#robin iii smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

streamafterlaughter · 2 months ago

Text

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter III: I Carry You Around

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev

song(s) for this chapter: roam the room by citizen, drunk ii by mannequin pussy

a/n: i forgot how hard it was to get a new story going, but we’re movin!! please enjoy this lil chapter while i work on the new one :p also! thank you guys for 200 followers that’s kinda crazy for me on this site. 🥳🎉❤️

summary: you need some help recalling the events of last night

chapter tags: drinking/drug (weed) use, description of throwing up (reader), swearing, reader has a lot of nicknames (to avoid using y/n), slight angst, big game of telephone. | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI

disclaimer: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

tag list: reply/message to be added! @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj

“Hey,” Robin pokes you, still snoring constantly next to her on the air mattress. “Hey, wake up! I’m starving!” she shakes you lightly, and you groan. “C’mon, Benny’s is never packed this late. I’m buyin’.” Your eyes flutter open at the mention of her treating you.

“Okay, okay. I’m awake.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to think the last vodka sprite killed you.”

“It probably should’ve.” You squint, attempting not to let too much light in before you know the status of your hangover. You blink a few times, focusing solely on not sitting up too quickly. “Alright, I think we’re in the clear. Bacon sounds so good right now.”

“Is she up?” Steve calls from the kitchen, over the clatter of bottles being thrown into the recycling bin.

“Yeah, I’ve tempted her with free food.” Robin giggles, following your lead of slowly exiting the blow up bed. “Will the Insufferable Bard be joining us on the breakfast quest?” You regret the words after they leave your lips.

“Is the evil queen asking little ole me to tag along?” Eddie practically skips into the living room, way too chipper for your hungover brain to handle. Steve has the balls to snicker. “I’d be absolutely delighted to accompany you to dine for breakfast, Highness.” He curtsies for emphasis.

“Never mind, actually. I just remembered I’m needed somewhere that, um, not here.”

Eddie tsks at you. “Ah, no take backs. Shall I get your coat?”

Fluffy diner pancakes and greasy bacon can and do save you. You moan as you shove a bite full of syrup and pancake into your mouth, met with similar responses as your friends devour their food. You can feel Eddie staring at you from across the booth.

“So, did I sleep through all of the cleaning?” You ask after swallowing. “I promise that wasn’t the intention.”

Steve shakes his head, sipping his coffee. “Actually, you did most of it last night. You don’t remember?”

You squint, as if trying to see the blurry memories in front of you. You remember playing beer pong, and then losing beer pong. You remember bits and pieces of conversations with Robin and Steve. You remember Chrissy running out of Steve’s bedroom. Then nothing. “Huh. Guess not.” Usually you only black out when you’re angry, but you can’t remember anything viscerally upsetting happening to you. Not consciously.

Steve shrugs. “Weird. Nah, we let you sleep. It was hard enough getting you into bed.”

You feel your cheeks burn. “Sorry, Steve. Guess I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Nah, I didn’t do anything. Eddie pretty much took care of you.”

Your blood freezes in your veins, draining quickly from your face. “What?”

Steve places his mug down, and Robin throws her arms in the air in defeat and disappointment. “What? What did I say?”

“Seriously, dingus?”

Eddie’s gone silent, silverware long abandoned on his plate. “You promised you weren’t gonna bring that up.” The words are muffled behind his hand.

“I did?”

Robin slaps her palm to her forehead.

“What the hell is going on?” You look from Steve to a red cheeked Eddie.

He sighs. “Sorry, princess. Guess your knight in shining armor’s an ogre.”

You’re gaping. Not a single part of this makes sense to you. You and Eddie haven’t been that close in years. “Aren’t you already Chrissy’s ogre though?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, irritated as he shoves a bite of toast into his mouth. “That’s none of your business.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Okay, shit. Didn’t know you were so sensitive about it.”

“I think I’m lost here.” Steve interrupts, leaning over Robin to reach for the syrup.

“Can we move on, please? I don’t feel like talking about this.”

The response is an awkward silence.

“Thank you.” Eddie says, mouth full of bread. You surrender, for now. You make it a point in your head to find out more. It’s only fair, you reason, I was there too.

—

“Chris, you home?” You call your brother as you enter your apartment. Guitars are blaring from the back of your house, loud enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you. You wander down the hall, checking the empty bathroom and kitchen on your way. “Chris?”

“Hey, Bug!” Chris calls from the spare-bedroom-turned-studio, turning his stereo down. “C’mere a sec, need your opinion on something.” You follow the sound of his voice into the room, taking in the sight in front of you. Chris has sprawled himself out on the floor, a skateboard deck dismantled in front of him. “Can I ask you something?” You lean against the doorframe, observing your brother.

