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curiositydooropened · 2 years

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My Whole Life, Too

Seven years after you've left Hawkins, a beautiful day for a wedding in New Mexico brings up old feelings. You're hoping to make the most of it with the comfort of best friends.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, previous Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 8,419

Warnings: smut & smut adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), angst, lots of gushy friendship talk, weddings, drinking, mentions of drugs and cigarettes, so much guilt, Steve Harrington slander, lovin' both the boys, fluff, oh and Jancy

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January 1994 - Albuquerque, NM

The pale blue chiffon of your dress wrinkled in the car, and your mouth tasted of wax from when the peachy pink lipstick clipped your teeth and smeared over your chin a few minutes earlier. You’d scrubbed at it with a wet forefinger, scrutinizing your reflection in an oblong mirror beside the gift table, but you couldn’t help but lick at your front two teeth self-consciously.

You ankles ached under your weight in your new heels, and each burst of winter, mountain air prickled the stubble beneath your nylons, but you were rooted to your spot in the lobby, nearest the guest book, making eye contact with each and every wedding guest as they entered through the chapel doors.

So far, several little old ladies in lace collared dresses eyed you up, and several families with too-many kids stumbled in from the cold. You hadn’t seen a familiar face since you arrived, and you couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.

From this vantage, you could barely see out into the parking lot, where snow was packed along the curve and inside oversized planters and the afternoon sun was just starting to dip low beneath the mountains, kissing everything in golds and roses. It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

Three teenagers entered, all three of them ducked over handheld video games, and just beyond you saw the swoosh of impeccable brown hair. Your heart thundered in your ears, mouth gone fully dry. You flattened clammy hands to the midsection of your dress and stood at full height to greet Steve Harrington.

Though, suddenly all of your rehearsed greetings had flown out of your mind. The only thing you could think of were the last things he said to you, the hurt blurring those big doe eyes, his mouth slightly agape, his fingertips grasping at your t-shirt as you released his shoulders and said goodbye. Well those things and Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love, which had been playing on loop in this little lobby since you’d arrived.

A woman excused you out of her elbow-range as she signed the guestbook, sending you a little off-kilter and almost into a stunning satin-decked wreath, but you managed to catch yourself on the windowsill, cooling your palms as your prints came back fogged over. You ran a chilled hand over your face and released a breath you’d been holding for minutes and hoped to God this wasn’t a dry wedding.

That’s when you heard the familiar scold of a best friend. “Eddie, top-button. Robin, no more singing. Honestly, how old are you two?”

Nancy Wheeler entered looking tighter-wound than she was a month ago, when you’d last seen her. Her bangs were cut short, hair black, thin fingers busying themselves with Eddie Munson’s bolo tie. Eddie looked miffed by the action, like a school boy embarrassed by his mom, but he daren’t move a muscle lest he get smacked. Beside them, Robin Buckley adjusted a tie of her own, flattened the lapels of her velvet blazer against her chest.

And it was just them, just the three, alone in the entryway, Nancy fussing over their appearances before perfectly manicured nails went to ensure her oversized earrings were still clipped to her lobes. You glanced around one last time for Steve, but found a parking lot full of old people and void of any handsome young men whose hearts you’d broken. With a deep breath, and a clench of your shaking fists, you took a step toward them.

“Hey, strangers.”

Robin let out a shriek that sent a pen flying from gasps at the guest book, and when Nancy shushed her, she snickered and wrapped her long arms around you to breathe a greeting into your ear, all clove cigarettes and patchouli. “Hey, stunner. Missed you.”

“You too,” you smiled and let her rock you into her hug. You were almost her height in your heels.

She released you, her hair sticking to your lipstick, and you reached out to melt the wax off the strands with your fingertips.

“Have you seen him?” Nancy asked, slipping in between you to give you the tightest hug you’d ever received.

Your heart jolted a little in alarm, glancing over her head to the parking lot beyond. Still no Steve. When you pulled away, you noticed Nancy stood on the toes of her own high heels, stretched to get a good view of the chapel behind you, and you realized she wasn’t talking about the same person. “I’m sure Jonathan’s getting ready with the other groomsmen. He hasn’t been out this way.”

Nancy’s gaze met yours then, a harsh glare in blue, but you saw the fear in her eyes, wondered if your stare mimicked her own. She squeezed your forearm and shrugged, as though she could care less, as though she didn’t sit in your apartment last month downing glasses of wine and confessing her and Jonathan had had a Thanksgiving tryst for the first time in seven years. “Oh well,” she nodded toward the hall where the guests had begun to funnel. “Shall we?”

Another gust of wind fanned your hair, ruffled your skirt, and you glanced one last time at the nearly vacant lot before a scraggly head of hair blurred your view. You blinked until Eddie’s smile came into focus, head tilted to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You breathed a nervous laugh and allowed his arms to envelope you in a hug. He was warm and a little damp under the arms, but distinctly Eddie, all murmured chuckles and cigarette smoke. But with your face buried into his hair, you sensed something else that made your heart stop, something familiar, something Steve.

“How long’s it been? Two years?” He asked, pulling away. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, and you noticed the purple scarring that etched his throat, just beyond too tight of a collar. He must have seen your gaze, because he reached up to unbutton the top button and loosen the tie, two strands of leather and a carved silver demon’s face. You snorted.

“Yeah, just about.” The last time you’d seen Eddie had been on a New Years ski trip to the Harrington’s time share. Your memories of that trip were fogged with White Russians and too much time in a hot tub. You remembered Eddie’s bare ass, stark white, when he’d been dared to make a snow angel.

“You look beautiful as ever,” he flashed you those sharp canines.

“You don’t clean up bad yourself,” you smiled, though his compliment had fallen a bit on deaf ears. You hadn’t dressed up for him.

“Hey, don’t sound so shocked.” He scoffed, adjusting the lapels of an old blazer. It looked a bit small for his shoulders, a bit tight, and you swallowed. Maybe that’s why he smelled of Steve, maybe he’d borrowed it.

A groan sounded from behind you, and you pulled your attention from Eddie’s shoulders to see Nancy impatiently tapping her clutch to her hip, just outside the chapel door. She gestured for the two of you to hurry, and you felt Eddie’s hand on the small of your back to follow you inside.

Robin had already shuffled into a pew near the back and was thumbing through a hymn book. Nancy shoved you out of the way before shuffling in beside her.

“Wheeler said Robin and I aren’t allowed to sit next to each other,” Eddie mumbled just over your right ear, and you snorted before pulling yourself into the seat beside Nancy. He followed.

She snatched the hymn book out of Robin’s hand and tucked it back in its pocket. “Could you sit still for like two seconds?”

“Could you?” Robin snapped. “Jesus, Nance, how much coke did you do this morning?”

Appalled, Nancy shushed her. You snickered. Eddie wrapped his arm over your shoulder to lean in. “You have coke? And you aren’t sharing?”

“I knew I should have left you in Hawkins,” she reached past you to tighten his tie again.

You leaned back against his arm to make eye contact with with Robin, who flashed you a goofy grin, and for just a moment, you felt at peace. You didn’t need Steve to fall back into the chaos of this friendship. You didn’t need stolen moments of romance, you needed Robin’s raspy laughter and Nancy’s neurosis to keep you grounded, to remind you why you agreed to go in the first place.

“So how are you?” Robin asked, propping her elbow to the back of pew.

Eddie reached his fingers to tickle her, and you smiled, shrugged.

“Heard you had a good time in Louisville,” she waggled her eyebrows and your heart sank to your knees.

“Robin,” Nancy hissed. She knew the whole story, from your perspective. You’d gone to Louisville for a conference, invited Steve to join you for the weekend, didn’t expect him to say what he’d said, to request what he did. You hadn’t had a chance to talk to Robin about it. You should have known Steve would get to her first.

“Steve says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, by the way,” Eddie pitched in from beside you.

You felt your entire body heat with embarrassment, and you turned to face a Cheshire grin. Did everyone know?

“Jesus Fuck, you two!” Nancy squealed, and a woman in front of you turned to shush you all loudly, covering the ears of a little boy.

With a groan, you buried your face in your hands and accepted the squeeze and shake of Eddie’s arm around your shoulder, the vibration of his chuckle against your right arm.

Nancy’s apology was cut short by the chime of the organ, and the shuffle of guests in their seats. You craned to see the minister at the podium, a man with a swoosh of brown hair that had you letting out a frustrated exhale. He wouldn’t be here, but apparently he’d haunt you.

The groom entered first, linked arms with his mother, and you almost didn’t recognize him. Argyle was tightly pressed into a handsome sky blue tuxedo, luxurious hair pulled back into a low pony tail. A handlebar mustache traced his upper lip, and you half-expected it to fall off when he bent down to plant a kiss to his mother’s cheek. She was crying already.

“If it’s any consolation, he told me he was staying home in solidarity with Dustin,” came a whisper to your temple.

“What?” You turned to see Eddie frowning back to you, face the most serious you’d seen it in years.

Eddie nodded sideways to the bridesmaids and groomsmen that had begun to file in two-by-two, arms linked and sleeves ruffled. You watched head after head of beautiful brunette women glide by in lavender. “Since Dustin and Suzie broke up.” Eddie explained into your hair.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he didn’t shave for his best friend’s wedding.” Nancy scoffed under her breath beside you.

Jonathan stood beside Argyle, warm smile stretched across his boyish features, just beneath the ghost of a mustache. It was clear he couldn’t quite grow one like the groom, tried as he might. He looked more like a French waiter in baby blue. You watched his eyes scan the crowd, and saw the smile widen when he spotted the four of you, and you joined Eddie in waggling your fingers his direction.

“Stop it,” Nancy snapped beside you, and you dropped your hand to your lap reflexively.

You felt Eddie’s chuckle beside you again, warm, welcome. You turned to flash him a smile, and he winked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise.” The minister announced, and you all shuffled your bags to your seats to stand.

You wobbled a little, sandwiched tightly between Nancy and Eddie, and you groped for his hand for balance until his grasp tightened around yours, firm and unyielding, another safe space.

The music changed tempo, and the organ sounded the first few chords of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love. You heard humming in front of you, felt the thrumming of fingers against the back of your hand, and you smiled at your friends’ inability to keep quiet. A few notes in, the bride entered.

Eden was a vision in white, hidden beneath a massive veil and more rhinestones than you’d ever seen. She waltzed in on her father’s arm, a portly man who looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. He also donned a mustache. The detail made you smile, made you think of your own father, made you imagine yourself slow-stepping to the alter.

“Shit,” Nancy hissed from behind you, and you glanced to see her mopping at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. You laughed and were glad to see Robin reaching around to envelope Nancy in a side hug.

Nancy didn’t do well at weddings. Not since her almost nuptials four years ago in Boston. She’d been a month out, crying mascara stains into steamed linens while you and Robin called florists and caterers and DJs. Pete was a nice guy, but he wasn’t the one. She couldn’t be the hard-hitting journalist she was with a mousy man like him under her thumb. It was right to set him free, and she knew it.

You knew the feeling. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and the minister asked for you all to be seated.

Eddie released your hand and slung his arm over your shoulders again to jostle Nancy. She sniffled and patted his hand. You gave a squeeze to the soft skin of her knee where her skirt split and exposed her nylons.

“This better not be a dry wedding,” she muttered under her breath, and you laughed at the reflection of your own thoughts while the minister began reciting scriptures about love.

—

You made it through the ceremony and down to the reception hall relatively unscathed, catching up with old friends and grateful to find many men behind an open bar. In fact, you were a whole three bites into your salad (and one glass of champagne in) before Eleven mentioned his name.

“Where’s Steve?”

A cherry tomato evaded your fork and bounced off rose colored linens.

“Back in Hawkins like a loser,” Robin explained, crunching down on a crouton.

You tried and failed to do anything but stare at the food on your plate.

“You guys are living together, right Eddie?” Will asked from across the table.

That caught your attention. You gaze shot to Eddie, who was already watching you, a sheepish look across wolfish features. He nodded and tongued at something in his molars, reaching for the beer bottle in front of him. “Uh, yeah. Since June.” He sipped. You watched the bubbles fizz in the amber liquid.

You supposed it had been an easy detail to miss in Louisville, what with all of the other ludicrous things Steve had spouted.

“Get any time in the bathroom?” Mike snickered behind his own beer.

Eddie smiled, shrugged. “Not really, but hey, beats paying out my ass in rent. You of all people should know that teachers don’t make dick for a salary, and turns out, neither do janitors, so…” He glanced sideways at you again before turning back to the salad in front of him.

