyly, wrapping a hand around yours in an attempt to stop your nervous fidgeting around the glass. “Sarah spoke to me… She said that she told you guys about Matt… That you seemed pretty upset” you plucked up the courage to look in his eyes, as you did, he looked away, shaking his head. Almost embarrassed. “I uh… I don’t know what to tell you…” There was a pause after he spoke, neither of you knowing what to say. “Why do you care so much, you don’t know me?”

Bucky scoffed, seeming taken aback by your comment, as if someone caring about your well being was a problem. “Why wouldn’t I care, especially after hearing the shit he put you through, that would be enough to make any sane person mad, no?” His response seemed valid, even if you didn’t want to admit it, if it had been you that had found Sarah pregnant and sleeping in her car, hearing her situation you would have been just as furious. You understood where he was coming from. “I guess…” Your sentence trailed off and you stared into your empty wine glass. Bucky took the hint and opened the bottle of wine, filling your glass more than you normally would have, you giggled side eyeing him, tilting the glass up to your eyeline. “You trying to get me drunk Barnes, you know there’s a sleeping toddler upstairs right” you joked, clinking your glass with his, just as full. He laughed along shaking his head.

After sinking one or two bottles of wine, you felt yourself growing more confident. The wine raising a sweet pink blush to your cheeks which Bucky found undeniably cute, he found himself drawing closer to you and you let him, there was no room between you, his arm encased the back of the sofa around your shoulders, your head occasionally falling back to rest on the limb, your thigh hunched up resting on his own, as you chatted the night away truly getting to know each other. If Sam were to look in through the window Bucky knows he would have a shit eating grin plastered on his face at the sight of his best friend this close to a girl after so many years. And you couldn’t help but admit, it felt nice to be this close to someone, especially after the only relationship you had ever been in was an abusive one, you thought you would find it hard to trust, but Bucky made you feel at ease the second you were near him.

“So, what’s it like being a superhero?” you enquired eyes wide with wonder. He scoffed again shaking his head, and attribute you would soon grow attached to. “I’m no superhero doll” you shook your head, taking his glass out of his hand and placing it on the coffee table, you place yourself directly in his eyeline, practically sitting in his lap. “Oh common! You fought Thanos’ army, helped bring down that Zemo guy and you just stopped the flag smashers! And to top it off you were sergeant of the Howling Commandos. I’d say that’s pretty superhero-esque to me” you wink at him and couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the look on his face. “Okay stalker, someone’s done their homework” he laughs out, he raised his hands in defence, lowering them to rest on your lower back and his Vibranium hand on your thigh, your hands settled on his shoulders, and you gave them a light squeeze, feeling intrigued by the feeling of the metal under his shirt.

“Of course, I had to, I’m not gonna let some strange man I don’t know stay in the same house as my son, am I?” you tilted your head to the side, eyeing him quizzically. “Of course, not” The flesh hand holding your back began to stroke up your back and you forgot to breathe for a moment. His hand stilled in the centre of your back, laying there flat and steady. You stared into the blues of his eyes, realizing now just how deep they really are. How much history they hold behind them, how many horrors he too has seen. You felt his gaze searching your own, tracing every spec on your face, you saw his eyes linger by your eyebrow where your scar was and regrettably you tore your own pair away from his face. Removing yourself from his lap, standing before him. He sat there; brows furrowed slightly in question as to why you were leaving. “I should get to bed, I have to get back to work tomorrow, but thank you Bucky for a lovely evening, thank you for everything…” You spoke to the floor before turning hurriedly towards the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, no problem… No problem at all…” Bucky spoke shallowly to himself wondering what he had done wrong.

Tag List:

@unaxv @mrsnikstan

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

#fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky angst #sam wilson #tfatws #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

188 notes · View notes

fairyysoup · 6 months ago

Text

matters of taste

part one (repost)

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Not all trainees are great on the job. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson in a bakery, however? Absolutely unmatched.

content warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI) smut, threesome - f/m/m, semi-public sex, workplace sex, car sex, handjobs, oral (f+m receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, spitroast, fluids play, dumbification, praise, degradation, implied masochism, mention of housewife kink, steve harrington has a big dick, enemies to lovers-ish but they're all crazy about each other let's be real\

a/n: this is my second time trying to repost this!! let's not talk about how ugly it looks ok i think the header is implying that reader is a sentient pie and honestly... yeah

It’s… you know what. It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

You pause midway through frosting some cinnamon rolls to watch one of the newbies wheeling a cart of mislabelled muffins past your decorating table. You strategically keep your voice void of inflection as you say, “Price stickers, Harrington.”

“FUCK!”

You watch Steve dramatically jostle the cart back around to wheel it toward the rack that contains the multitudes of different flavor and price stickers used in the bakery, swearing like a sailor the whole time. He collides with another cart, and slams it directly into your other trainee, Eddie Munson.

“Shitshitshitshit shit-” Eddie curses and stumbles into a rolling rack of donuts. He grabs the rack before it can topple over, and succeeds in catching four trays of donuts when they fall out of their slots and into his arms.

You roll your eyes at the spectacle the two of them create, which is quickly becoming the norm, and go back to stroking globs of cream cheese frosting across the cinnamon rolls in front of you.

It’s not like they’re the world’s worst trainees or anything. It’s not like they’re completely incompetent, or that they purposefully goes out of their way to make your job unnecessarily difficult or anything. It’s not like, together, they create the most chaotic and hazardous environment possible.

No, sir. Nothing to see here. No problems to be had.

“‘You didn’t put the price stickers on, Steve-’” you hear Steve mocking you in a purposefully insulting falsetto, and give him a side-eye that you know he can’t see. “Mehmehmeh- ‘You didn’t put the bagels in properly. You didn’t frost the bundt cakes just right.’”

“‘You didn’t circumcise the bread bags,’” Eddie adds as he shoves the trays of smushed donuts back onto the rack and grabs a rag to wipe icing from his apron.

“Fucking what?” You turn to look at them fully, holding your frosting covered hands out in front of you.

“I don’t know!” Steve whirls around to sneer at you. His bubblegum pink uniform shirt is just about the same color as his face, rosy and flushed with the heat from the ovens and probably his climbing heart rate. “Why’s everything gotta be packaged differently? It’s just bread!”

“I don’t make the rules! Don’t argue with me and just do it!” That’s another thing. Steve’s just so argumentative, about everything. How you package things, how you wash the dishes, how you clean the floors at the end of the day. Meanwhile, Eddie won’t argue with you per-se, but the day he does something correctly will be the day pigs fly. It’s the most annoying fucking thing you’ve had to deal with at this job, and you’re stuck training them.

It’s not a particularly hard job. You’re just clerks at Mimi’s Bakery, nothing is out of the realm of doability- it’s more of a stamina sport. You’re all closers, so that means a lot of packaging and a lot of cleaning, interspersed with helping some late afternoon and evening customers, within an eight hour shift. It isn’t very busy anymore, either; summer’s over, and you still have about a month until the holiday rushes start. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for them, but they’ve both been here for two weeks and still act like they were born yesterday.