“You just did.”

You scoff. “Can you remember anything from last night?”

Your question stops his movement. “Uh, maybe. Which part?”

“It’s spotty after midnight. What happened to me?”

Chris turns to face you, and you move to sit in the office chair across from him. “Well. You still can’t handle your liquor.”

“Oh, c’mon. I had, like, three drinks.”

“Yeah, and you got your ass beat in beer pong. I know you hate it, but beer still has alcohol in it.”

“Oh, shut up. Tell me what happened!”

“Okay, but you can’t get mad.”

“I will not be making any promises.”

Last night (as told by Chris)

You stumble into the kitchen, on your way for yet another refill, but you’re stopped short by the solid torso dawned in old leather, reeking of weed. “Man, roadblock.” You Look up to find Eddie looking down at you, eyes curious, joint in hand standing next to your brother, blocking the cooler. “Move aside, dweebs.”

“Hey, Bug. You okay?”

“Hm?” You try to focus on Chris’s face, squinting hard, as if you’re looking directly at the sun. “Yeah, ‘m cool. It’s bright in here.” The lights aren’t even on.

“No, she’s not.” Eddie’s eyes are fully trained on you, concern written plainly on his face. The kid likes to party, but he knows his limits. You, unfortunately, cannot say the same. You rest against the sticky counter, but immediately retract at the sensation, breathing shallowly through your nose. Eddie can see the panic in your eyes when they linger in space for a second too long.

“She’s gonna puke. Move, I got her.” Eddie sprints to your aid, leading you down the hall by the waist, draping your arm over his shoulder, and into the bathroom. “Eddie, ‘m fine.” You slur, completely unconvincing. The bathroom is empty, thankfully. The party’s been over for a while, but you’d slammed quite a few without hesitation tonight, and Eddie thinks, perhaps, he had something to do with it.

“Hey, I got you, c’mere.” Eddie holds your hair back as you crouch in front of the toilet, the only thought going through his head being “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”, while he reaches with his free hand to wet a washcloth. When his back is turned, you let it rip, and he rushes back to your side, placing the cool cloth against your clammy forehead. “Feel better?”

Your face screws tightly in concentration. “Gettin’ there.” You string the words together, like you’re too afraid to open your mouth any wider. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not like we’re friends.” You flinch after you say it.

“Maybe not, but I know too-drunk-to-stand when I see it. Wasn’t gonna let you try to find your own way here.”

“Or you’re secretly in love with me.” You tease, voice strained.

“Okay, now you’re talkin’ crazy. C’mon sweets, it’s bedtime.” He dodges your comment, eager to get out of there.

“Nooo,” You whine, and Eddie smiles dopily at you. “I’m not tired!”

“Doesn’t matter. You stay out here, you’re destined to give yourself alcohol poisoning. C’mon, we can go set up your bed downstairs.”

“You tryna suggest something, Munson?” You tease, wobbly as he helps you stand up.

“What would I be suggesting?” You shrug. You must not have a clue what you’re saying right now. “Did your brother tell you something?”

“What? No, I’m kidding, Eddie. We don’t like each other, remember?”

“No, you don’t like me.”

Your resolve seems to slip, but only a little. “I have my reasons.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know.” He stands up, and offers his hand out for you. You grab it, using it to pull your weight up from the ground. “Okay, prince charming. Whisk me to bed.”

“As you wish, princess.” He helps you get back downstairs, and into the already prepared air mattress. “Your throne awaits.”

You giggle as he guides you down, staying parallel to your body in case you lose your balance. You make it unscathed though, and he brings the blanket up to your chin. “Here,” He pulls an unopened water bottle from his back pocket. “Lemme get you a bucket or something, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” You reach out and grab his hand. He looks at your face, the way your eyes are already half closed like your eyelids weigh a ton. “Can you take them off?”

“Excuse me?” He chokes.

“My boots. They’re hard to take off.” You point to your feet, sticking out of the blanket and clad in heavy leather.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course.” He clears his throat nervously, busying his hands with the buckles of your shoes. By the time he slides the second one off, your head has hit the pillow, and you’re snoring peacefully.

—

Present day

You feel your stomach drop, much akin to the way it must have felt last night. “That did not happen.”

Chris shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Maybe I got some details wrong. After he got you to bed he was freaking out. I don’t get why you have such an issue with the guy.” He shrugs, turning back to his board.

You furrow your brow at him. “Are you being serious?” He whips his head back to you, confused. “Remember? He got you put in prison?!”

He stares back at you, blank faced. “What are you talking about?”

“He ratted you out, Chris! Testified against you! Snitched! I know I blacked out last night, but c'mon! You were in the room when it happened!”