“Yeah, but I have a girlfriend who works for the government,” Mike concluded, tugging Eleven tighter under his arm. She rolled her eyes, but seemed pleased to belong to someone.

You felt your own cheeks heat, and you went back to staring at your plate.

“Gross,” Robin managed between mouthfuls.

“Are you and Steve…?” Eleven started, and panic rose in your chest, constricting your airflow, until you looked up and realized the girl was asking Eddie. He nearly choked on his own tomato, slamming his fist to his chest while Robin barked a laugh that stirred the attention of several tables nearby.

“No, no,” Eddie wheezed, taking a chug of his beer. His hair shook around his face, and you noticed the shy smile building on the corners of his lips. “No, I’m not exactly Harrington’s type.”

“Too emotionally available?” Nancy snipped from beside her brother. You shot her wide eyes, and she just shrugged, forking her own crouton between thin lips. Champagne made her bitchy.

“Alright, enough about Dingus. He isn’t even here to defend himself.” Robin sighed, taking a sip from her own flute.

You felt Eddie’s arm drape over the back of your chair again, the warmth of him mixing with the champagne that had begun to tingle the apples of your cheeks. “What about you, Robin? Any prospects?”

She sighed from your other side. “I have been talking to a girl in the Peace Corps.” There was trepidation to her tone.

“…but?”

She glanced your direction and flashed a cheeky grin. “I, too, am into emotionally unavailable women.”

You picked up your rogue tomato and tossed her direction. She squawked and dodged it, and it rolled somewhere far off to be squished beneath a heel or kicked across the dance floor.

“Hey, guys!” A cheerful greeting announced Jonathan’s arrival, and the man placed his hands on his younger brother’s broad shoulders. The table chorused a “Hello, Jonathan,” in greeting. Everyone but Nancy, you noticed. You made eyes at her, and she shot you a dirty look.

“Dig the mustache, dude,” Eddie grinned, and you held back a snicker as Jonathan’s eyebrows raised.

He brought a hand up to scratch at the atrocity, and you noticed his gaze flicker toward Nancy. She remained stoic and focused on her first course. “Yeah? Argyle wanted us all to have a stache. He thought it’d be cool for pictures or something.”

“Yeah, man. It’s sick. I’ve been thinking about growing one myself,” Eddie scratched at the smooth skin above his upper lip, silver rings glinting in the center piece’s candlelight. You hadn’t noticed how full his lips were before, supple beneath a broad nose. He’d arrived clean shaven, boyish face carved away in harsh edges since you were kids. Now he was all strong jaw and defined cheekbones and full lips, a sparkle in his brown eyes.

You must have made a face because he flashed you his canines again. “What? You don’t think so?”

You shrugged. “I think it’d throw off your,” you gestured to his being with your champagne flute. “Vibe.”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “Too Mercury. You’re much more of a Brian May.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to the members of Queen,” Eddie grimaced and lifted his bottle to clink rims with your glass.

“Shit, that reminds me. I have to make a toast.” Jonathan groped for the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out folded pieces of paper.

“Where are the bride and groom?”

You all glanced around. The happy couple seemed to be anywhere but the close quarters of the reception hall.

“I believe they’re consummating their vows,” Jonathan flashed a shy smile.

Eddie clinked his glass to yours again, and you laughed before taking another sip. Will, Mike, and Eleven groaned.

“Cheers to the happy couple.” Robin raised her own glass, which again drew the attention from several tables.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Guess I better find them. I’ll catch up with you guys later, yeah?” And you waved him off. He left with the soft graze of his hand to Nancy’s shoulder. When you met her gaze, you notice her face had flushed a deep pink, and she fought back a smile with an eye roll.

—

The band tapped out the rhythm to a soft jazz tune for all the happy old couples in the room, and Mike and Eleven. You watched her curly head pressed to his gangly chest and wondered if that ought to have been you. If things were different, if you hadn’t have panicked, if Steve had showed. You could still smell him, close, warm, a ghost that lingered.

With a sigh, you opened your eyes back to the harsh lighting and glanced sideways at Eddie’s jacket on the chair beside you. You were tempted to check the inner pocket, to look for some sort of monogram, proof that it was Steve’s. Eddie had slipped out the side door with the bride and groom and the Byers boys. He mentioned something about a wedding present, and flashed you the fattest joint you’d seen in years.

You resisted the pull of the jacket and sipped from your water glass, a vain attempt to curb the steadfast champagne hangover.

“Will that ever be me?” Nancy lamented from beneath her own champagne flute, sunk back into her chair with slumped shoulders and crossed arms, far past the rigidity of the afternoon. Glazed eyes stared longingly onto the dance floor. Robin warmed her bicep with a soft hand.

“Of course it will, Nance,” you sat forward in your chair to comfort her. “You’re brilliant and beautiful, and you’ll make someone the perfect wife someday.”

She offered the softest smile on the corners of her pink lips.

“After all, you’re emotionally available,” you compared with a pointed finger.

Robin groaned and took another sip of her drink, something chock full of cherries. “Both of you are catches, damnit, and I will not sit here and let you talk shit about my friends in this way.” She prodded each of you until smiles cracked on all three of your faces and you let out soft laughs.

The song ended in a burst of applause from dancers who shared sweet kisses and evacuated the dance floor. Mike and Eleven approached with blushed cheeks and smiles they couldn’t wipe off their faces, and the next song really picked up its tempo. Eleven found her seat again, but Mike stood beside his sister with an outstretched hand.

“Come on, Nance. I’m sick of watching you get bitchier and bitchier.” He offered with that signature Wheeler smirk.

“Fuck off,” Nancy shot, but she gripped his fingers and allowed him to pull her to the dance floor.

You watched them with a laugh until you felt a hand wrap around the backside of you chair. Robin had leaned closer. She watched you with sad eyes, big and blue, something mischievous in them. “What?” You narrowed your gaze.

“Steve’s an idiot.” She commented easily, as though his name didn’t feel like a direct hit every time.

You sighed. “Robin.”

“No, I’m serious. He’s cocky, and he’ll never learn. Of course you weren’t going to uproot your life for him.”

You sucked in your cheeks to avoid the panic slamming behind your ribcage. Steve had told her everything, and for some reason, you felt like a bad friend from keeping it from her. Maybe you worried she’d take his side.

“And he’s not here because he’s a chicken. So there’s no reason you shouldn’t be having any fun.” She pried the water glass from your hand and set it beside your empty flute. “Can’t feel hungover if you keep drinking.”

You laughed and watched Eleven’s fervent agreement, brown eyes glowing. “This is a party.”

“What’re you drinking?” Robin prodded you with a long finger again, swishing her glass your direction.

You crinkled your nose, watching the ice melt droplets to the side of her glass, which beaded and splattered, darkening the tabletop beneath each shake. You chewed through her words, realizing that she was right. Steve had chosen to bail. You were the better person here, showing up for your friend despite your worry, your anxieties. Sure, you had wanted to see him, hoped to patch things up, silently prayed for a heated makeup in a coat closet or your themed hotel room. But he wasn’t here, and you were.

You straightened your posture, gave Robin a firm nod. “Dirty Shirley, please.”

“Atta girl,” Robin grinned and pushed off from her seat to head to the bar. Eleven yelled for her to wait up and traipsed behind her, leaving you alone at the table with half-drank glasses and Eddie’s suit jacket.

You stared at the black lapel, wondering if it looked familiar. You glanced upward at Mike and Nancy, laughing with each swing of their arms over their heads. You swallowed and trailed your fingers along the hem, gripped at the shoulder pad. You stared back at the soft material, albeit a bit tattered. Maybe it wasn’t Steve’s. Maybe it was just secondhand. You made to flip the left side over, to look for an inscription, when a voice startled your hand away.

“Dance with me.”

You clutched at your chest, attempted to calm your breath, and spun to see Eddie with an outstretched hand and a wide grin. “When did you get back?”

“Two seconds ago,” he shrugged, waggled his fingers your direction. “Get up. I want to dance.”

There’s no reason you shouldn’t be having fun. A smile tugging at your cheeks, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to pull you to the dance floor. Only, when you reached the spot beside Nancy and Mike, the song ended and the tempo slowed again, something sweet and soft. Mike and Nancy High-fived.

“Aw man, I was hoping for the fast one.” Eddie groaned, but he pressed a soft hand to the small of your waist and tucked you in tight, cheek pressed to your temple as you began an awkward, off-kilter sway, a bit too dramatic, outrageous. It made you laugh, and you felt his chuckle bubble against your chest.

He was warm, but damp. His hair had been pulled back, low and loose at the base of his neck. Wet curls lined his cheeks and your own. He smelled of cigarettes and spearmint, and you pulled back to get a good look at his brown eyes, wide, but not blood shot.

“I thought you were going for a smoke,” you commented.

He flashed a canine, shrugged. “I did. Nasty habit.”

You cocked a brow. “I thought you were going to smoke.” You reiterated, glancing around the room to ensure the other guests hadn’t caught the inflection in your voice. You were pleasantly surprised to find Nancy tucked into Will’s chest. The poor boy’s eyes were bloodshot, and he had a slaphappy smile etched over his features. Nancy rolled her eyes at you, but she was smiling too.

“I let them have all the fun,” Eddie explained, his voice a low rumble against your chest.

You smiled, allowed yourself to drape a little closer, your own hand warm in his. “Why? This is a party, after all.”

His shoulder raised in a shrug under your palm. “Guess I’m growing up.”

You pulled back again to see the sly smile carving into his cheeks, and you both laughed again before he tucked you back under his chin.

—

You were swung around for six full songs, pink vodka and Sprite splashing the dance floor, and abdomen in stitches from raucous laughter, before you groaned about sore ankles and were all but carried back to your seat. You set your drink next to your discarded purse on the tabletop and slumped into your seat, cheeks flushed and aching. You hadn’t had that much fun in ages.

“So much for keeping your top-button done,” Robin commented as you approached.

You followed her point to Eddie’s bare chest. You hadn’t realized his bolo Demon had nearly slid off, buttons undone to expose a litany of scars around a smattering of dark curls. A few faded tattoos lended to the chaos, shiny.

“It’s freaking hot.” He excused himself, slumping into the seat beside you, that taunting jacket swaying under his weight.

“Eddie, I didn’t know you were such a voracious dancer,” Nancy waggled her eyebrows over her own drink.

Eddie flashed his signature grin and pointed a finger her direction. “You’re next, Wheeler. After I catch my breath.” His chest was heaving. The last number was upbeat, somewhat of a swing, and he definitely prided himself in attempting to throw you around. It was sloppy, to say the least, but fun.

“Watch your legs, Nance,” you rubbed at a Charlie horse smarting at your calf from your heels. “He’s a kicker.”

“I am not!” Eddie gawped, and you squealed when he reached to encircle your ankle and pull it into his lap. Surprisingly agile fingers pulled your strap from its buckle, and he slipped your shoe to the ground, relief flooding swollen toes. You rolled your ankle in his grasp, and strong hands melted the muscles of your calf, coaxing out the tight knot that resided there.

You were a little light-headed, and the buzz of alcohol made it difficult to contain a sound of delight. You clenched to stop yourself from moaning, and hissed when your calf tightened further.

“Relax, will you?” Eddie mumbled, all tease.

You laughed and settled your shoulders, slid further down the cool metal chair.

He released one leg and tapped the other, and you complied, trying to ignore the prickle of gooseflesh beneath his knuckles as they grazed your ankle.

You hadn’t been pampered like this in months, not since Steve offered you an early morning favor you couldn’t refused. You felt your cheeks warm, and you licked the cherry from your bottom lip, watching the glint off Eddie’s rings with each stroke, eyes unfocused. It was definitely the alcohol talking, but you’d always felt safe in Eddie’s hands, cared for, well-looked after.

He tilted his head to face you, curls falling around his face. He shook them out of big, brown eyes, cheeks creasing in a smile. “Better?”

You hummed a thanks and tucked your toes back around the leg of your chair, out of his grasp.

You watched, breathless, as his eyes raked your form, his own cheeks flushing, before he slapped his hands to his knees and huffed a breath. “Ready, Nance?”

Nancy groaned, but pushed herself to her feet, downing the rest of her cup before she allowed Eddie to drag her out onto the dance floor. You never noticed how tall he was, slender yet firm, dwarfing Nancy’s tiny frame as he took her petite hand into his, his other hand wide against her lower back.