Steve spends an extraordinarily long time putting the price tags on the packages of muffins- and putting them on crooked, anyway, so that the entire pile looks janky and rushed despite his slow pace. Eddie’s too busy wiping chocolate icing from his arms to notice Steve’s haphazard labeling.

Your eyes trail the wet rag that Eddie drags across his skin, leaving behind only the ink from his tattoos for you to scrutinize. During the lull, the bakery’s PA system comically offsets the tension in the room with a generic old jazz standard. Your boss, Mimi Callaghan, has an enthusiasm for novelties from her youth- hence the confectionary shop-style pink pinstriped uniform dress you wear, and your clashing forest green apron just oozing with sex appeal. Steve looks like a knockoff Ken doll in his similar blouse and khakis, but he confessed to you on his first day that he used to work at the Scoops Ahoy in the old Hawkins Mall, so you assume he isn’t too phased by it. You’re not about to tell him that he makes it work. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like someone picked him up at the Local Smokes down the street and thrust him into the uniform against his will, like he’s not really supposed to be here. You hate that you find the weird juxtaposition of his tattoos to the pink and green uniform kind of hot.

“Don’t forget to face the shelves when you put them out,” you tell Steve as he pushes the cart past you again.

Steve’s ears glow bright red. “I’ll put out something-”

“Suck my fucking nuts, Harrington, you wanna do the job right or not?”

Eddie cackles loudly as Steve turns around, but instead of glaring at you he just looks mildly amused, like Eddie’s hysterical laughter rubbed off on him. “Why’re you so mean to me, huh?”

“What?” You splutter, gloved hands flexing in the air and squishing frosting between your fingers. “Why- why’re you so fucking difficult? Put the goddamn muffins out, we don’t have all day-”

“I think she likes you, Harrington.”

You squint at Eddie, still rubbing himself down leisurely with the rag, twisting his rings around his fingers idly even though he didn’t even get any icing on them. He leans against the counter with a smirk on his pretty pink lips like he thinks he’s done something. Like there can’t be another reason for why you’re so easily frustrated by Steve- by either of them, really. Like their lack of decorum or work ethic are completely out of the question, you guess, to his way of thinking.

“Like him?” you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to smacking cream cheese frosting across the pans of pastries in front of you. “Puh- lease. He’s infuriating, he doesn't listen to directions. Also, Steve, your customer service voice? It- you know what, it’s obnoxious. We work in a bakery, you don’t have to put the moves on every girl that comes in.”

“Oh, okay. Hear me out- maybe you don’t like my customer service voice because you’re jealous.” Steve hums, rocking back on his heels and looking even more smug than he did a few seconds ago. “I can put the moves on you, too, if you’re feeling left out.”

You don’t dignify that offer with a response. You kind of just want to punch him in the face. “Go put the muffins out and let me listen to the goddamn PA in peace.”

He has the decency to look shocked. “You like this goofy old shit?”

“I love this goofy old shit, which is more than I can say about you.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” Eddie hums casually, in as condescending of a voice as he can muster. “You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t into Harrington. I know I am.”

“And you, Munson-” You whirl on him, pointing one frosting covered finger angrily in his direction, at which his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Don’t even get me started. Your fucking hair gets everywhere. I swear I had to excavate an entire gerbil from the garlic bread you made yesterday. Take a fucking weedwacker to that thing, for the love of god. And… and your tattoos are fucking dumb.”

You don’t want to admit that you like the sight of the tattoos, actually. When Mimi had told you that the newbies you’d be training were gonna be “that darling Steve Harrington, and his friend, the Munson boy” you’d been a little bit pleased. There isn’t much to admire in a bakery except cakes, and if having the two of them around the bakery means things just got a little more scenic, then you were happy to have them.

Unfortunately, a pretty face often means an infernal personality. Finding one without the other would probably take an act of god at this point. Times two, you got stuck with the fucking chaos twins.

“Dumb?” Eddie wolf whistles. “That smarts, sweetheart. It really does. You haven’t even seen all of my tattoos yet. I’d love to give you a tour of them, though-”

Your face burns at the thought of Eddie Munson letting you get a first class look at his tattoos. He probably has ones in places even god doesn’t know about, and you glare down at the cinnamon rolls in front of you to hide how flustered you are about it. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“I wish you would.”

“For christ’s sake- Steve. Muffins, now.”

Steve does what he’s told, for a change. It doesn’t give you as much of an ego boost as it usually does- really, you just feel sort of dull as you snap your rubber gloves off and throw them in the trash can to the side. You don’t know why you let them bother you as much as they do, but for some reason the just jerk your chain like nothing else.

The bell over the front door jingles, alerting you to the arrival of a customer. You take a quick peek at the ovens behind you to check the time; it’s nearly 8, and the bakery closes at 10. You fight to not roll your eyes as you grab a pair of gloves in case whoever it is wants something out of the display case.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Your voice is sing-songy enough that you want to smack yourself. A middle aged woman has made a bee-line for the counter, straight past where Steve is bent over a display table, struggling to shift all the old muffin boxes to the top and slide the newer ones underneath them.

You stare at his ass for… probably way longer than necessary, honestly.

The woman points at a singular cake box left on the counter from today’s special orders, and immediately reaches up to take it without any other introduction.

Oh. One of these customers. The ones who come in and grab stuff off the counter without asking for assistance, who will walk back into the kitchen to look at the overstock racks and help themselves to things that haven’t been put out on the floor yet.

A tight smile curls at your lips as you snag the tag on the box and look at the name before she can yank it off the counter from you. “For Linda?”

The woman nods curtly. As you turn the box to face her, your eyes shift back to Steve as he moves around the side of the display table. He stretches his arm out to reach for a stack on a higher shelf, and your eyes linger on the way the short sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up to expose his bicep.

“This is not the cake I ordered.”

“What?” You snap your eyes back to Linda’s pinched face, glaring down at the cake on the counter. It’s a basic sheet cake, with white frosting and a screaming red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ on it. Not necessarily a masterpiece, but a neat and pretty cake nonetheless.

“I ordered a cake with a winning streak theme. This has nothing on it,” Linda says icily as you snatch up the order slip you had taken off of the box and inspect it.

“A marble quarter sheet with white buttercream and a red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ in black icing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… what’s on the cake, ma’am.”

“But there’s no other decoration. Where’s the winning streak theme?”

You blink, and briefly make eye contact with Steve over the woman’s shoulder. He’s all but abandoned his task of stacking muffin boxes, instead watching your face carefully as your conversation plays out. He raises one eyebrow at you, and you’re not sure if that’s him trying to be condescending or supportive.