“Oh, my god.”

“What?!” You’re beside yourself, absolutely at a loss. “Chris, don’t tell me you forgive him for that.”

“Beebs, my beautiful, innocent, cherub of a little sister. You have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” Somewhere in the distance, Chris’s phone is ringing, and your vision goes white.

“What does that even mean?!” Chris ignores you, picking up his cell. “Chris!”

“Yo,” You can’t hear the voice on the other line. “Hey, man. Relax. No, she’s good. Alive, thanks to you probably. Kinda pissed, though.” He looks to where you’re silently seething at your brother. “No, I didn’t say shit! I just filled in some blanks from last night.” You can hear Eddie on the other line, voice frantic, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. “Okay. No, I won’t. But you have to.” Long pause. “Yeah, you do. I thought she knew!” He waits. “I don’t care! She has every right to, actually! I would be pissed, too! Figure it out, dude.” He hangs up and looks back to you. “Eddie has some explaining to do.”

—

#st #fics #munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #angst #slow burn #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #both i guess idk #sdf #willow writes sins #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic

82 notes · View notes

sheisjoeschateau · 11 months ago

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper. It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly.

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though. He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all.

And the way that Harrington looks at you? Especially when you’re not looking�� Holy shit.

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust.

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

.................

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy. Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored. He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful. He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love.

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this. You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door.

***

thanks for reading :) comment to be added to my tag list for this series.

tags: @erastourvip @xprloki @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #murray bauman #enemies to lovers trope #they're in love your honor #Murray is a schemer #sorry stancy

262 notes · View notes

fairyysoup · 6 months ago

Text

to hell and back

matters of taste part III (repost)

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

summary: Having learned of the upside-down and the creatures therein, you, Eddie, and Steve have to cover up the damage to the bakery before the boss finds out.

chapter warnings: smut, threesome - M/M/F, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), handjobs, ball play, cum play, spit kink, daddy kink, praise, overstimulation, mentions of a creepy manager being creepy, mentions of violence toward said creepy manager, like one tiny vine reference if you squint, not edited (we die like the demobat)

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MDNI

You should probably have figured that between Steve and Eddie, they had some weird shit going on.

To be fair, you wouldn’t have figured that the weird shit involved extradimensional faceless monsters that eat people, but alas.

The air in the bakery feels… strange. You could cut the tension with a knife, and it’s too quiet even with Benny Goodman playing on the PA. You’re staring at the crispy carcass of the- what had Steve called it? Demobat- but your heart rate has long since slowed down again, because Steve is cradling you in his lap on the floor.

He’d insisted on holding you, actually, as he told you (in quite a meandering way that you had to pick apart in places) everything about… well, everything. And as much as you have trouble believing in an alternate hellscape dimension that looks exactly like Hawkins and lives under the floor, or something, you have trouble refuting it now. You’re staring at it, right in front of you.

Steve squeezes your hand in his and holds it tightly to his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat. Maybe that’s what helped you to calm down so quickly- your head lays on his shoulder, and each time you breathe the scent of his cologne fills your lungs. Cinnamon, clove, patchouli and rose; it’s lulling you without you even realizing it. He rocks you side to side, his arm around your back holding you to him like an anchor.

You might be a little bit in love with him now. It’s okay.

“So that’s, like-” Steve doesn’t let you release his hand, so you just sort of flex your fingers toward the pulsing mass that’s grown on the wall of the pastry case- “that’s a portal to hell?”

“Um.” Steve tilts his head toward you. “Yeah, I guess… if you wanna look at it that way.”

“Okay.”

It’s quiet for a moment. You can feel Steve frowning, but he doesn’t elaborate on it anymore. He doesn’t need to, his crash course on it had taken him twenty minutes beginning to end.

There’s another reason for Steve’s silence, though. He’s always fallen really easily for people, which is why he made a science out of hiding his feelings. With Eddie, it was really simple. Not painless- there was a lot of pain, actually. He almost didn’t believe it when Eddie showed up at his place, after waking up alone in the upside down and finding his way out. Steve didn’t get attacked nearly as bad as he did. He remembers, clear as day, opening the door and coming face to face with a blood-soaked Eddie, pale as hell and nearly collapsing into his arms. Steve had no idea how Eddie had known his address, but he hasn’t questioned it much. Gift horses and mouths and such.

And his parents, well. They’re never home, so they wouldn’t notice if he had Eddie Munson shacking up in his bedroom while he recovered from getting almost eaten alive by demonic bats. He imagines that he felt a little bit like how Mike Wheeler must have felt when he was hiding El in his basement.