“Feeling better?” Robin pulled your attention. She had mischief in her eyes, and she jiggled her glass in the air between you.

She was feeling toasty, you could tell by the rouge of her cheeks, the stained of her lips. Mike and Eleven spoke in giggles behind hands, playing Will at a game of Go-Fish with hole-punched cards he’d procured at some point. Jonathan sat beside them, stoned as all Hell, with a silly grin just beneath that God awful mustache. You felt warm, you felt at home. And for the first time in seven years, that feeling didn’t require Steve.

You released a shy smile, unable to hide it, and lifted your glass to clink with her own. “Much. Thank you.”

—

The bride and groom left in a flurry of sparklers, tucked into a bright yellow van, waving their goodbyes with blown kisses and dazed looks on their faces. The guests made their exits into breath-steaming cold, and you found yourself against the frigid hood of your car, sipping a stolen Dirty Shirley with Eddie’s jacket thrown over your shoulders. Grenadine dripped from a maraschino cherry, sticky-sweet, as Eddie lifted it from your glass and popped it between plump lips. It burst between his molars, and he procured the stem from between his front teeth.

“Can you tie it into a knot?”

His brows furrowed into the most dramatic scold you’d ever seen, and he tossed the stem to the ground between your feet. “I’m not giving away all of my secrets.”

You warmed at the insinuation and fingered around melting ice for the second cherry, avoiding his gaze. When you grasped the stem, he elbowed your side, almost causing you to fling it from the cup. He chuckled at the indignant noise that fell from between your lips.

“Sorry,” he grinned, and you noticed his eyes lingered on your lips when you put the cherry in your mouth.

You both looked away, facing out at the winter night. The stars were brighter here, sky bigger. Shirley had warmed your insides, and Eddie’s jacket had warmed you out. You placed cold fingertips to the embroidered letters on the inside pocket, pretended you couldn’t feel a cursive SFH.

“So,” Eddie mumbled, reaching into the jacket pocket at your hip. You jumped under his touch, and he procured a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, shaking it your direction. “Want a smoke?”

You declined the offer, tossing your cherry stem into your glass while the fruit popped syrupy sweet between your teeth, soaked with the sting of vodka.

“Alright, I’ll be right back though.” He nodded off toward the side building, courteous. Before he stepped away, though, he turned to face you, scratching at the back of his neck. You noticed a soft blush burning at his cheeks, the cold having already nipped his nose a soft pink. “Hey so, would you maybe want to come back to my room with me?”

You buzzed on his words, the softest he’d spoken, the smallest he seemed. You chewed on the cherry and swallowed with a smile, but before you could respond, he clarified.

“I mean, you know because I have that fridge full of mini-bottles of alcohol and peanuts, and the room’s on Harrington’s card, so we really can’t let that go to waste.”

You hoped your face didn’t falter from the sound of his name, his ever-presence. You swallowed again, took a the final few sips of your drink, watered down, and shrugged. “Sure, Eddie.”

“Great,” he breathed, all fog. “See you in a minute?”

You nodded. “I’ll be here.” And he disappeared around the corner, pulling a cigarette between his lips. Maybe you should have joined him, you could have used the nicotine to calm your sudden nerves. You dumped your ice beside you, water splashing your nylons and crossed your arms over your chest, one again feeling for the soft embroidered letters. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back.

Had he been there, you might be doing the same right now, hunkered under his jacket, waiting for a quick smoke before he took you back to his room. Steve had always been warm hands and lingered kisses, flirtation, toeing the line. With Steve it was always about not getting caught, but not caring if you did. It was young and reckless, and now you were older and more responsible, and terrified of settling down.

“Hey, babe. Will and I are tucking in for the night,” Robin approached with Will linked to her arm. He looked exhausted, shoulders slumped, pupils still slightly blown.

You raised your brows at Robin. “And Nancy?”

Robin cracked a sly smile. Will groaned in disgust.

“Good for her,” you snorted.

Robin nodded, pushing Will in the direction of her car with the promise of pizza. She turned to you with an arm outstretched, ready to accept your tight hug. “Will I see you soon?”

“I hope,” you shrugged. “Come see me for your birthday?”

“Hawkins,” she sighed into your ear, squeezing you tight. All warm and patchouli and Robin. “But I’ll be in DC around Easter. Can we meet then?”

You were that age, where you scheduled time with your friends, where you didn’t have fun anymore, where life had begun to slow down. You swallowed and pulled away, holding her padded shoulders at arm’s length. “Robin?” Your pulse began to quicken.

“Yeah, babe?”

You glanced over her shoulder at a skyward billow of smoke. “I’m going back to Eddie’s room with him.”

Her eyes widened, and you worried it might be judgement, disappointment, until her lips cracked into a grin. “Holy shit.” She laughed.

You nodded. “Holy shit.”

“Tell me every gory detail, please? Call me the moment you get home.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea of details, of Eddie’s rumbled voice, of cigarettes and spearmint and cherry. Your ankles wobbled and Robin caught you with a laugh.

“You good to drive?”

Eddie was. You didn’t think you saw him drink anything after the beer. He toasted with water.

You tightened the jacket around yourself, thumbing at the letters on the inside pocket. “Robin, do you think…” You weren’t even sure what you were asking. “I mean, they’re roommates.” You huffed, gesturing off in Eddie’s direction.

Robin rolled her eyes, gave your wrists a tight squeeze. “The three of you are consenting adults,” her voice rasped with exhaustion, the end of a great night. “You asked Steve to come, and he didn’t. That’s on him.”

You felt your cheeks warm. Steve really did tell her everything.

“Tell me something.”

You hummed, glancing over her shoulder at Eddie’s approaching frame.

“Do you want to marry Steve?”

That familiar panic clawed at your chest, and you staggered further into her, the mountain air creating static cling between your nylons and the chiffon of your skirt. It had been a question you’d been asking yourself over and over again for months now, a question that provided you with nothing but hurt, confusion, a question for people your age.

You grit your teeth, stood up straight, shook your head. “No. At least, not right now.”

She smiled at that, another sweet, unexpected smile, one bathed in mischief. “Good. It’s important to have fun while you’re still young.”

—

Eddie lead you into his room in a flurry of apologies, lifting an explosion of clothes off various pieces of furniture to shove into his suitcase. The room was large, too opulent for Eddie’s taste, with pastel wallpaper and a balcony overlooking snow-topped mountains. Or, you’d assumed it would in daylight. Currently, honeyed street lamps glowed at gauzy curtains, the city was pitch black beyond and below.

The thing that struck you the most was the double beds, one pristine and pressed, the other haphazardly shoved together, a crease where Eddie’s body had lain the night before. Steve had booked the room for two. You wondered how long ago, and at what point he changed his mind.

“Ta-da,” Eddie gestured to the open space before giving the grand tour. “Bathroom,” all peach marble and gold fixtures. “Television, with pay-per-view.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And… snacks.” He swung open the door to the mini fridge and reached in to pull out a few mini bottles of vodka. They clinked against his silver rings.

Anxiety bubbled in you, that familiar precipice of a storm. It tingled in your fingertips, thundered your heartbeat in your ears. It was electric like static shock clinging to your nylons. You took a few uneasy steps forward, coughed a laugh.

Eddie tossed the liquor bottles to the unmade bed and tugged at the Demon medallion around his neck. It was barely on by now, scooped neck of a white tank top visible low on his chest. Eddie was rough around the edges, sticky, stretched like taffy over wiry limbs. He moved with umph, a cartoon character. He pulled his bolo tie over his head and deposited it to the bedside table nearest a phone, a lamp, a pad of paper with the hotel’s logo.

“Good for Nancy and Jonathan, huh?” He commented, stirring your attention back to the present, back to the fun evening you had, removing the pressure of it all.

You laughed, tossed your clutch to a side table, leaned against a wall to unbuckle shoes and release your aching toes. “I know, right? She needed it.”

“Did you know they hooked up over Thanksgiving?” Eddie offered like a secret, rolling his sleeves and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. The tank top beneath clung to bits of him that sweat through, see-through, exposing bits of purpled flesh, like Steve’s.

You sucked in your cheeks and wiggled your toes against the carpet, strode to the mini fridge to find a bag of M&Ms. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll here about tonight for the next three months.” You shook the bag his direction, and when he held his hands out to catch it, you tossed and grabbed yourself another bag.

“What? You don’t think they’ll be together forever after this?” Eddie snickered, tearing open his bag from the center. The plastic split and a few candy-coated chocolates pelted the carpet, but he kicked them under the unmade bed and threw himself onto it with all of the flair for dramatics he was famous for. The comforter sighed under him.

You snorted, shrugged, tore open the corner of your own bag, and crawled to rest against the headboard beside him. You popped a green one into your mouth, and a brown. They tasted a bit stale, and odd refrigerated, but the crunch between your teeth was satisfying enough.

“Hey, so,” Eddie pulled himself upward and shifted onto his side to face you, all long limbs and chocolate breath, and you turned to catch watchful brown eyes. “I know I’m a thousand percent going to regret asking this,” he licked the corner of his plump, pink lips. “But what exactly happened in Louisville?”

You nearly choked. Eddie laughed as you sputtered, and he darted from his spot with an apology on his lips to pull a sealed plastic water bottle from the fridge. You laughed with him, tears forming at your eyes while you twisted the cap off and sat up for a drink and a gasp of fresh air.

“That bad, huh?” He settled beside you again, his surprisingly weight teetering you on your side.

“Steve didn’t tell you?” You sipped, licked chocolate from your teeth.

Eddie’s eyes were soft, innocent, head tilted to yours as he shook the curls from his eyelashes. “He didn’t say much, just came back grumpier than usual. Robin yelled at him the other day because every time we mention you, he gets all… weird. Quiet. Obnoxious.” His lips split in a grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He was concerned, concerned for his friend, for you too.

You took a deep breath, acknowledged the idea of a sullen Steve, moping around at your expense. You thought back to that blessed weekend, boring conference room meetings anxiously awaiting 5 o’clock when you could stumble back into a hotel room, not unlike this one, unzipping your dress and soaking in Steve Harrington’s all-encompassing affection. All weekend, he had been soft words and sweet sounds and roaming hands, until the end.

And then you fought. God, you’d never fought anyone like that.

“Steve asked me to marry him.”

It was Eddie’s turn to choke. “I’m sorry?”

You shrugged, tugged at a run in the chiffon of your pleated skirt. “Well, he more told me to marry him than asked. There wasn’t a ring or anything.” You groaned and slammed your head back into the padded headboard. “He wanted to try long distance, and when I said no, he told me to marry him, told me to move to Hawkins, promised to take care of me. And Jesus, Eddie, no offense to Hawkins or its residence, but you know I can’t do that. I mean, after the Earthquake? After all that happened?” You were rambling, but you hadn’t talked about it. Not since you spewed to Nancy, and that was months ago.

“No, I get it,” Eddie sighed, tugging his hair tie from his end to run his fingers through scraggly hair. “I’m only there for Wayne, and half the time, I think he’s staying for me. Hawkins is like a black hole.”

“Exactly!” You poured a few more M&Ms into your hand and ate them one-by-one. “And like, I obviously like Steve. I mean, he was my first kiss, my prom date. We have history, you know? I think that’s why I know him so well.”

Eddie hummed in response, settled back down beside you, shoulder to shoulder. He tossed a candy, missed his mouth. It settled somewhere between you.

“Steve needs the nuclear family. He needs a stay-at-home wife and six kids, a golden retriever out back.” You mused. You almost hated that you saw yourself in the role, could see yourself melding perfectly into it, had been imagining it for months and months.

Eddie just let you speak, continued to shuffle chocolate into his hand and down it.

You elbowed him. “What, no input here?”

He crunched a few bites, mouth full, and shrugged. He pulled your water bottle from your hand to chase the chocolate coating his mouth, and took a minute to compose his thoughts before he said. “Can I be totally honest with you?”

“Please,” you nodded, tilting yourself to face him.

He glanced your direction for a split second, but looked outward, gesturing to the room, to his invisible audience. “I mean, I obviously want you both to be happy. He’s one of my best friends. We share a toilet, for Christ’s sake.”

You chuckled at the visual.

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, and he glanced back at you again. You watched his Adam’s apple bob. “But uh… I’m feeling really selfish tonight.”