“I- I apologize, ma’am-” you start, looking for a way to dig your way out of the situation, “The order does say that you requested the theme, but you didn’t specify any decorations. Our decorators won’t take liberties with the order on their own if you don’t request-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Linda interjects, and you clamp your mouth shut with a dull ache beginning to throb in your temples. “I’m supposed to be at a winning streak themed party in twenty minutes and I have an embarrassment of a cake to show for it. I should be reimbursed.”

“The cake wasn’t paid for in advance,” you tell her mildly, trying not to crinkle the page with her order on it as you hold it up.

“Uh… accommodated, then. I shouldn’t have to pay for something I didn’t want in the first place!”

“I’m afraid I can’t just give you a cake for free, ma’am. I’m not authorized.”

“Can I speak to your manager, then?”

You open your mouth to say that, technically, you are what amounts to the shift manager. It’s just you and Eddie and Steve in the store, and even though neither of your job descriptions really include the word ‘manager’ in them, seniority rules over all. You’ve been here long enough to be able to train them, so by right you’re the one in charge.

But then a warm hand touches the curve of your lower back, and Steve appears out of thin air to gently scoot you aside without so much as a hello.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Steve smiles, and you could almost mistake him for being sincere if his fingertips didn’t dig into your back just slightly before pulling away.

Linda visibly softens her demeanor, smoothing her stringy blonde hair away from her face. “Are you the manager?”

You scrutinize his profile, trying for all the world to read his fucking mind, because you have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s barely even taken a cake order, let alone dealt with a disgruntled customer with a botched one.

“That, I am!” Steve declares, and oh. Cheeky motherfucker. He’s doing the voice. He bats his eyelashes- big, long, sweeping blinks that you think can make him take flight if he tries much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“This girl,” Linda tells him shortly, not even looking at you when she motions in your direction, “is refusing to compromise about this cake. It’s not what I ordered, and if I have to show up for this party without a winning streak themed cake, I’m going to be embarrassed. The customer is always right!”

“In matters of taste,” Eddie says from over your shoulder.

Linda fixes Eddie with a cold stare. “I’m sorry?”

“That, uh… that saying.” Eddie steps up to your other side, obviously choking back a laugh as he clears his throat. “The full saying is, ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste.’ Meaning you’re right about your order, we can’t argue with your personal preferences.”

“Exactly.” Steve shrugs easily, the picture of self-assurance as he takes the order sheet from your hand and looks it over. You’re not even sure if he entirely understands how to dissect the order sheet itself, but he looks convincing enough while doing it. “If you don’t like the cake, you don’t have to buy it. But my gi- ‘ this’ girl is right.”

You snap your eyes toward Steve, the back of your neck burning. His what?

Steve continues like he’s made no mistake whatsoever. “We can’t give you the cake for free- the only person who can do that is the owner.”

Linda scowls. “‘Take it or leave it,’ you mean?”

Steve affords her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to pull any of our cakes out of the display instead, if you see any you prefer.”

“No,” Linda insists, obviously unhappy about it, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years and this has never happened, the owner knows me-”

“We can call Mimi, if you’d like,” he adds.

“No, like I said, I have a party in twenty minutes,” Linda says sourly, and begins digging through her purse. “No, I’ll pay for this one, I guess.”

Behind the counter, you watch Steve ball up Linda’s cake order sheet in his palm, squeeze it unnecessarily hard, and toss it into the waste bin. Then, faster than fucking lightning, you watch Eddie type the price of the cake into the cash register. He hits the sales tax button twice.

“Come back soon!” Eddie says cheerfully as he hands her the receipt.

You stand motionless behind them both, dumbfounded, until Linda leaves. And then Steve’s immediately cursing, shaking his head as he turns and starts walking toward the back room, hands untying the bow at his waist to undo his apron. “They’ll say anything for free shit. Anything. What the fuck is a ‘winning streak’ theme, anyways? I swear- no, you know what, I don’t actually fucking care. I used to give out freebies all the time at Scoops. But this isn’t corporate, and Mimi knows my family-”

You follow him closely, disappearing into the back with him as he continues blathering. “Why did you do that?”

“Hm?” Steve pauses as he’s pulling his apron over his head, and stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn’t even know what you’re referring to. And then, you see his brown eyes widen. “Oh! I guess… I mean, I could see it going bad, and I figured if she wasn’t listening to you, then she’d probably listen to me. If I, y’know. Put the moves on her.”

You snort loudly. “Always so fuckin’ cute- I could have handled it myself.”

“No, I know you could have. I know.” Steve nods, his hair sort of fluttering around his face as he looks away from you. “But… y’know, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, while I’m here. I’ve been tortured by KGB and fought monsters, I can deal with an angry customer-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh…” He pauses, eyes drifting off to the side, to meet Eddie’s, who trailed behind you into the back room and is lingering over your shoulder. “Dun- Dungeons and… and Dragons? Yeah… yeah! Have you- have you played it?”

“You?” Your giggle splutters loudly in your chest before bubbling up out of your throat unexpectedly. “Steve Harrington plays Dungeons and Dragons? You like that goofy sword and sorcery shit?”

“Fucking metal sword and sorcery shit, thank you very much,” Eddie snaps, and you scoff at him.

Steve chuckles at your little jab at his words from earlier, looking anywhere but at your face. “Yeah, sort of. I mean… Munson taught me a bit about it.”

“Everything he knows.” Eddie’s grin is wide and holds an air of mystery to it, like he knows something you don’t.

“Hm. Put that on a t-shirt for me and maybe I’ll buy it.” You blush, staring at Steve’s profile as he pulls a water bottle out of the employee break cabinet and takes a long drink from it. Then, you turn to Eddie, who leans against the door jamb. “Where’d you learn that thing about ‘the customer is always right,’ anyways?”

“Hm? Oh… I used to help my uncle Wayne in his garage,” Eddie explains nonchalantly. “Learned a lot from watching him deal with customers.”

“Right,” you hum, nodding slowly, and then turn to Steve. “And you. You could get in so much fucking trouble if Mimi finds out about that whole thing. Where did you pick that up?”

“My best friend- Robin Buckley? You know her?” Steve says as he puts the bottle back in the cabinet and snaps it shut. You shake your head, and he goes on. “Yeah. She’s crazy smart. We worked together at Scoops, and Family Video. Always had a way to respond to everything, even though she’s awkward as hell. And before you ask- yes, she would have tried to put the moves on Linda, too.”

“Would she?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve grins at you fondly, making your heart stall in your chest a bit. “Every single move in the book. If you ask me, she’s better with the ladies than I am.”

You laugh, then nod your head slowly, looking him up and down. “Okay. You’re actually fucking hilarious, Harrington. Too bad I hate your guts.”

“Really? I’m moving up in the world.” Steve grunts. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, my darling dearest.”

“Is that why you almost called me ‘your girl?’”

His smirk creates cute little dimples in his cheeks. “No, I almost did that because you’re the only one who can tell me to suck on their nuts, and I’ll actually consider doing it.”