You felt it again at his words, that buzz of electricity to your fingertips. “Yeah?” Was all you could manage.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looked away, gestured out to the neatly pressed bed to your right. “I mean, he’s not here. He could have fought for you, and he chose to be a coward and stay home, and I feel like kind of a dick because I’m just so grateful I finally have you to myself.”

You watched the steady rise and fall of his chest before he turned to face you again, his eyes big and brown and watching you watch him.

“Because honestly? It’s been killing me to fight for your attention when Harrington’s around. I mean, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you offered to tutor me sophomore year.”

You licked the crease between your lips, saw it catch his gaze, watched him do the same. A shiver slipped down your spine. “You could try now. If you want.”

A soft sound spilled from his mouth, and his brows furrowed neatly. “Are you sure?”

You smiled, leaned back against the headboard, and whispered, “Kiss me, Eddie.”

His lips were soft, pillowy, all-encompassing. He overtook your space, crowded you with a cascade of curls and a firm hand to the headboard above your head, his other grazing your ribcage, and you leaned into the taste of chocolate and spearmint. He was gentle, timid, a stark polar opposite from the dramatic flair of the man you’d grown accustomed to, a facade, perhaps.

His nose nuzzled your own, and your cheek, and you breathed a warm smile to his temple when his lips found the hollow at your ear. “Can I?” He whispered, and you muttered an allowance before feeling warm, soft kisses down the plane of your throat to the dips of your clavicle.

You pushed at his shoulders, unraveling the collar of his shirt until he was pulling away to yank folded sleeves down his forearms. His lean frame was sinew and faded ink and a smattering of scars that matched a few of your own.

He pulled his tank over his head next, not one to waste time, and you trailed your fingers along tight flesh from ribcage to hipbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps along pale skin. With a groan, he dipped back to capture your lips in a kiss again. You heard the scatter of M&Ms across the side table, felt the shift of the bed as he gripped your hips and pulled you downward until your head rested on a cotton pillowcase.

“I meant it when I told you you were beautiful,” he muttered to your lips, hands ghosting your thighs as he made for the waist band of your nylons beneath your dress.

You felt self-conscious about the creases left to your skin there, but nimble fingers rolled the thin material down past your knees, and you watched it waft to the floor. Firm hands quickly replaced it, kneading at aching leg muscles, pinching the meat of your thighs between ringed fingers. You moaned into an open mouth.

“You deserve to be worshipped.” He sighed into your shoulder.

He was right. You deserved to have fun, to enjoy your friend’s wedding, to party, to live a little. You deserved to not worry about the ever-present stress of adulthood. You deserved to sink into a cushy mattress and clutch curls as a man buried his face into you, as a man praised you, as a man pleased you.

You held chiffon pleats to your thighs, wished you’d shaved, felt pillowy lips to the crux of your hips, tried not to compare calloused hands to smooth ones. You saw stars, eyes and jaw slammed shut, and tried not to compare a round-tipped nose to a flat one. You allowed Eddie to kiss you, lips tacky, breath hot, and tried not to compare sweet sounds to filthy ones.

Eddie was all lips, where Steve was all hands. Eddie was strong shoulders, nimble fingers, and Steve was rhythm and hips and thighs. Eddie was whispered truths and damp and sticky sweet, and Steve was furrowed brow and grit teeth, determined. Eddie let you pin him, hair splayed across a creased pillowcase, your small hands pressed to the faded ink on his chest, tracing lines with manicured fingertips. Steve would have pinned you wrists over your head.

“Can I hold you?” Eddie asked, when you were all spent and sweating and breathless, curls stuck to his temples, eyelids heavy.

You sunk into spindly arms, your legs tangled but spread wide across an uneven bedspread. You dress has been discarded beneath the side table. The soft lamplight accentuated the shadows, a honeyed glow pooling in from the patio beyond.

Something heavy rattled in you, guilt perhaps, and you released a shaky breath.

“Need a smoke?” Eddie breathed into your neck, that warm chuckle, friendly, like he understood, that safe space to bring you back to Earth.

You tucked his hand tighter into your ribcage beneath your breasts, a buoy tying you to the reality of the day, of your life, to the consequences of your actions.

You fell asleep to the low, rumbling hum of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling In Love.

---

A/N: This has been floating around my head for ages, and for some reason, it chose this week to finally come out, and it's so vastly different from what I had planned. Listen, I'm a Steve girl, trust me. I know it may not seem like it, but I'm really, really a Steve girl. But Eddie's just so... I just love him sometimes, okay?

Also I just really felt like this was so about the friendship between them all. If you can't tell, I think I'm in love with Robin and Nancy. Let me know what you think. Love you forever and ever. xo Amanda

#stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jancy #jonathan byers #robin buckley #argyle and eden

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perfectlyripeclementine · 8 months

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idk why i thought of this today but something that basically dissolved various identity crises for me is to think about sex & gender as things i do rather than things i am.

this is why the only label that feels comfortable to me really is queer. it’s really broad. it could mean anything.

i find other labels kinda break down if i look at them too closely. woman? like sure, in that i experience the pay gap, but also not really. trans? sure, in that i’m not cis, but i also don’t rly feel like i’m transitioning. lesbian? sure, i feel like i partake in lesbian culture and i’ve not been dating cis men for a while. but i do occasionally feel attracted to them. bisexual? sure, but a lot of people (both in & outside of the queer community) hear that and they think it means like, queer lite, easy mode. all of these definitions vary and i totally understand why it can be super affirming to find a label that fits right but ultimately, for me, trying to find a Definition for my Identity(tm) always ends up going down these super semantic wormholes that honestly … don’t feel super important.

what’s more useful to me than having a Certified Gender(tm) is finding what makes me feel gender. in no particular order, a list of things that feel absolutely gender: velvet, in general, and especially on a blazer; layered necklaces; a particular ring; short skorts; when someone bites into food i’ve cooked and they enjoy it; writing in a notebook i’ve almost finished.

it is a lot easier to define myself by things i do (or wear or choose) than to try and articulate some sort of innate authentic self.

it also kind of nixes a lot insecurity from often hearing the wrong name or pronouns. like … you can she/her me all you want but the strap felt pretty real when my partner was coming on it the other night. 🤷

so yeah. idk who needs to hear this but you Do Not Need labels if the process of finding one is spinning you in circles. you can just like, live here & vibe.

#this dovetails w another thing about a lot of language policing i see on here #sometimes i see folks being like “femmes can’t be X” or “butches can’t be Y”#and sometimes X or Y is a good thing like #“if you’re transphobic you’re not a real femme”#and conceptually like i’m with it - transphobes aren’t my community #but ultimately. words are words.#people we don’t like are gonna use them even if (and maybe precisely because) it pisses us off #we can’t language cop our way into inclusive community #and IMO it’s more effective to like. make sure we are cultivating a community that is unwelcome to transphobes #than to try and draw super neat lines around words we use #anyways that’s what i have for y’all today #Gender Troubles

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oxfords---notbrogues · 2 years

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Stanley Tucci

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inmonarchclothing · 11 months

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inmonarch · 1 year

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stratossphere · 2 years

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first date | v.v

you and ville finally get a chance to go on a long-overdue first date.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, chock-full of suggestive content, mentions of sex, a teeny-tiny shred of insecurity, reader smokes

word count: 6.4k

taglist: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife

— —

"Okay. Hold the fuck up. You're not dressed nice." You stopped where you had just come out of the bathroom in a fucking dress, only to see Ville sitting on the couch in the same ratty jeans and Siouxsie and the Banshees shirt he'd been wearing since yesterday with a velvet black blazer over the top. You were intending to go on your first real date ever together tonight considering it was your first trip to Finland sans-Bam, and he'd insisted that you dress nice, but here he was dressed exactly how he always was. However, he was too busy letting his jaw drop to pay any attention to what you’d just said to him.

"Holy fucking shit." He muttered as his eyes dragged over you, sucking in a deep drag of his cigarette that he was holding between his lips while he set down the magazine in his hands. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You smiled softly at the dumbfounded look on his face, coming towards him and then promptly being yanked into his lap by his hand on the back of your thigh once you were in range. You then repeated what you’d said before. "You're not dressed nice, Ville."

"What are you talking about? Yes I am." He motioned to the velvet blazer like it was obvious, his finger just happening to point to a stain on the front as he did so. You deadpanned.

"You didn't even change your clothes from yesterday." You pointed out dryly, your unimpressed look deepening when he pushed up the hem of your dress where his hands were resting on your thighs as you straddled his lap. You had no idea how he could shower and then put the same clothes on from the day before when he'd spent the majority of it in a disgusting house party. Men.

"No one's going to be paying attention to me, anyway." He said coyly, his eyes falling to the cleavage that your dress allowed for as he literally licked his lips. You let out a soft sigh, stopping his hands where they were clearly still trying to get the hem of your dress up. The underwear you were wearing was a surprise for later, and he was going to ruin it if he kept it up.

"I'm going to be paying attention to you. The whole time." You wondered if he really understood the point of going on a date. He seemed pleased at your words, however, and he also seemed to mentally make a decision on the dress code issue at hand.

"On this one occasion, I will let you dress me." He decided, smacking your ass lightly and then motioning for you to get up. "You can look in the clean clothes pile."

"Pile?" You didn't like the sound of that. If there was anything that you had learned in this past month or so that Ville had been slowly introducing his personality and everyday life to you, it was that he lived a painfully-aggressive bachelor lifestyle. His apartment was chronically disgusting, he had a habit of hiding dirty hair under a hat for as long as he could manage, he drank more than he ate, and more often than not cigarette butts never ended up making it into ashtrays.

But, on the other hand, he was incredibly sweet and unbelievably intelligent in every sense of the word, so it wasn't very hard to ignore those little...quirks. Most of the time. So, you still followed him into his room, unsure of what you were going to find when he went for his closet.

"Where are we even going?" You asked as you stepped around his piled up junk that almost completely covered his bedroom floor. If you were going to dress him, you needed at least a vague idea on what you were doing.

"Somewhere nice." He answered dismissively (and unhelpfully) as he pulled open his closet. There, you were met with exactly what he'd said it was: a giant pile of assorted clothes and loose socks. You let out a heavy sigh, and he motioned to it like he was giving you the go ahead. "But wear comfortable shoes."

That did not reassure you in the slightest, but you kneeled down regardless, starting to sort through what seemed like an endless abyss of weird shirts.

You couldn't help but laugh when you pulled out a long-sleeved shirt that was mesh and completely see-through, raising a questioning eyebrow as you held it up to him. He shrugged.

"Just in case." He supplied vaguely, taking it out of your hand and holding it out to inspect it himself. He then snickered. "You should wear this."

"You're funny." You said dryly, continuing to sort through shirts that all seemed to be black and all seemed to have some variation of a band logo or crude slogan on the front. You then pulled out his maroon button-up that he wore quite often for press. "What about this?"

"I don't like that shirt." Of fucking course. You huffed out a sigh, sitting down fully and leaning your head against the doorway of the closet as you looked up at him exasperatedly.

"Why not? You look so good in it." In fact, it had been the shirt he was wearing when you’d met him for the first time (and had, concurrently, realized you were deeply attracted to him), which made it one of your favorites. He made a face.

"It chafes." He was a handful sometimes. You gave him a look, because who knew he was so picky, before tossing the shirt to the side and continuing to dig. You then produced his white button up that had a little couple dancing printed all over it, which also looked really good on him, only to get a similar dismissal. "It's got stains."

You went through five more fucking shirts before you finally threw the simple long-sleeved black shirt he'd vetoed and let out a groan.

"I want to go on a date, but oh my god." You leaned your head heavily against the doorframe, looking up at him with helpless eyes where he was still standing over you with his arms tightly crossed. "Work with me here, honey."

"Honey, huh?" His lips were curling into a shit-eating grin, and you suddenly realized your vocal slip up. You had refrained from using any affectionate nicknames with Ville quite yet due to the newness of your relationship (you hadn't even been on your first date yet, for leading example), and it had just come out unconsciously. You froze a little bit, but he just grinned wider. "Stop picking all the garbage shirts and we can be done, honey."

"Okay. Final pick or you're just going to go on the date looking homeless." You said finally, patting his leg and then digging through the pile for a little bit longer before you came up with a black turtleneck. "Please say yes."

"Oh! I forgot I had that! You are a saint, love." Thank. Fucking. God. Ville immediately accepted the shirt, which didn't seem to have any stains, and it was then that you got a look at his disgusting, probably hardly-washed jeans.

"When you change your clothes, you usually change all of them." You pointed out dryly, motioning to the muddy, ripped bottom hems of his pant legs. And he wasn't wearing any socks.

"Find some pants, then." He was already taking off his t-shirt, and you sighed yet again as you turned back to your enemy of a clothes pile. Luckily, you quickly recovered a pair of gray tartan-patterned pants that didn't look too grimy, and you held them out to your boyfriend, who was in the middle of pulling a loose thread out of the turtleneck with his teeth.

"These?" With your luck, he was going to say something along the lines of 'they hurt my dick' or something. He looked over at you, staring at the pants for a long moment before he shrugged.

"Works." He confirmed. Thankfully, he was grabbing underwear out of the new pack that was sitting on top of his dresser (because apparently he'd rather buy new ones than just wash the ones he had), and you let out a breath of relief and grabbed him two socks before standing back up and bringing him the other half of his outfit.

"I can't believe people say that women take longer to get ready. You're not even dressed yet and I'm ready to go." You teased as you set the clothes on his bed, sitting down and putting your feet up to watch him get ready.

"Well you're the one who wanted me to change. I thought I was dressed nice." Ville defended himself, jabbing a finger at you as he undid the zipper of his jeans. "That's my favorite fucking blazer I took off."

"Hey. If I have my tits out and my hair nice, you have to at least change your clothes." You shot back, trying to keep your eyes on his face despite the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear underneath the jeans that he had just taken off. "Or you could just go in nothing at all, sexy."

"Hey. We are on a schedule here, young lady. Keep your libido under control." Ville lectured, making a whole show of covering himself with one hand while he unrolled his new pair of underwear with the other.

"Young lady? Ville, you're only a couple years older than me." You said dryly, throwing a hand in the air as he turned around to grab his cigarettes off of the dresser. And, as a result, giving you a front-row seat to the great view of his bare ass.

"I’ll be older in two weeks." He reminded you, shooting you a look over his shoulder as he stuck a cigarette between his lips. You rolled your eyes, then let them fall a little further south.

"Mm. Keep standing just like that." You joked, wiggling your eyebrows and in turn earning yourself a glare from Ville.

"Watch yourself." His underwear went on pretty fast after that. You groaned, rolling over onto your stomach on the bed and then letting out a long sigh of impatience, only to receive a hard smack to your ass. "Don't whine."

And you weren't allowed to flirt at all? Lame.

When Ville finally got dressed and had all his rings back on, your mood was immediately lifted by the fact that he looked deliciously, mouth-wateringly handsome. His hair was clean (for once) and tucked neatly back into a bun with loose strands falling in his face, and he was still smoking as he concentrated on getting his rosary out from under the neck of his shirt in the mirror. Now you really wanted to stay and do a little more than dinner. Chances are you would be putting out on this first date.

"Oh my fucking god. The cat is purring so hard right now." You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and grinning at him in the mirror. He gave you a shy smile, settling the rosary around his neck and then turning in your arms to give you a kiss.

"Your pussy is going to have to wait. Dinner first, honey."

—

Wearing nice clothes while in vans that looked like they were falling apart and him in a pair of scratched up Doc Martens didn't exactly feel classy, but as you and Ville arrived at a restaurant that you couldn't pronounce, that's exactly what you were doing.

Your grin just kept getting bigger when Ville got you seated at a tiny table in a corner away from everyone else, and you were barely able to let go of his hand when you had to move to sit opposite him.

"You want wine or beers?" He asked once the waiter left so that you could have some time to look at the menu, a slight smug look on his face at how much you were smiling. You leaned forward into your chair so that you could whisper.

"Which one makes you hornier?" You smiled coyly, brushing your foot against his under the table. He chuckled, biting at his lip just slightly.

"Red or white, darling?" Jesus Christ, he was hot. And you hadn't even really started talking yet. You knew that white wine made you a little bit of a spastic drunk, so you were going to lean away from that.

"Red."

A few minutes later you were both sitting with red wine in hand (and a fancy one that you’d never heard of, at that), and a little closer to each other at your table than you had started out.

"Okay. First date, so we have to ask each other first date questions and pretend that I wasn't inside you this morning." It was a good thing that you were away from everyone else, because Ville had no fucking filter, and he also didn't know how to whisper. You rolled your eyes.

"What's your favorite color?" Might as well play his games for the fun of it. He pretended to think even though you both knew what his favorite color was, before his eyes lit up just a little bit.

"The color of your eyes." He then winked at you, and his foot rubbed against yours harder than yours had his. "Are you single? I am."

"Ville." He could never do anything normally. He gave you a grin that told you he knew he was being a little shit, and he took a long drink of his wine.

"Alright, alright. I'll behave." He reached out across the table to take your hand, brushing his thumb over the top as his gaze softened in your direction. "You look fucking beautiful."

"Not as good as you look." You liked holding his hand, and you were pleased when he didn't let yours go. As you looked at him, something funny suddenly popped into your head. "You wanna know something funny?"

"Pray tell." He didn't look like he wanted to hear it, because you had a habit of finding stupid things funny that didn't qualify as the same in his book, but he indulged you regardless.

"Bam and Novak have a bet going on us." Your friends (who were simultaneously your biggest supporters and biggest haters), were more than invested in your relationship, and they’d jumped at the chance to shove themselves into it as much as they could. There had obviously been alcohol involved in that bet, but it was ongoing until either one met their goal. Ville deadpanned, and you held up a finger. "You cannot tell them I told you that."

"What the fuck is the bet on?" He pressed. You were putting yourself in trouble, because Novak and Bam had made you swear on your life that you specifically wouldn't tell Ville, but out of the three of them, he was the only one wining and dining you, so he had the upper hand.

"Bam doesn't think we'll stay together, and if we break up he wins, and Novak thinks we will, and if one of us gets a tattoo dedicated to the other, he wins." You revealed. You thought it was stupid (and yet a little funny that Novak knew the both of you well enough for the tattoo aspect), but Ville just laughed.

"Oh, Bam Bam. That's a little hurtful." He shook his head at the thought, tsking as he took another drink of his wine. "What the fuck is his problem? You and I are like...what do you say...two peas in a pod."

"I don't know. It's probably the fact that he's already in love with you, so he doesn't want anyone to take his place." Sometimes you got the feeling that Bam saw a competition between you and him for Ville's attention. Which was why he was betting against you, considering he always lost that game. "He says we fight too much."

Ville raised a disapproving eyebrow at that, looking at where you were holding hands as if to prove a point.

"Debating is different from fighting." He scoffed, giving you a look that told you that you couldn't disagree. Not that you would've. "I'll give him this. I have never dated such an opinionated woman in all my years of living."

"Telling you to change your clothes after two days isn't opinionated." Sometimes you wondered what the hell his previous girlfriends had been like if no one had ever brought that up to him before.

"You didn't let me finish. I was going to say 'caring' after that." Ville saved himself, grinning at his own words as he let your hand go in favor of fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket while letting out a sigh. "Don't listen to what Bam says, Y/n. His girlfriend barely even likes him."

"I don't listen to what Bam says." You scoffed, repulsed even by the thought of that statement. Bam was usually the last person on the list when it came to looking for good advice. You then shrugged, resting your chin in your palm. "I just...I don't know...I don't know how you'll eventually feel. I realize we live in two different countries, and we won't see each other very much anyway."

That revelation seemed to startle him, and he just stared at you for a second as smoke poured from his nose in two separate tendrils.

"So you lean more towards Bam's side of the bet." He surmised, not looking impressed by the fact. You winced, because when worded like that it didn't sound great.

"I don't want to, but I just...sometimes you seem too good to be true." That was a little embarrassing to admit, but Ville seemed to have a superpower in bringing out the honesty in you. He chuckled at that but didn't smile, taking another drag off of his cigarette before you felt his foot rub against yours once more under the table.

"Love, I am absolutely enamored with you. I know exactly what I want." It's like he was trying to stop your fucking heart. And he didn't even look affected in the slightest. "Every night you're not with me, I miss you in my bed. I miss the sound of your voice, the touch of your skin, your smell, everything. Every second of every fucking day."

Now it was your turn to stare at him for a second as you smiled a little dumbly, knowing that if you hadn't been at a table in the middle of a nice restaurant you would've been all over him.

"Okay." You said softly, letting him take your hand again and watching as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles with tunnels of smoke coming out of the corners of his mouth at the same time. "You know, you make me look bad with how good you are with words."

"Oh, don't be like that. It's my job." He didn't let go of your hand, instead keeping it rested against his lips while he continued to talk to you. "I would listen to you talk for hours. Doesn't matter what you're saying."

"You have listened to me talk for hours. And you didn't like it." You reminded him dryly. There had been multiple instances where you’d gotten drunk and then had just talked his ear off about worthless bullshit because you had no self-restraint, and Ville always looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"How do you know that?" He scoffed, watching you finish off the last of your wine with his eyes trained subtly on your lips. You then gave him a 'seriously?' look before motioning vaguely to his face.

"You have a look." It was pretty extensively used for things such as you making jokes about his ass, you drinking too much, talking his ear off about shit no one cared about, getting into fights, and more, but there was definitely a look. It usually lost momentum the more he drank, but a sober Ville's stare was fucking lethal.

"Okay. I'll admit, sometimes I'm just looking at your face and maybe not listening to what you're saying." He admitted, a smirk pulling at his lips as he did so. "Just like you're doing right now."

Damn. Caught. It's not like you could help it when he was literally still holding your hand to his lips while he talked with his head less than a foot away from yours.

"I can't help it! You look so handsome." You defended yourself, brushing your thumb back and forth on his cheek. You could feel just a tiny bit of scruff coming in, and a thought suddenly occurred to me. "Can you grow a beard?"

"The best I've done is a shitty goatee." He rubbed subconsciously at his face with the hand that was holding his half-smoked cigarette, his eyes staying on yours the entire time. "Makes me look fucking old, though."

"Ooh, does it really?" You bit your lip dramatically, trying to picture what your usually-smooth-faced boyfriend would look like with facial hair. Even hotter, if that was physically possible. "Have I ever told you I'm into older men?"

"Oh, really." He kissed your knuckles a little slower then, his lips lingering warmly as he watched you with teasing eyes. "Those extra few years really get you wet, is it?"

"Shut up. I'm saying you would look hot with a goatee, asshole." You complained, taking your finger and shoving it between his lips on purpose just to fuck with him. He immediately pulled your hand away and forcefully set it down, giving you that look again.

"Who taught you how to behave in fancy restaurants, hm? Were you raised in a damn barn?" He lectured, shaking his head as he wiped his mouth. "Maybe Bam thinks we won't work out because of your problem with keeping your hands to yourself."

"You need to learn how to have fun." You teased, rolling your eyes as you leaned forward to sneak a cigarette from his pack and his black lighter. When he just stared at you, you held your hands up in defense. "Okay, okay. I'll behave. Swear."

He put his foot over yours when you tried to rub it against his leg. "Yeah. You fucking better."

—

Once you were both fed and each had about a bottle of wine in you respectively, you decided it was finally time to leave (the decision was heavily influenced by the fact that Ville couldn't stop leaning in for kisses that were getting more and more indecent for public eye), during which you finally got what the second part of the date Ville was hiding from you was out of him.

"Okay. Now you have to tell me why I couldn't wear nice shoes." You said once you were out on the street where it had gotten dark and giggling at nothing in the cold because you were both tipsy. Ville zipped your jacket further where it was only half closed, motioning to the street in front of you.

"We're going on a walk to get home." He announced, lighting a new cigarette as he stepped down off the curb. His boots were protecting him from the snow, but your shoes were shit, so you had to grab his arm to help yourself off so that you avoided getting your feet soaked. "If you're sober enough to make it."

"It's just wine. That's like, one joint's worth of intoxication." You brushed it off, sticking your own cigarette between your lips after a night of stealing Ville's and fumbling around for a lighter. He then tutted as he watched you struggle, gently gripping your face in his fingers before turning you to face him.

Then, in a moment that could've whipped the pants right off of you had you not been in the middle of a freezing street, he leaned in, dragged off of his cigarette, and then pressed the cherry to the end of yours, igniting it with just his inhale.

You barely even had the mental capacity to inhale back, but you did, mouth hanging open just a little bit as smoke came pouring out of your noses simultaneously.

"I can't believe you're real." Wine didn't exactly leave you well-put-together. The words fell out of your mouth before your filter could stop them, and you knew you probably had a stupidly love-drunk look on your face as you said them.