Before you can even take a moment to process that little wise-crack, Eddie’s distracting you. His hand passes through your line of vision, then comes up and presses against the front of your green apron, just against your breast. You genuinely think he’s trying to feel you up, and you snap your eyes down to find his ringed fingers scraping a giant drop of cream cheese frosting off of your chest.

You feel your cheeks heat up. That must have come from when you were frosting the cinnamon rolls- more like smacking them around with frosting, really- and the fact that it was there the entire time Linda was here is more than humiliating. You must have looked like such an idiot, trying to conduct yourself like a manager-

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, using that same fucking condescending tone that makes your hair stand on end, before meeting your eye and sucking the glob of frosting off of his two fingers.

You get a sudden head rush, and it takes way more self restraint than it should to not audibly whimper. Oh, he really shouldn’t have done that.

You stare at him for a long moment, your eyes flickering between his, and his fingers in between his ungodly pink lips. You… you feel like you’re fucking drowning, floundering around with your head underwater and you don’t know what to do. You snap your eyes to Steve, looking for some sort of sympathy or support, but he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, he just winks.

No. They absolutely should not have done that.

“Fucking… fuck this. Fuck both of you- I have work to do,” you hiss, trying to skirt past buckets of frosting to get around where Eddie’s blocking the doorway, but he refuses to step aside, instead creating a one-man barricade while he snickers and continues sucking on his fingers just to rile you up even more. “Fucking move, Eddie.”

“Oh, it’s Eddie now?” He grins, obviously enjoying how much you’re struggling, with your chest pushed up against his and your arm nearly circling his waist to lever yourself against the other side of the door.

“Fuck you,” you spit, for a lack of anything else to say.

“For the second time, I wish you would.” Eddie raises his hand and captures your chin, tilting your head up so that you look at him, instead of over his shoulder or to the side at Steve. Your heart jumps into your throat, feeling his damp fingers on your cheek and remembering how he had been sucking on them a second ago. “Might clean out that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” You snatch Eddie by his pinstriped collar, simultaneously pulling him down to your height and also pushing him back against the wire rack of boxes along the far wall. Eddie curses, stumbling and grabbing onto your hips as if that will steady himself. His nose nudges yours from this angle, and how close you crowd up against him. “You drive me up the fucking wall, Munson. You think you can just sweet talk me like I’m some uptight customer?”

“Woah,” Steve says from behind you, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. More amused, and intrigued. “I think you struck a nerve.”

“Did I?” Eddie whispers, with a hint of a smirk still on his face. His dark eyes are looking directly into yours.

He doesn’t even have time to breathe before you kiss him. Desperately. Long and hard and sort of angry, open-mouthed so that you can taste the frosting still on his tongue. He makes the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard- somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his hands come up to cup your face and pull you closer into him. His knee slotting between your legs, not pushing up but just remaining solidly there for you to lean against it. It takes an inordinate amount of strength for you not to grind yourself down onto his thigh.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Steve says calmly from just beside you.

Eddie pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, thumbs stroking your cheekbones in a mockery of a tender embrace. “Go on. Show Harrington how much you hate him, too.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you grumble, but your hands have better plans. One stays on Eddie’s shoulder, but the other snatches Steve by the collar and pulls him forward so that you can attack his face with the same amount of fervor. Eddie has no compunction to be gentlemanly- while Steve’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, Eddie’s creeps up underneath your skirt to give your ass a tight squeeze, pulling you forward to grind against his thigh and making you gasp against Steve’s mouth so that his tongue can lick deeper into yours.

Nothing quite prepares you for how Eddie’s voice affects you when he says, “Uh oh, Harrington. I think I was right- she likes you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You make a short noise in your throat, your hand sliding down Steve’s chest to his waist, fingers beginning to make quick work of his fly. “Let’s- let’s just double check, huh? Make extra sure.”

“God- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- be on the safe side.” Steve’s tongue is burning up when it touches your neck, his head nuzzling down so that he can graze your throat with his teeth.

Eddie catches your hand before you manage to wiggle it beneath his waistband, and looks you directly in the eye just before he spits onto your palm. You whimper noisily at the feeling of it, warm and wet, dripping between your fingers while Steve licks at your neck and heat simmers under the tender skin between your thighs.

Air punches from Steve’s mouth when you work his trousers down his hips and pull his erection out of his boxers- he’s not quite pulsing and swollen yet, but your fingertips still just barely manage to meet from how thick he is.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” you curse as you give him a languid stroke, feeling him shudder when you brush your thumb over his tip and then drag your hand down his length again. Eddie’s saliva helps to make the motion fluid and smooth, adding a slick sound to punctuate Steve’s loud gasp.

“What?” Steve hisses, trying his best to appear passive, but his voice betrays him and cracks. He gazes at you a bit apprehensively, his doe eyes looking a little foggy with need as they flicker over your face and focus on your lips.

“Nothing on earth needs to be this big.”

Eddie’s free hand coming up to weave through Steve’s hair and jerking his head back. His teeth catch Steve’s earlobe just before he murmurs, “Told ya, big boy.” Eddie looks directly at you over Steve’s shoulder. “Harrington’s packing a fucking monster, isn’t he?”

You hum as you let your fingers drift along the length of him. Steve’s gaze suddenly turns darker, and his chuckle falls flat out of his mouth like an exclamation of awe more than anything. “Think you can take it?”

You don’t answer that. Your grip tightens just a bit and he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Are you one of those guys that’ll come as soon as I gag?”

“Fuck, maybe?” Steve’s hands cup the sides of your neck and trail up to cradle your head as you lower yourself in front of him.

Eddie scoffs. “He can’t handle it worth a shit. Don’t go easy on him.”

“Then he’d better hold on to something.” You scrape your nails down his exposed thigh, reveling in the way his entire body shakes at the feeling.

And, without any further warning, you wrap your lips around his cock.

Steve curses, hands balling into fists just before he slams them down against the shelf he’s leaning on. Through your lashes, you watch him gasp for breath and you wonder if he’s honestly going to last long enough to fuck you properly. Not that it really matters, though, because Eddie seems like he’ll be more than happy to pick up where Steve leaves off.

Eddie’s hand rests on the crown of your head, guiding you on Steve’s cock. His tip leaks with precum that tastes salty on your tongue when you lick at his slit, and as you take him further into your mouth, you realize just how right you were. He hits the back of your throat, making tears spring up in your eyes and a quiet moan bubble up out of your chest on its own when you choke.

Steve just about loses his mind over it. He groans loudly, scrambling for a place to put his hands and ending up with a fistful of Eddie’s uniform shirt while he tries to compose himself.

“Holy fuck, you look so good with your mouth full,” Steve grunts, his free hand coming up your chin as he slides his cock out of your mouth and back in again.

“I think I like her more when she can’t talk back to us,” Eddie chuckles darkly, pressing on the back of your head and making you choke again.

Steve hisses, his fingers tightening on your cheek. “Look at me, let me see those eyes- there you go. Pretty baby.”