"Don't slip, love." He snickered when you almost did exactly that, grabbing your hand tightly where you were holding his arm and then righting you so that you were steady on your feet again. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a smile on your face as you took a drag from your cigarette with no hands and quickly blew the smoke out of the side of your mouth.

"Do you like winter?" You asked as you kicked some snow, admiring how beautiful it looked even in the middle of the city. You weren't exactly a fan of being freezing cold considering you weren't wearing any pants and your dress was a tiny bit skimpy, but the visual aspect was nice.

"I don't mind it. I like autumn better." Ville responded thoughtfully, letting out a hint of a sigh when you almost slipped yet again. "You clearly don't do well in the winter."

"Hey! I'm fine. These shoes just suck." You defended yourself, pointing to the hole in the top where you could see the fabric of your sock showing through. "My toes are basically out."

"Are you waiting for those to fall off of your feet?" Ville made a face when he looked down and really inspected your feet, a tiny chuckle of disbelief accompanying his words. You then took your turn to keep him from slipping, and then almost slipped yourself when his weight redistributed heavily against you. He huffed. "Jesus fucking Christ. This was a bad idea."

"No no! I'm having fun!" You insisted, swinging his arm back and forth with yours where you were holding hands as you moved to walk under a building overhang so that it wasn't snowing directly on you both. "I like holding your hand."

"You're a lot more talkative when Bam's not around, you know that?" He said it after a second, and you looked at him in surprise where you had been trying to pull the hem of your dress down with your free hand.

"What does that mean?" Sure, you were pretty talkative right now, but it had a lot to do with the fact that you’d downed about a whole bottle of wine in a short period of time. You didn't know how you felt about his tone and what it suggested. He must've sensed this, because he squeezed your hand reassuringly.

"You're more open when it's just you and I." Alright. That was a good point. As a matter of fact, after about three glasses of wine, you’d had to restrain the urge to start telling him ‘secrets’, so he was pretty on the dot with that one.

"That's because when Bam's here it always feels like he's trying to compete with me for your attention, and I fucking hate that." You said truthfully, grimacing at the thought. You were half-wishing that your walk would last forever because you were having fun, but you were also half-wishing that you would get there faster because your legs felt like they were going to freeze off. Ville hummed in acknowledgement.

"I'm aware." To give him some credit, he was extremely talented in pretending he didn't see it, but it was pretty fucking obvious. You loved Bam to death, and Ville had been his friend first, but sometimes he was just a little...much. "Well, has your first trip here without him lived up to standard, then?"

"Past standard." You confirmed with a grin. You were thinking both of your very successful first date and the fact that you’d had sex in every room of his apartment multiple times over the last few days without any onlookers to stop you. It was very freeing on both ends. "I gotta say. You're not bad on your own, either."

"Was I before?" He asked dryly, considering you’d spent a couple days together at the start of the month. You took your interlaced fingers and stuck them in his pocket because your hand was cold as you laughed.

"Mostly no." When you earned yourself a dirty look with that answer, you snickered and then sighed. "It's because when I first met you, you freaked me out."

"I don't understand why. I was exactly how I am now." Ville reiterated what he'd already said multiple times with exasperation, throwing his free hand in the air. You had a feeling he had a general lack of self-awareness for how he came off to other people meeting him for the first time.

"You're also super quiet when you want to be. And you don't smile." Meeting a random man from a different country who was over 6 feet tall and possessed one of the most unnerving stares you had ever encountered and then immediately staying at his small apartment had been a little nerve wracking. Even for you, who were genuinely fine with putting yourself in dangerous situations. "And you're really hot."

"We should've fucked before. We could've." Ville said woefully, which was a little funny to you considering you’d seen your first time meeting as the both of you barely even interacting the entire time. He'd been super quiet around you, he'd been working half the time, and he'd been drinking himself to shit every other hour that had been available in the day. Not exactly great bonding material.

"We basically did like, a week later." You’d only been in Helsinki for a few days after you and Bam had come from Pennsylvania together before you and Ville had ended up in his bed. In the grand scheme of things, you actually hadn't taken much time to get to know each other at all. But Ville was ever the go-getter, apparently.

"Ah yes. The night you called me a Finnish god." Once again, he caught you just as you slipped on basically nothing. There was no traction left on the bottom of your shoes, and it was clearly showing. You groaned at the same time.

"Stop bringing that up. It's so embarrassing." You complained. You and Bam had been just fucking around and making jokes after you had assumed Ville had gone to bed, and apparently Ville had still been awake, because he had clearly decided that he was going to hold onto it for the rest of his life. He just laughed.

"Would you like to know a secret about that night?" Ville asked as he flicked his burnt cigarette butt off to the side, glancing down at you with a coy look on his face. You raised an eyebrow, because you weren't sure you liked the sound of that, before agreeing. He rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand in his pocket. "I was jerking off when I heard you say that."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"What?" Men never ceased to amaze you. Seriously. Jerking off with multiple people in the house that Ville had barely known at the time still being awake only a walk away was on a different fucking level. "What is wrong with you."

"We were drinking red wine and I couldn't sleep! I'm only a man!" Ville defended himself, his voice raising a pitch at your reaction to his admission. You just shook your head, because yes, he very clearly was just a man, as only a man would do something like that.

"I can't believe you. I touched your hand right after that, too." You were just teasing him for the fun of it, and you could tell that it was working because he let out a scoff.

"I fucked you right after that. You were fine with my cock being in you, but touching my hand that touched my cock would've been too much?" He asked sourly, shaking his head at you as he spoke. You patted his chest, laughing as he pouted beside you.

"I'm kidding! I'm just glad I didn't walk in on you while you were doing it." You had been high out of your mind that night, and you probably would've had a heart attack if you’d walked in on the super hot, super scary guy jerking it in the middle of the night. That had happened once since then, but thankfully you had known each other a little better by that point.

You had made it a good distance since you’d left the restaurant, and it hadn't been a super long cab ride to get there, so you knew you were getting close to home. However, when you almost slipped on the snow yet again, Ville suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Alright. I'm just going to carry you before you slip and bust your fucking skull." He announced with an unimpressed look, taking his hand out of yours and motioning towards his back. You grinned, because you were tipsy anyway and your shoes were full of snow, before your grin turned into a shy smile.

"Can I ask you a favor?" You asked, giving your best convincing look. He frowned at that, but sighed.

"What."

"Can I wear your coat? This dress is short and my ass is going to be out." He had a long coat that was fit for a Finland winter whereas your thin, fall-esque coat was doing close to nothing to protect you from the cold. At the reference of your ass being out, Ville was already shrugging said coat off, and you silently cheered in triumph.

"Give me your jacket." He said as he held his coat out to you, subconsciously pulling down his sleeves a little bit where they had rolled up as the cold air hit his skin.

"It's not gonna fit you." It was close to being snug on you, and his arms were considerably longer than yours. He just brushed that observation off, motioning for you to hurry up before you were swapping coats. And, low and behold, your coat didn't quite fit. You really wished you’d had a camera on you at that moment. His, on the other hand, was almost down to your feet, and you felt your grin go even wider as he knelt down to button it up for you.

"You look hot as all fucking hell, but remind me to never let you dress nice in the winter again." He grumbled as he slowly made his way upwards before he was finally standing up to his full height in front of you again. You reached up and cupped the back of his head, letting him lean down slightly before you gave him a kiss.

"You're a saint and a siren." You did your best impression of him, because that was exactly what he said to you every time you did him a favor, and pulled at least a hint of a smile out of him as he kissed you again before turning around and holding out his hands so that he could hold you when you got onto his back.

You kind of felt ridiculous in Ville’s long-ass leather coat and your exposed legs wrapped around his hips, but you had your chin on his shoulder to where your cheeks were pressed together, so you weren't that torn up about it. It also didn't hurt that his coat smelled strongly like his cologne, so you were basically being basked in his smell as he carried you down the street.

"You need to eat more. You don’t weigh enough." Ville huffed as he shifted his hands further under your thighs to hold you up, the sleeves of your coat riding almost all the way up his forearms as he extended them further.

"Why thank you." You joked, brushing a strand of hair that wasn’t held back by his bun out of his eyes before you went back to resting your chin on his shoulder.

"That's not a good thing." Coming from someone who was as skinny as a stick. You had been successful in lifting Ville the one time you’d ever tried, so he was one to be talking.

"Yeah whatever. You just keep walking, strongman."

—

When you finally made it home, you were both close to freezing to death, so when you stepped into Ville's heated apartment, there was a collective sigh of relief when Ville turned the lights on.

"Oh my god. I have to get in bed." You groaned as you took his coat off, cursing ever wanting to look pretty and dress up for once in your life due to the loss of feeling in both your legs and your feet. Your shoes were full of snow, your feet were damp, and your hair was frozen in certain places.

"You're very intolerant of cold." Ville commented in amusement as he shed your coat slower, watching you quickly kick out of your shoes and then peel your socks off.

"Finnish winters are different from American winters." You reminded him dryly, waiting impatiently for him to take his boots off as you pictured the warm, comfortable blankets on his bed. He chuckled at that, then eyed you with a look that you knew all too well.

"I've heard that the less clothes you're wearing, the faster you warm up." He said lowly, eyes sticking to your tits as he finally kicked his shoes off before he was coming towards you. You laughed as you rolled your eyes, only getting a few steps towards his room before he was right up behind you while smacking his hand onto your ass and squeezing harshly. "I can help get your blood flowing."

"Damn. I should make you drink red wine more often." You snickered as he basically shoved himself right up behind you to walk every step along with you, yelping slightly when his fingers found the hem of your dress and ripped it right up over your hips. And, thus, revealing the surprise underwear. You whined. "It was supposed to be a surprise!"

"Holy fucking shit. Get in the fucking room. Right now." Well, at least the purchase was well-received. You laughed as you did what he asked, his lips on your neck and his hands all over you the entire way there.

So, overall, first date: successful.

#ville valo #ville hermanni valo #ville valo x reader #ville valo fic #HIM #his infernal majesty #bam margera #brandon novak #jackass #jackass mtv #jackass movie #jackass imagine

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vintage-london-images · 1 year

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Following WW11 in the late 1940s, the fashion industry in Britain was in the doldrums. This was partly due to ongoing rationing, which made obtaining certain kinds of materials difficult to obtain.

In an attempt to kick-start the business, the men’s tailors of Jermyn Street and the West End of London devised a style based on the turn of the century, Edwardian clothing. They were hoping to sell to the young officer class who were being demobbed from the various services. Unfortunately for the tailors, the look didn’t catch on with their targeted customers and they were stuck with piles of unsold clothing. In order to get something back on their investment, they sold job lots to the menswear shops of East and South London at very cheap prices. These shops put them on display in their windows and the local working class youth took a liking.

So around 1951 a sweeping trend in fashion took over Londons teen boys. It was an adaptation of Edwardian romanticism which included tailored velvet blazers and button down shirts coupled with drainpipe jeans or trousers, skinny ties, and chunky leather shoes. Top off the outfit with a quiffed up hairdo, and you have the look of a classic Teddy Boy.

It was the newspaper The Daily Express that coined the term "Teddy Boy" in 1954 by shortening Edwardian or Edward to Teddy and the trend started to sweep the nation. These fashion-forward working-class teens had their roots firmly secured in music and dancing. Their style was closely identified with their youth and Teddy Boys built their culture around Jazz and skiffle music. However, when early rock-n-roll entered America's scene and crossed the Atlantic with the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis, Gene Vincent, Elvis, and Buddy Holly, the Teds found their true sound. The trend finally fizzled out in the mid sixties but later posed a comeback and is still popular today.

Please check out other posts with hashtag #video on @vintage-london-images

#london history #london life #london people #social history #street scene #london fashion #fashion #1950s #slideshow #video

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smurphyse · 2 years

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Ten Minutes To Curtain | Spencer Reid

Series Masterlist | Smurph's Masterlist

Part 19 of Room 405

Warnings: angst, tension, awkwardness

Summary: Spencer and Hotch head to the Nocturne to talk to Charlie... meanwhile you're getting ready backstage.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably as Hotch drove them to the Nocturne, tugging at his collar even though he’d unbuttoned the top few like you’d asked him to do.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hotch snapped after a while, glaring at his constant adjusting.

“I’m nervous, I guess,” Spencer shrugged, but he tugged at his sleeves under his blazer. “You and Mr. Arends both said this woman is… angry and hates cops.”

“Good thing you don’t look like a cop,” Hotch offered, and now it was Spencer’s turn to glare.

When they pulled into the parking lot of the Nocturne, it was already bustling with people and energy and it was only eight thirty. Hotch wanted to be early so Mrs. Arends couldn't sneak out when she found out they were coming.

Men and women, customers and performers alike, milled about outside, smoking cigarettes and hanging out in elaborate outfits. Hotch had worn a sportcoat and dark slacks that were tighter than he'd wear normally, trying to blend in. Spencer was glad you'd given him some direction on what to wear as he didn't look much different from the rich clientele that waited outside. He'd worn one of his nicer watches and styled his hair just to try and fit in.

He eyed the dancing neon sign as he had the night they found the body in the alley. Her pink leg kicked in and out as it had months ago when he first confronted you about having a husband. It felt like years now.

They went in the front door and down a hallway that led to another door. It was dark, lit with dim fairy lights and old burlesque pictures lining the walls. Spencer tried to keep his eyes forward and not gawk at the half naked women behind the frames, but he couldn't help but think how some of those outfits might look on you.

When they entered the next hallway, a brightly lit booth sat at one end. The woman behind the counter wore sultry makeup, dark dusted eyelids and deep plum lipstick with teased blonde curly hair. She was as scantily clad as the women in the pictures, in a pointed black bra and garter belt, but Spencer couldn't see much below that.

"Welcome to the Nocturne," she said sweetly with a dramatic flourish of her lace gloved hand. She waved it until her palm reached out, curling her fingers in a beckoning motion, "Entry fee, fifty dollars, gentlemen."

"Fifty?" Hotch scoffed, raising an eyebrow at her.

The woman waved her hand to a sign on the edge of the booth that read, Fifty Bucks! No ifs ands or… with a graphic of a woman's ample backside to finish off the wordplay.

They flashed one another an uncomfortable look and dug through their pockets for their respective wallets. They fished out fifty bucks and set the bills in her open palm. She brought the money up to sniff it, smirking at them over the bundle of cash. Hitting a button under the booth, the door to the right of it popped open.

"Remember, boys," she called as they went toward it, "no touching unless you're willing to pay for the privilege."

Spencer let out an awkward breath and followed Hotch through the doorway and into yet another hall. This time there was no door blocking them from the sights inside, just a frame with music and lights emanating at the end.

It was like they stepped into a den of sin.

Velvet lined the walls, sultry purple booths and tablecloths scattered around the packed lounge on a Saturday night. The place was lit with dimmed fairy lights, the stage still dark, with a bar to one side that was backed by large mirrors.

Waitresses in sky high heels and waiters in sleek oxfords wandered the lounge, dressed in…not much and leaning provocatively as they gladly took tips and slipped them into private places. Hotch and Spencer stood, starstruck, as their eyes struggled to make sense when both were so far out of their elements.

Drag queens, drag kings, dancers and musicians all walked past them in sparkly outfits and ridiculous shoes while clients lounged about handing out cash and taking drinks. Spencer recognized a few CEOs, senators, and to his surprise an FBI agent or two among the throng of people.

It was like a circus in here, a ridiculously rich and expensive circus, but a circus nonetheless.

"You two don't belong here," a dark voice came from behind, making both of them turn toward the bar.

A tall drag queen in a bright green feathered robe lounged on one of the stools, sipping from a sparkling martini glass. Her slick lipstick stained the side as she smirked and set it down. Her bright orange hair was piled high on her head, curls trailing down to frame her pretty face.

Her long legs were crossed as she leaned back on the bar, neon green platforms bobbing up and down as she watched them. She beckoned them with a finger, "How can I help you, gentlemen?"

"I'm Aaron," Hotch said smoothly, holding out a hand for her to take. She did, and he brought it up to his lips to kiss the back of her knuckles.

When he let her go, Spencer decided on a wave. You were the only person he really liked to touch. Hotch waved a hand at him, "This is Spencer, and you are?"

"Miss Fierce," she smiled brightly, but she made no move to stand. "I'm the makeup artist here."

"We have a meeting with Mr. Arends," Hotch told her, "We're a little early, but we'd like to speak with him."

She looked off toward her right and shouted, "Daddy!"

When they turned, Charlie Arends stood up sharply from behind the bar holding a case of wine. His face went red when he spotted Spencer and Hotch, but he came quickly around the counter and set the wine down.

Spencer had expected him to be in some sort of costume, but instead he wore a tight shirt and jeans with sneakers. His muscles were insane, but now that Spencer knew this to be a kind and sensitive bear of a man, he didn't feel intimidated by it much in the way he wasn't intimidated by Morgan anymore.

Charlie flashed them a crooked grin and leaned on the counter toward Miss Fierce. He put his chin in his hand and smiled at her, "Trust me, these two aren't good candidates for sugar daddies."

"Oh," she tutted, waving an acrylic nail at him, "why would I need them when I have you?"

She stood on those towering platforms a head over even Charlie, leaned down and pressed her lacquer lined lips to his for a quick second before pulling away. Miss Fierce waved her glass at them as she passed, purposely walking between them so she could flash a wink and say, "Play nice, boys."

"Don't take it personally," Charlie chuckled as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, "she flirts with everyone."

"She's…sweet," Hotch smiled, looking off in the direction Miss Fierce had gone, down a hall and up some spiral stairs.

"You guys are early." Charlie's smile turned into a twitchy grimace. He was nervous, that much was obvious. "I haven't seen my wife all day, so I haven't told her you were coming."

"Is she here?"

"Yeah, yeah," Charlie nodded, pointing off toward the spiral stars case, "Miss Fierce told me she's getting ready up behind the stage. The performers all have vanities back there."

"Shall we?" Spencer asked, but Charlie blanched.

"I'm gonna wait until after her set…" he trailed off awkwardly. "She likes to step on my toes when she's mad at me, and if she knows you're here she's gonna be pissed. Best to have witnesses."

Spencer tugged at his collar, his eyes going wide when he noticed two women dressed in sparkly barely-there underwear smiling at him. They waved at him and an embarrassed blush ripped across his cheek.

"What's up with you, doc?" Charlie asked when he noticed them. The girls let out playful yelps and dashed back up the stairs at Charlie's glare.

Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly when Charlie turned back his way, "I'm…uh, highly uncomfortable."

Charlie gave Hotch an exasperated look and waved an upset hand at Spencer, "She's gonna eat him alive!"

Hotch set his own hand on Spencer's shoulder, "Charlie, it'll be fine. Just go do your set and we'll be here when you and your wife are done."

Charlie grumbled to himself and snatched the wine case from the counter, "I gotta get ready anyways. Don't get too excited by the girls, my wife is as protective of them as our kids."

"I have a girlfriend…" Spencer trailed off awkwardly as Charlie stomped away.

Hotch huffed a laugh and steered Spencer toward the thick of the lounge. Smoke and shimmering lights flooded over them as they made their way to the center crowd, a lone table for two open for them.

A girl in pink underwear scooted up on roller skates and deposited two whiskey tumblers on the table. She popped a large bubble from the gum in her mouth that matched her hair color, holding her hand out for a tip.

"We didn't order these," Spencer said slowly, but she shook her hand and stuck it out further expectantly.

"Courtesy of Miss Fierce," she squeaked cheerfully, popping her gum again. "Not courtesy of me. Tip your waitresses, folks."

She pointed to a metal 50s style sign that reiterated her statement, so Spencer handed over a ten as it was the smallest bill he had.

"Knew you cuties were good for somethin'!" she said, smiling wide and stuffing his cash in her bra, "Enjoy the show!"

Spencer cocked a brow at Hotch, who took the glass and a large pull on it, so he did the same. It was a sweet bourbon, just a hint of spice. Miss Fierce picked a perfect drink.

He settled into the soft velvet backed chair, a perfect view of the stage in front of him. The presenter's voice rang out above the crowds in a 20s style circus MC.

"Ten minutes to curtain, friends and fiends… get your drinks now to get your kicks soon."

Spencer took another drink. It was going to be a long night.

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

You dusted body glitter over your breasts as you sat in front of your vanity. They were nearly spilling out of your bra with the bit of pregnancy weight you'd gained. You could have smacked yourself for stupidly thinking it was your period after four pregnancies and five kids.

You were still nervous to tell Spencer, and you hadn't seen Charlie all day, so you were still holding onto your secret. It ate at your insides and made you feel sick, but you hoped dancing would take some of that away as it usually did.

You loved performing. Even after your original shame from your origins as a stripper and call girl, you loved it. It gave you a chance to let go, your only outlet before you met Spencer.

"Mmmm," Miss Fierce hummed as she came up the spiral stairs, her large platforms clomping and her feathered robe flowing gracefully behind her. "There's some handsome men out there tonight, Momma."

"Any eligible bachelors?" you crooned sweetly as you watched her come up behind you in the mirror.

"There's a sweet one with puppy dog eyes you could eat up," she purred, setting her hands on your shoulders and smirking at your reflection.

You reached up your little glitter brush and dusted her nose with it, "I'm taken lady, there's only one pair of puppy dog eyes for me."

"He the reason for those bruises on your neck?" Tessa called as Miss Fierce swatted your brush away and plopped into the seat next to you.

"Yeah, and what about those tits you got all of a sudden?" Fierce smirked, waving a hand at your swollen bosom. "You get a boob job we don't know about?"

"Hey," you scolded playfully, trying and failing to cover them with your hand. "I've had five kids hanging off these things, of course they're big."

"That's why I'm glad mine are fake," one of the other drag queens laughed, shaking her silicone chest. "I can change the size any time I want."

You all laughed as the announcer Marty, a tattooed man with a slick handlebar mustache, called out for the ten minute curtain. The crowd roared with excitement, amping you and the other performers up.

Charlie came up behind you in just his pants as he tugged on the top of his costume, kissing your cheek. He sat down next to you and pulled on his dancing shoes as Tessa leaned over and smiled.

"Daddy, did you knock Momma up again? We're in a fit over her new boobs."

Charlie looked up sharply, his gaze landing on your breasts. He squinted at you but he shook his head, "Nah, we haven't shared a bottle of wine in a while."

"Shame," Miss Fierce frowned, twirling a makeup brush in her hand, "you two make such pretty babies."

Charlie looked rushed as he finished getting ready, so you turned in your seat and leaned your elbows on your knees. Tapping his forehead with your finger, you smiled softly when Charlie finally met your gaze.

"You okay?"

Charlie swallowed thickly like he did when he was nervous, but he flashed you a smile back, "Yeah, baby. Just got distracted."

"I told you, puppy dog eyes out there is cute," Miss Fierce crooned, and Charlie blanched.

He stood quickly and held out his hand for you, "C'mon, they're waiting for us."

You took his hand, watching him with concern. He led you over to the stage, the large red velvet curtain waiting to be pulled up so you could be presented.

You squeezed Charlie's hand, and he gave you a small smile as he squeezed back. You wanted to tell him about the baby right then and there, but you weren't sure what his reaction was going to be since it wasn't his. And you had work to do.

"Do you need Manny to step in?" you asked, talking about his backup dancer.

"No, this is our number, baby," he said with a prideful grin. "Our song."

"Okay," you hummed, deciding you'd press him on it later. "Let's make rich men spend some money."

Charlie chuckled lightly and nodded, "Let's do it."

Marty's voice echoed out, promoting a round of yells and table pounding in the crowd's excitement.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…"

Notes: oooohhhhh... you guys are not prepared.... How do you think Spencer and Sweetheart are going to react when they notice eachother in the Nocturne??

CM Taglist:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo

Room 405 Taglist:

@rexorangecouny @nomajdetective @halloween-is-my-nationality @spenciesprincess @hoely-scripture @gspenc @princesssmooshie @loveeee2134 @reidslefteyebrow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @hotchandspencearedilfs @barbietiingz @riverjane-d @2-gay-possums-in-a-trench-coat @simplyparker @thebloomingeagle @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @fangirling-galore @randomhoex @drspencerreid80 @kbakery@fortheloveofwonderland @athenabrown @yukachankyu @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @baciamisottolalucedicentostelle @athenabrown @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @elhotchner

238 notes · View notes

vamqyr3 · 2 years

Note

hii! hope ur well plsplspls could u make a one shot ab how the reader makes valeria mad on purpose like maybe with another guy? idk just something bro there's nothing for her 😭😭

↳ VALERIA “EL SIN NOMBRE” GARZA, TASK FORCE 141 // ATTENTION. ★

CW// PUBLIC, BRAT TAMING, SPIT, EXHIBITION, ROUGH, RESTRAINING, POSSESSION, MAINLY ALEJANDRO X FEM!READER, ECT.