You whimper, letting your jaw go slack so that Steve can fuck your mouth all he wants while you try to steady yourself. You should hate it. You should hate this- you hate them both. You think.

Wait. Do you?

You’ve never been this needy before, but hell if your cunt isn’t just throbbing in your uncomfortably wet panties, and your nails are digging into Steve’s skin where you grip his thighs for support. If he notices any pain from it, he doesn’t say anything- just keeps giving you these erotic little gasps every time his cock nudges the back of your throat and your eyes flicker shut for a moment before he taps your cheek and makes you open them again.

“We should do this more often,” Steve says thickly, and without thinking, you hum in agreement. You add a little resistance against Eddie’s hand on your head to regain a bit of control, letting your tongue roll against Steve’s length however you want.

“You think she’ll give it this good if she’s getting fucked?” Eddie muses suddenly, his finger’s toying with your hair rather than guiding you anymore.

“Fuck- only one way to find out.” Steve shakily releases the fistful he has of Eddie’s shirt, letting him slip away from his side. Eddie’s hand leaves your head, instead falling to the tie on his apron to start undoing it.

You whine softly, shuffling up on your knees and nearly slipping when you feel Eddie’s hands flipping the skirt of your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. His large hand smooths over the hem of your underwear, then lowers to stroke the cleft of your pussy through the fabric.

“Oh, poor thing.”

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“She’s soaked through these pretty panties,” Eddie coos softly as his fingers stroke back and forth over the fabric, nudging your clit with achingly gentle, indirect touches. You moan, arching your back for more. “Baby got so wet from sucking Steve’s cock, huh? Sweet little pussy needs some attention?”

“Shit. God, that’s so hot. Fuck-” Steve grabs your hair, guiding you off of his cock with a wet noise that makes Eddie’s fingers press on your clit just a little bit harder. You splutter, drool trailing from your lips and dripping down your chin as you try to catch your breath. Something you can’t quite do, because Eddie won’t stop touching you.

Steve tilts your head up, leveraging you backwards a bit as he kneels in front of you. “You want Eddie to fuck you? Is that what you need?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around Steve’s wet cock and giving him a few slow pumps. “Yeah, I-” you hiccup when you feel Eddie’s fingers hook your panties to the side, and dip through your dripping folds, unobstructed. “Oh fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Don’t hate us so goddamn much now?” Eddie croons as he presses two fingers deep into your pussy.

You groan and hang your head, forehead pressing up against Steve’s navel and your nails sinking into the meat of his thigh. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and it occurs to you that he likes that pain- or maybe he just likes holding you against him while Eddie fingerfucks you.

Steve’s fingers card through your hair tenderly. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Munson. I think she’s having trouble talking.”

“For a change.” Eddie curls his fingers, and you nearly lose your balance, thankful that you have Steve to hold you up. “So fuckin’ wet… I think I want to taste it first.”

Eddie’s fingers leave you, and you openly sob against Steve’s stomach as his grip tightens in your hair. “E-eddie…”

His two hands curl around the waistband of your panties, and rip through the fabric as though it’s only paper. “Hold her up, Steve, it sounds like she’s gonna need it.”

Steve puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you up, rocking back so that he can get a good look at your face. Eddie spreads your legs apart, and you can feel him crowding his body in between them. There’s a slight pause, and then his tongue touches you, licking a stripe of fucking fire through your cunt from behind.

Oh shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s too good, too warm and slick when you’ve been aching for it for way too long, your clit pulsing desperately and burning hot when his tongue strokes over it. You strain up against Steve’s hands, but he keeps pushing you forward, keeping you there against Eddie’s mouth. You moan obscenely loud, your hands tearing at Steve’s shirt like it’ll somehow convince him to let you go.

“You’re so damn pretty like this, angel,” Steve whispers, tilting your chin up when your head falls so he can keep looking at your face. He’s flushed, his lips parted and his eyes drooping and so dark that you nearly balk under his gaze.

Eddie groans in the back of his throat and finally pulls back, and you’re not sure whether to chase his mouth or to sob for relief, so you sort of do both at the same time. He plants a hand on your ass to keep you from falling backwards into him.

“Fuck, she tastes so sweet. Here-” You feel him move, and then Steve holds up a hand to catch something that Eddie tosses to him.

You lift your eyes and discover that Steve is holding your torn underwear. The light blue fabric looks so out of place and innocent, little pink flowers decorating the waistband. It makes it worse that he’s looking directly at you, keeping you frozen in place. He holds them up to his nose and breathes deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut just briefly before he looks at you again and drags the soaked crotch of them across his tongue.

“Steve…” you breathe, overwhelmed by the sight of him and the sound of his groan of pleasure. You search for something to say to him, but nothing comes before you feel something hot and thick pushing into your soaking entrance. You gasp, and then claw at Steve’s thigh in lieu of something to hold onto. “Fuck, Eddie-”

“Shouldn’t you be choking on Steve’s cock right about now?” Eddie hisses through his teeth, sounding strained and letting out a low groan to punctuate it.

You whine, feeling unbelievably stretched and full as Eddie splits you open, but you still scramble backwards and sink your mouth onto Steve’s cock so quickly that a gasp leaps out of his chest.

Steve punches out a little laugh, his hand twisting your hair and pushing you down until your eyes water. “So agreeable once you get your pussy filled.”

“God, she’s so tight,” Eddie grunts as he hollows out and starts thrusting, reaching deeper inside you each time. You don’t think it’s so much that you’re tight as he’s just big- you haven’t seen his cock, but you can feel it, like you haven’t fucking felt anything else before, and it’s good. You can feel every inch, every ridge, and it makes your eyes fully roll back into your skull. “Fuck, you gotta feel this-”

“Can’t. ‘M not gonna last, shit…” Steve sounds wrecked, his words coming out sharp and desperate. The hand on your head is shaking, and you’re honestly impressed he’s lasted as long as he has. “‘M gonna come down this pretty throat.”

“You hear that, sweet pea? You gonna swallow all of Steve’s cum?” Eddie’s hand weaves through your hair around Steve’s fingers, aiding in shoving your head down onto his cock.

As if you weren’t going to, and as if he wasn’t already fucking your mouth faster than you could reasonably keep up. But you whimper and bury your nose in the patch of coarse hair at the base of Steve’s cock, inhaling his scent and tasting his musky flavor on your tongue, and you swallow around him. And then you keep swallowing, because Steve comes hard.

He sounds absolutely gorgeous when he does it, too. If Eddie wasn’t fucking you so hard that you couldn’t stop whining, you think it would be nearly like a symphony to hear Steve reduced to quiet whimpers. By the time the hands on your head relax enough to let you off of him, though, he’s completely out of breath.

“Good girl,” Steve pants, his hand lifting up to caress your cheek and to wipe a little dribble of his cum from the corner of your mouth, so soft that it could be construed as sweet if there wasn’t any context to it. “Fuck… you were so good.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie coos into your ear, still driving his hips into yours with such force that it’s jolting you toward Steve. “Good baby, pretty baby- takes cock like a perfect little slut.”

You groan, hanging your head and arching your back toward Eddie. You seize up, your orgasm simmering low in you like the receding tide before a fucking tsunami, and you’re almost scared of how big it feels.

“She liked that,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bending further over you so that his breath tickles your ear. “You like it when I call you a slut, huh? Our perfect. Little. Slut.”

You open your mouth to say his name, tell him to shut up, or keep going, or anything, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. Your hand juts forward and clamps down like a vise onto Steve’s thigh, finding that he’s pulled his pants up. Your nails scratch at stiff khaki twill, trying to beg him to take pity on you, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Pick her up,” Steve says above you. “I want to see her face when she comes.”

Oh, so he’s trying to kill you, actually. That tracks.

Eddie’s arm snakes around your waist and hauls you up, and he rocks back onto his heels to pull your back against his chest. He hugs you close to him, shushing you when his cock hits you from a different angle and you cry out sharply from the feeling.

“Pretty thing can’t take it,” Steve murmurs as he crowds in close, his hands coming up to caress you through your dress. The fabric is too goddamn rough and itchy, and your skin is too sensitive for him to be toying with you now.

“Oh, she can take it.” Eddie sounds so sure, his voice rough and stony as he rocks his pelvis up against you while, at the same time, pulling you down into his lap. “She can take all of it. Can’t you, baby?”

You hope the question is rhetorical. You’re trembling, too lost in the feeling of the mind-numbing bliss Eddie’s giving you to come up with a response at this point. Your hand plunges back over your shoulder into a mess of curly hair, and you feel him turn his head to brush his lips against your ear.

Steve’s hand brushes up your thigh, creeping under your skirt that’s draped across both you and Eddie’s knees. You barely have time to pick your head up and intellectualize what he’s doing before his thumb touches your clit.

“Oh fuck-” Eddie chokes out urgently, just at the same time as you sink your nails into his forearm and all of your floor muscles lock down around him.

And then the tsunami hits.

You nearly scream, your cunt tightening up to wring everything out of the sensation that it can. Eddie’s cock is so hard and it hits inside you so perfectly every time that you swear you’re going to die from it. You’re collapsing forward, despite Eddie’s grip on your waist and Steve’s solid chest creating a barrier for you to fall into- your limbs feel liquid, all your muscles finally relaxing all at once.

You feel Eddie falter, his hand slipping on your waist so that you do fall into Steve’s chest. While Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and his moans fill your ears, Steve’s hands cup your face and tilt your head up toward his. And then his lips are on yours, and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth at the same time as you feel Eddie come deep inside your cunt.

You don’t want Eddie to pull out. Not really. You’re not going to tell him to stay there inside you while you’re both crouched awkwardly on the hard floor, but you do wish he’d take at least a few seconds before he does, because the aching emptiness he leaves in his place is enough to make tears spring up in your eyes.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you did so well,” Eddie whispers as you sob openly from the sensation, his arm coming back around your waist to pull you against him. And then you both sort of topple backwards, his shoulders hitting the stacks of backstock frosting buckets as Steve shuffles back to lean against the wire rack across from you. He pulls your legs into his lap and starts stroking his hand across your bare calf.

You try to catch your breath while Eddie reaches for something on the floor off to the side. You blink your eyes open to find him fiddling with his discarded green apron, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket in it before wadding it up into a little ball.

He promptly tucks it between your legs and starts cleaning you up with it.

“R’you using your apron… as a cum rag?” You slur tiredly at him, squeaking a little as the rough fabric scrapes across your overly sensitive clit.

“Don’t want to leave a mess,” he mutters easily, making Steve chuckle across from you. “Why s’it that I can fuck you half out of your mind and you’ll still bitch me out about how I clean shit?”

“‘Cause it’s fun t’see you all mad. You’re pretty when you’re pissy.” You feel his chest shake with laughter as he finishes wiping you down and tosses the apron aside, then wraps his arms snugly around your middle.

“Good thing you’re pretty all the time, then.” Eddie huffs, rocking you back and forth a little as he fits his head on your shoulder. You tap your fingers across his forearm, looking down at them and humming contentedly.

“What is it?” Steve asks, smiling at you almost fondly.

You sigh, dragging your fingertip along Eddie’s skin. “I like his tattoos.”

“I knew it,” Eddie whispers, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, making you giggle and shut your eyes. “I still haven’t shown you the rest of ‘em.”

“There’s always next time.”

Steve blinks. “You want to do this again?”

“Of course I want to fucking do this again, Steve,” you snap, rolling your eyes playflully. “Been wanting to jump both of you since you started, wasn’t it fucking obvious?”

“Was to me.” Eddie’s finger traces along your collar, toying with the first button on the front of your uniform dress. “Also, I haven’t seen your tits, so. I’m not done with you yet.”

“I dunno, the dress kind of does it for me,” Steve admits, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… cute. Like a 50s housewife or something.”

“Let’s get you a string of pearls and see how long ‘Big Dick’ Harrington lasts then,” Eddie snickers, and you laugh tiredly as you watch Steve flush.

You fall into easy silence, but just as soon as you relax into Eddie’s arms, the bell over the front door of the bakery jingles. And then the hand bell on the front counter dings loudly.

And dings again. And dings again. And dings agai-

“You gonna get it, this time?” Steve asks Eddie, sounding a little bit grumpy already.

“No, I’m gonna hold her a while longer,” Eddie says coolly, not leaving any room for discussion. He presses a tiny kiss to your neck, just underneath your ear, and you squeak in surprise at the lightness of it. “Go get ‘em, Mr. Manager Man.”

“Fuckin’-” Steve rolls his eyes as he gently sets your legs aside before gracelessly clambering up off the ground. He smooths out his uniform, tucking in the tail of his shirt before striding through the door into the kitchen. “What’s up, party people?”

“Do you have any chocolate cakes with white buttercream already made? I need it for tonight.”

Eddie scoffs in your ear, his hand drifting across your thigh to rest just shy of your pussy, making your breath hitch and your hips cant up toward his touch. “They always wait for the last fuckin’ minute, don’t they?”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #roses*

188 notes · View notes

epigstolary · 1 year ago

Text

Deaf Ears

The half-eaten burger is still sitting on top of its wrapper, right where you left it on your nightstand. Three patties, six slices of cheese, smothered in grilled onions and special sauce. Each one easily over 1,000 calories. This was the third one you’d had today.

I tried to warn you about what would happen if you kept gaining at the rate you were going. I’d hoped that one of the many red flags about what you were doing to yourself would get your attention. That you might stop and take stock of what was happening when you got too fat to fit in the driver’s seat of your car. Or the passenger seat. Or when you started needing the cane to walk because your legs couldn’t handle the weight. Or when you moved on to the bariatric walker. Or when you needed the hoists and handles just to get out of bed.