NOTES// I still need more requests guys..💔 also real talk? This was mid. Do I care? No. But know in a different timeline I can write better than this.

The wooded floor clicked under boot and heel. Handfuls of political leaders and influential head figures weighed down the foundation. Valeria had been down in that musty room for ages. Left you at the elevator, told you to stay put and took the Scotsman with her. She had a horrible insatiable hungry need to keep you safe at all times, away from danger and smuggled behind bullet shielded doors. It was infuriating, it was dismissive of your years of training, the war thick scars on your sides and the time spent fighting by her side. You had a capacity for violence too, for action, for mischief.

You should’ve jumped in the pool, peeled off the shell of clothes and let any mayor of the city see the brand of bra you wear. But the mayor secured protection under law, and the alliance with the peoples to the south provided useful in territory scuffles. To do that would undoubtedly hurt her, that would be selfish. Just anything to get her attention, really.

There’s two men down the hall, to the right of you, another wears a mask flat against the elevators adjacent wall. Valeria was smart to leave you with a guard, nice even. But she was dumb to leave you unattended, needy. You wanted to see just how far you could push it.

“What’s your name?”

“Andres, miss” He refuses to look at you, hands hidden to the back of the suit. You had hated Diego for many things, including his choice in uniform. The ski mask and blazer was trashy, it served no purpose in anonymity and led to complications. You couldn’t even see his reactions to your senseless parade of angled looks and sugary words. That man, the man named Andres wearing a mask? That man would do just fine to entertain you tonight.

“I could get you out of here,” he’s finally looking at you, tilting the left most side of your hip upwards. “Get someone to cover your post and finally get you off your feet,” He stands there silently for a moment, smelling bits of dust and digging into the velvet carpet. “No thank you, miss,” he doesn’t seem to understand.

“Scared the big bad Diego’s gonna find you?” Your jutting bottom lip smooths your words to sound mean, condescending. You know he’s not. “I cannot let you out of my sight,” his head bobs with every gritty word. “No, your just worried the boss is gonna catch your ass,” you make footprints in the rug leading up to him, hooking the best of your finger round the dry belt loop of his pants. You smell sweet, and move your mouth even sweeter, cutting holes in his figure with your eyes and letting the poor boy marinate in filth. “You know, I could get you in with the top dogs, get you a real nice seat next to El Sin Nombre,” there’s a glint in the gelatinous coating of your waterline, it turns up to resemble your brows. The air around him is stale and your touch is sudden, leaving his back rigid. You smile.

Valerias shouting to the end of the hall, pushing the scotsman, Diego trails behind. She yells like a chastising mother, having caught the two of you red handed. She breaths steams of anger and tugs at you with excitement. There’s a twinge of pain as her hand chokes the back of your arm, it leads to a trip or two of your feet. A left foot dance to the elevator, up a few floors and down the way.

The rest of the night had went to shit. Left you choked up and humiliated. It had Diego dead, Valeria in storage crate and you zip tied and rubbed raw. The men had refused to let you into the metal jail as they spoke, yet had arrested you in hopes to use you for intel. You could still hear yelling echoing from inch to inch, but it’s sharp undertones went silent crashing along the walls. And that man? Andres? He grabbed you in a same fashion Valeria had to stuff you back into the chipped shipping crate.

She was not tied to the chair, the two of you shared equal opportunity to snap past the bunch and struggle with the door. But they were armed, they were tall and they were men. The door closes behind you, clipping shut on its lock, and Valeria stands proud under light, atop a chair.

“What’s your plan?”

“I give them what they want, they go,” Her head juts in the direction of her words and she pauses a while to pick at her next choice sentence. “We’re you in on this?”

“What? Baby, I’m handcuffed, how would I be in on this?”

“I don’t know you tell me,” She grows alive in her seat, stalking closer, arms folded. “You were the one humping Alejandro in the back of the elevator,”

“Who?”

“The man I left you with,” she’s coughing at your ignorance, cold to the marrow of her bones. You could only assume at some point she had found reason in your doe eyes, rationed logic and self induced restraint. Because soon after her nose points to dim lit chair and commands you to sit in it, and you do.

She looks down into you, surveying the twitch of your knee and the curve of your lidded eyes. The way you flinch under the weight of her hand, smoothing over your breast to jawline. Tilting your cheek to look back to her, poking your legs apart with her boot and curling wet lips into one another.

They talk just outside, a chilling reminder of the not only dangerous, but annoying situation you sat on. Hopefully she didn’t intend to enact her humiliating bouts of revenge with the cowboys so close on listing ears?

“Do you think it’s funny?” the hem of your crisp cut jeans ringed around her knuckle. “Hm? Getting a rise out of me?” ”Yeah, like you ever fuckin’ pay attention,”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? You act like a bitch to get my attention?” You smile and twist your hips away, palms wring your thick sides back into the hard bit of the chair. “Answer me, don’t play dumb,”

“No, I just get bored,”

She smacks at the side of your face, pressing her cheeks flat and kneeling down to your size. Wetting the bottom of your lip, her hand rolls into your underside, feeling up the clothed meaty bit of your crotch. There’s a ear splitting ever constant hiss of the lamp, the noise outside seems to be thinning and her patience follows in toe. “They’re right outside,”

“Oh? But, I thought you wanted the attention?”

Furiously, she unsticks the clasp at your hips, tearing down at the fabric like it was scolding hot and wrangling your twisting bottom. The butt end of her thumb rubs between you, raw and rhythmic. The connect of your slicked lips on hers make recognizable clicking sounds and it lulls you to a daze.

If only they knew just how good of a show you had put on earlier. Knew the silhouette of her tongue in cheek, the attention her hands placed roughly upon your body. The thick smell of her heavy breath, the taste of her teeth and the feel of her torso fighting yours. Her pointed fingers map the outline of your bottom half, other hand finding purchase on the meat of your hip, she takes care to drag the topside of her index along your sticky cunt. Sloshing past the fatty folds and kissing the velvety walls. Her movement is slow and meticulous, grazing the rivets of your innermost nerves.

You instinctively slot your mouth open, hoping to let noise out. She’s quick to make you forget about the company outside, the immense swelling of distress and bitter tasting words fall flat against her gooey fingers. You want her to go faster, the twinge of your hipbone mock a faster pace and she’s quick to shut it down with a slurry of sharp snaps to your silken clit.

You didn’t know how loud you were. But using the scream of the tactile aluminum door groaning alive in action, your breathy pants pale in comparison. Though evidently loud enough for a soldier outside to hear. One of the bunch is sulking through the door, dipping through the shadows. Valeria seems not to care, refusing to turn her back and flexing the muscle of her forearm delving wide into you. He clears invisible bits of stuff from his throat, hand ringing the upper half of the tactical vest with his right hand, nodding and smiling.

“Take a look at this,” it’s that Alejandro boy. It was an unlucky roadblock, but you didn’t mind. You wouldn’t mind flirting with any other man and having her fuck you with your head in their lap. Watching them grow alive with want. Wouldn’t mind the smack of her hand on your ass sending you up into the cold wall, clash loud enough for the group to hear. But she did care, a lot.

She’s sparking with a new found anger, barring her teeth and curling out to scare him away. He’s throwing up his palms and smiling into a laugh, exchanging a few heated words in their native tongue and refocusing back to you. The door’s still open on it’s hinges, a white back drop to contrast the darkness encased within the metal cube.

He scoots past Valeria, sliding a finger down your jawline and testing your temper. Your shifting a bit to get the seams of your jeans to fall back in place, an action preferably done manually now stopped by the zip ties wound round your prickled wrists.

“I bet you don’t mind sharing?” “Valeria seems too,” he’s laughing, face ribboning to make way for teeth. “She’s all bark, no bite,” Her hips roll In the same fashion of her eyes, pink tongue picking at her gummy check. The soles of her feet unstick from the floor and her thighs level with the ground, face now close enough to tear down the straps of your clothes and have you jumping at the chilly seat. Alejandro is edging on uncomfortably close, hints of his lower half glaze the shell of your ear and he won’t stop smiling. Saying something along the lines of, “Didn’t know Valeria could wrangle something as pretty as you.” You can taste her anger, feel it through the tips of her tongue on your clit. If getting her pissed was how this all started, you would do it all again.

The folds of his pant rolls over your nose, propping open your mouth and sticking your eyes back onto her, you map the outline of Alejandro’s cock with your teeth. Spit seeps back into the cotton drying out the reservoir behind your lips. You didn’t mind if his boney palm eclipsed the back of your hair, smashing you wider, it made her eyes thinner, sharper. Made your knees creep farther and chair jiggle with excitement.

Her tongue smooths over the beady dot, inching back and forth with the suction of her mouth. Pink nails make red hot half moons into the plush of your thigh. She licks your nerves, sliding into every ridge and leaves wet trails of ecstasy. You wanted to fuck her like an animal and Alejandro’s task to pick up on it. Excitedly unraveling the thick knots of his pant hem, he’s jumping out of the clothes.

The Scotsman is second to follow, outlined in white light and overcast with shadow. He’s stood on his left foot, leaning into the doorframe. You turn your head to look at Alejandro, frantically spilling out from under his elastic banded underwear. He holds himself up, other hand pushing down the tops of his boxer shorts. Your quick to leave lines of kisses under his hand, Valeria bites at you in protest. Maybe Mohawk would join in, stand opposite of his comrade and strip you of a shirt. Make you ring your hand around him, fuck himself into the hold and steady your face on Alejandro with his palm. Just maybe.

Your jaw falls slack to envelop the man, he slots far into you, hard bits of your mouth graze the uppermost top of him. Valeria sweetens the dance of salt and slobber, ribbons of syrupy spit slide down your chin, bubbling off your lips. You want to plead with her to go faster, let your hands and hips go to buck into her. But the tight flinch of your muscle with every swallow screws your eyelids and brows together. You’ve been made to sit there and take whatever they damn near please.

“What’s going on down there Alejandro? You gotta party and didn’t invite me?”

“You wish, Graves,”

Not only could they hear you on comms, but through the wide voided doorframe, no doubt. Soaps absentmindedly nudging at the knot in his crotch. The sight alone is leaving silky thick ropes between you and Valeria’s full mouth. It all edges between too much to handle, the hard collide of his stomach on your chin leaves a ringing louder than the lamp in your ears. Your whole body’s buzzing, tiptoeing off the floor trying to escape Valeria for a moments rest. Some other man has an arm slung around the shoulder of Soap, eyeing you down just as hard.

He begins to Crescendo, popping out a while and leaving the cream splattered tip to lay on the plato of your puffy tongue. Your lover’s quick to reprimand him, switching her tired mouth for broad thumb. Kurt swipes shiver your lower abdomen, have you tightening on gasps of air. The warmer half of you is melting into the chair, charred in the heat of ever constant stimulation. Alejandro’s back in your mouth, digging into your rippled and beaten throat with a strong hand to guide the senseless berate.

They’re mumbling about near the door, fist deep in their pants. Valeria shifts on her knees and starts with a new passion, throwing your hips back onto her nose and bumped muscle. The gagging and sputtering is quelled with a sense of familiarity. You’re pulling on the ties, choking for tight air. He’s laughing at the view, little bits of juice collected in the lines of his forehead. He begins to palm at your chest, rolling the meaty pouch between his leathery fingers. Graves is on the radio, his words of encouragement are mixed with static and hot air. Commenting endlessly on just how good it sounds, how the boys wish they were there. Alejandro is impossibly loud, Valeria’s using your thighs to cut off the screams, burrowing farther and farther. Her fingers tapping at your clit, tongue pressing into your mushy hole.

She’s pushing you through your undoing, waving her face all over. It leaves you twitching in the chair, struggling to exhale while still gagging. His hand never leaves your skull, finding pleasure in your pained chokes. Alejandro’s right hand shoots up to cup your ear, pressing your nose into his pelvic bone. And he stays there, far and wide, balls deep into your throat. Mouth a perfect ring and making new wrinkles into his temples. He unsheathes himself after a good while. You fail to see the boy’s reaction to it all, Valeria’s quick to rise high and cut your sights short. Latching onto your jaw angrily, she’s prying your teeth to part, kissing and licking the musty salt and cum out. She pulls back, satisfied, purses her cheeks and spits it all back.

“Swallow,”