But no, none of that made any impression. If anything, as your body grew and swelled and ballooned with new fat, you relished it. You spent more and more of your time just fondling the widening sweep of your belly, the plumper and fuller curve of your chest, the multiplying peaks and valleys of your side rolls. I could tell you enjoyed the bounce and wobble of your increasingly full, heavy, pendulous ass and hips on the increasingly brief occasions when you got up to walk anywhere. Having to lumber around, lugging the weight of your burgeoning thighs and blobby calves, both increasingly shapeless and unidentifiable, was a constant reminder of just how much your fat was taking over your body.

It shouldn’t have been any surprise, then, that you let the gains accelerate — wanted them to. For every time I suggested you try to at least gain clean, you insisted on getting whatever the most fattening, sugary, greasy, caloric option might be ten times over. You kept me busy making sure you were never without something you could be guzzling down, never in any danger of not being completely full, let alone hungry. The truly embarrassing amount of food in our kitchen, all of which would get dumped down your throat in a matter of days and replaced by the next batch, never fazed you. If anything, on the rare occasions you stopped and realized how much garbage you were putting away, your pudgy face would beam with obscene pride, any hint of shame at your condition — if you even felt it — buried by lust for the next family-size serving or tray of junk food coming your way.

But today was the day you stopped being able to ignore the consequences of indulging your worst habits. Nobody but you was surprised that an 800 (900? 1,000? We’ve been flying blind since you crushed the scale) pound hog is unsteady on their feet. You were making your usual stumbling shuffle from the bed to the couch and, too eager to have your morning box of coffee cakes, sent all your fat wobbling the wrong direction. At your size the walker wasn’t any help as you twisted, heard a snap, and went down in a blubbery heap. There was no way I could get you up from there, even if your fall hadn’t broken something.

Maybe the trip with the paramedics — having to let your enormously bloated body be manhandled onto a bariatric stretcher and bundled into an ambulance — will humble you a little from here on out. Maybe you’ll ease up on the gaining, and the constant eating. Or, probably more likely, being stuck in bed while you recover and the stress of trying to rehab a broken bone at your size will just drive you to gorge yourself to oblivion.

I’m not sure you could even stop if you tried, at this point. You and your body are too used to the constant flood of calories, sugar, endorphins to give that up, or even reduce it by much. You’re probably looking at some pretty steep gains, at a time when you’re least able to compensate for them, unless you do something drastic. And like usual, you’re probably going to insist that I keep a steady flow of garbage coming to you while you’re at the hospital — which definitely won’t make it any easier for you to maintain your weight. We’ll be lucky if you’re still small enough to get you back home once your treatment is done. More likely, you’ll end up ballooning too big for any ambulance to be able to cram all your lard inside. Too big to measure in pounds anymore, but instead how much of your hospital bed you take up — or overflow. Someone the staff talk about in hushed whispers as they watch you eat yourself out of the last few things your shapeless blob body is still barely able to do.

I tried to warn you, and you didn’t listen. This is your last chance to turn things around and save yourself from spending the rest of your life like this. But the text you just sent me asking to bring another slew of burgers to the hospital tells me you’re probably not going to take it. That you’re probably ending up inhumanly fat, immobile, and helplessly buried in your own bulk, no matter how much you may eventually come to regret it.

Guess that means I get to see just how much bulk we can make in the time you have left.

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #gaining #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #extreme weight gain #gainer stories #wg story #wg fiction

921 notes · View notes

lemon-russ · 1 month ago

Note

Sometimes I just want to take care of Mortarion, cook for him, give him a nice bath, with a massage and take care of his skin with soft lotions, so I can get my hands all over him. And then wrap him in a soft fuzzy bathrobe and tuck him into a freshly made bed. That boy needs someone to take care of him, and he sure as fuck isn't going to do it himself

I got carried away, partially because @moodymisty won't stop talking about the stinky nasty man and I NEEDED to wash him.

Get cleaned, idiot.

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk,

and thank you for dividers @squishyowl

Mortarion x F!Reader

(Actually i dont think there's any reference to the reader actually being fem?)

CW: kinda gross Mortarion stuff, vague suggestiveness

Word count: ~2000

Mortarion trudges through the threshold to your shared chambers. You gasp and shoot up from your seat where you had been reading. He'd been gone for months on a mission, and you weren't expecting him home for a month still.

“Mortarion!” you say, rushing to his side. He blinks slowly, turning his tired gaze onto you. He takes a moment to fulky process you're there.

“I… return.” He rasps through his mask.

You frown, seeing the grey circles gathered under his eyes, his gaunt cheeks. He always looked ill, but today he looked a foot in the grave.

“You look exhausted, my love.” You say gently, leading him to a chair. He sits with a soft groan, slumping back and letting his head roll back. His robes are dirty and stiff from being worn so long, and you wrinkle your nose. You're glas the serfs brought fresh laundry today.

“It was a long, long ordeal…” he rasps again. You sit on the arm of the chair and push back his hood from his face. His grey hair, greasy and dust caked, falls around his face to his shoulders. You ran a hand along his cheek and he looked up at you tiredly with his cloudy green eyes.

“Here-” you say softly, standing, “you must have not had a decent meal in weeks, let me get you something-”

He blinks, scrunching his brow and raising a pallid hand a bit as you scurry away from the chair.

“You don't have- come, we have serfs for that-” he weakly protests, but you're already out the door.

You return quickly with a spread of cheeses, fruits, meats, and some wine. Mortarion couldn't get drunk, but he sometimes enjoyed the taste. You place it on the sidetable nearby, hopping back next to him. This time he places an arm around your side, but carefully as not to touch you.

His pale eyes soften at the plate. “…thank you. That is… very kind.” He says, reaching for his respirator.

You watch him take the gas infusing mask off, and wince when he starts gasping rattling sounds. You hand him a cloth to cough into, and rub his wide back as he hacks and wheezes while his lungs struggle to rebuild themselves enough to breathe unaltered air. When he's able to breath mostly uninhibited, he swallows a few times and looks up at you again, a thin sweat on his brow.

“You don't have to… always stay with me, when I take off the mask…” he croaks weakly. You smile and give a soft sigh.

“It's alright. I can handle it.” You say gently. You bring him over the tray, and he scrunches his nose and coughs when a tart fruit hits his tongue. He instead gulps some wine, then sighs.

“Tastes… awful, at first.” He mumbles in his hoarse voice.

“I know, my love.” You soothe, rubbing his shoulder and ignoring the dust and blood caked robes. “But your taste will kick back in soon like always.”

You slide off the chair again, and his dry, paled lips give a small frown. You smile back. “I'm going to run you a bath while you snack.” You say, flittering over to some cabinets. You start gathering scented herbs and oils and soaps.

Mortarion gives a resignated sigh. “Very well, then… I have… learned better than to fight with you on this. Go make your soup.” He gruffs, halfheartedly waving a hand your way.

You giggle. He may give you attitude about it, but you suspect some part of him liked the comfort and attention, as antithetical to his personality as it was. But he had to keep up appearances.

You leave him to his food, hearing him occasionally cough over a bite, and head to your bathroom. You asked Mortarion to build a spacious bathroom when he asked how you wanted your chambers. He delivered, a large heated bath pool set into the floor, big enough that he could sit fully submerged. You turn on the water and throw in the oils and herbs.

Ginger, because he looked like his muscles were sore, and it helps his throat and cough. Lavender and chamomile, to help with the stress you could see in his tense shoulders. And some jasmine scented epsom salt for- well, everything else going on with his cracking, healing skin. Plus, you like the smell.

When the pool was sufficiently full, you return to him, now resting with his head back and an empty tray. You smile, content that he has real food in him, and gently take one of his hands in both of yours. You purse your lips at how bony his knuckles feel.

He cracks a red rimmed eye at you. “Is there something you'd like?” He asks, voice sounding a tad clearer.

You pout. “Come, before the water cools.”

He lets out a deep, rattling sigh, but seems too tired to argue. He rises with a groan, and dredges after you as you lead him to the bathroom.

His clothes are… well. They're going in the burn pile. Mortarion doesn't do laundry, so much as replace clothes. The serfs enjoy the lack of washing, but the tailors don't love the constant sewing of huge outfits.

He watches you, expression unreadable as you start undoing his various belts and ties. You free his hooded robe, and he helps you slide it off his shoulders, leaving him bare armed in a loose, sleeveless tunic. You undo the belt to that, fumbling with the knot around his hips, and glance up at him when you notice he's staring.

His face looks taught, and your brow knits. “My love…?”

He squeezes his tired eyes shut, making a small noise. “Its- nothing.” He hisses, turning his head away.

You frown, but shrug and go back to fiddling with the tied fabric. The dirt seems to have made the knot hard to loosen, but you manage to free it, and toss it aside and start tugging at his soiled tunic. He groans a little, but leans to help you tug it off. He kicks off his boots himself, and when you reach for his pants, he gently grabs your wrist, dwarfing it in his hands.

“I can manage the rest.” He says, voice strained. You smile and step back, watching as he peels the pants off. He gives you a look, before sighing and peeling his loincloth off as well. You don't know why he makes a spectacle of getting undressed. You've seen it all before. And more.

You giggle, but move a stool over for him. He sits, and lets you take buckets from the bath to rinse off the more offensive dust and grime. You'd prefer his bath not immediately turn black when he touches it.

When he's rinsed, he trudges tiredly over to the pool and lowers himself in. He hisses through his teeth as the water hits his cracked skin, but lowers in anyway, leaning so only his head is unsubmerged. His grey hair- brighter now without so much filth- splays across the tiles. You smile and sit behind him cross-legged on the floor.

You drizzle some flowery scented shampoo on his hair, and start massaging your fingers into his scalp as it lathers. He sighs a deep breath, sinking into the pool a little more. It takes a few rinses and lathers before you're confident his hair is actually clean, but his dull gray hair is now shiny silver once again.

You undress yourself next, and he tilts his head up to peek at you as you do. You giggle. Again, he acts like you aren't getting in the bath lole this. You slip in with him, his eyes never leaving you.

“What?” You chuckle softly.

His eyes roam your body, and he almost smiles the tiniest bit. “Nothing. Please, continue with the frivolities.” He replies, settling back again.

You do just that, using a loufa to gentley exfoliate the skin that was cracking and shedding as his body recovered from the gas.

He makes a small groan now and then, moving every so slightly to give you better access to him as you scrub sweet soaps into his skin. You make him roll over, and he does so, propping arms on the side of the pool as you nearly climb his back to scrub and exfoliate.

He looks half asleep by the time you're done, and his shoulders are slouched in a much less tense way. The red around his eyes is now pink, and his pallid skin is starting to look less translucent and waxy as the heat and healing slowly brings a hint of blood to his face. And, apparently, other places as well, you chuckle to yourself.

You run a comb through his hair, detangling it with scneted oils. He watches with half lidded eyes as you sit in his lap, gently tugging out knots.

“Why….?” He mumbles, letting one of his hands splay across your small back.

You smile up at his tired, soft face. “Why what, my love?”

He sighs and rubs his thumb over your spine. “Why… this? Me…?” he murmurs.

Your face softens, and you set the comb aside so you can cradle his face between your hands.

“Because you're you.” You say gently.

He sighs and lets his cheek rest in your small palm, eyes fluttering closed. You stay like that a moment, stroking his cheek and cuddling in the warm waters.

When the water starts to chill, he sighs and pulls you up with him as he stands.

“You'll catch a cough if we stay.” He says quietly.

He places you carefully on the tile floor, and you're quick to scurry over and fetch towels- one to wrap around you, and a massive one for him. You hold it up to him with a grin, and he cuckles a rattling sound, coughing slightly from the exertion.

He kneels so you can toss the fluffy towel over his head and dry his hair, then the work it down his shoulders and back.

When you've given him a once over, he plucks off your own towel, making you squeek, and plops ot over your head. You giggle and towel off your own dripping hair, and when you pull it off, you see Mortarion holding your robe out for you.

“Last time you caught a cough,” he says, “you couldn't get up for days. Don't walk around cold and wet, you're too… frail.” He grumbled.

You smile and chuckle as you slip into the robe. “I get sick one time, while you're always sick, and I get lectured…” you huff softly.

He makes a small grunt. “It's different.”

You roll your eyes, but tug him to the bed, and he doesn't protest when you urge him to lay on his front, crawling up to the plush pillows and letting his face flop into them. You smile at the sight, the pale king, face first on a bed, hair fanned over the pillow, looking like a kitten that was fighting off falling asleep right there.

You scoot to the bedside table and take the oatmeal and honey lotion you have made just for him. His only response when you start working it over his broad shoulder muscles is a resigned, tired groan. You follow the contours of his back, working your hands over his fair skin, kneading away at his muscles, down his arms, over his fingers.

You make him roll to repeat the process over his chest, sruggling to push into the firm muscle. You take a break to shake out your tiring hands, and notice mortarions eyes are shut, and his breathing is slow and rythmic.

You smile, returning to massaging the sleeping primarch down his thighs and calves. When you are content that youve worked out at least some of his muscle knots, and lotioned all of him you could reach, you sit back and smile.

Clean, fair but slightly pink toned skin, silvery hair slightly disheveled over his face, the dark circles of his eyes fading already as he slept. The peacefulness of his sleeping face, silvery lashes fluttering as he dreams, lifts a worried weight off your shoulders.

You pull a few covers up over him, slipping in beside him. He automatically hooks an arm around you, holding you to his chest like a stuffed animal without stirring his sleep.

With a heavy, worn and contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder, taking in the smell of lavender and honey, and let your own eys fall shut in sleep.

#mortarion #mortarion x reader #wh40k fic #my work #mortarion x f!reader #wh40k

122 notes · View notes