He was no stranger to the idea of liking guys; after becoming closer friends with Robin, he’d been thinking about it enough that he’d come to a sort of tentative conclusion on his sexuality. He had always thought Eddie was kind of a pretty guy, too, with his long hair and big eyes and full lips. (Hours he could spend thinking about Eddie’s lips, but that doesn’t really matter.) And then Eddie had to go and pull Steve close to him while he slept, and Steve can pinpoint the exact moment that he determined that he liked Eddie- really really liked him. Because Eddie kissed his shoulder in his sleep.

See, Steve knows his own emotions. He knows when something is just a whim and when something is here to stay. He’s having a bit of a silent crisis over your shoulder now, since thinks what he’s feeling for you is here to stay. Because it feels a lot like that kiss Eddie laid on his shoulder.

And he’s scared as hell, because the same thing that happened to Eddie could have just happened to you, if he hadn’t been there.

“You’re taking this really well,” he murmurs into your hair after a moment, sounding a lot calmer than he really is on the inside. You feel him kiss the top of your head. “S’weird.”

“Well I can’t even say that you guys, like, hid it from me,” you tell him, chewing on your lip. “It’s not Dungeons and Dragons, but… I mean, you could have told me straight that the KGB agents and the bats were real and that you weren’t joking, and I still probably wouldn’t have believed you.”

“I didn’t expect you to believe it,” he mumbles. “I just… you don’t seem freaked out. Very much.”

“I blew all my energy fucking you and then screaming at the bat,” you say drily.

He chuckles, nuzzling the top of your head. “It was a really good scream. You totally threw him off, I could tell.”

“Wh- shut up.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling his chest shake with laughter. “You were pretty sexy waving that rolling pin around, stud.”

“It’s all in the wrists.” To emphasize his point, he lifts his wrist and rolls his hand back and forth before he checks the time on his watch. “Eddie should be here soon.”

You hum quietly. He’d called Eddie just seconds after your fight with the bat. You didn’t hear what all was said, just that the call was over in a matter of seconds and Steve was quick to get back to holding you.

“I can’t imagine,” you murmur, your eyes still focused on the black mass of the bat’s remains on the ground, “how… how Eddie did it. I saw his scars, Steve, they’re massive. And I thought, y’know, he’d probably just had an accident he didn’t want to talk about. But they’re fucking real, and god, look at the teeth on that thing-”

“They don’t feel good, I can tell you that.”

You pull your head away from Steve’s shoulder and blink at him. He looks rather unphased, but he reaches down to lift the edge of his shirt up high enough for you to see his stomach. For you to see the scars on his stomach. They look exactly like Eddie’s, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Steve,” you breathe, laying a hand on the scar on his abdomen. You bite your lip before he can see it tremble, but your face screws up because tears painfully prick your eyes.

“Oh, honey, don’t cry,” he says soothingly, pulling your hand up to his face to kiss your palm. He kisses your wrist, and your elbow, and your shoulder, until he reaches your mouth.

Steve barely gets a peck in before you hear the screeching of tires outside; rock music blasts loud enough to rattle the windows for half a second before you see Eddie’s van thwack into the trash cans out front, and then the engine cuts off.

“What an entrance,” Steve murmurs as you watch Eddie barrel out of the car and run into the shop.

Eddie’s eyes sweep the bakery lobby frantically before they land on you and Steve, your backs pressed up against the front counter. He sighs as he crouches down, reaching forward to take your face. You’ve never seen him so earnest- it’s attractive on him, naturally, but he looks a bit like he might snap if anyone were to breathe wrong in either you or Steve’s direction. You feel hot under his scrutiny, examining your face and body before he looks directly into your eyes. “Did it hurt you?”

“No, Eddie.”

He gives the same treatment to Steve, hand on his face and turning his head either way to get a good look at him. “Harrington?”

“Not a scrape, man.”

Eddie looks visibly relieved. He strokes the apple of Steve’s cheek, leans forward to softly kiss his lips, more tender than you’re used to seeing from Eddie. And then he turns, and he’s doing the same thing to you, a whisper of a kiss over your lips with more emotion and gentility than you expect.

“I was so worried,” he whispers, so quietly that you’re not sure he really meant to say it out loud. Eddie opens his eyes and looks at Steve. “Where is it?”

“It’s a bunch of char on the floor now,” Steve grumbles, gesturing vaguely at the steaming carcass on the ground.

Eddie looks at it blankly before he sighs again, and straightens up to walk toward it. He nudges it roughly with the toe of his shoe. “Piece of shit- my bundts!”

You pick your head up and try not to laugh as Eddie stoops to right a toppled over basket of bundt cakes that he frosted the day before. Half of them lay smushed and crumbled on the ground, completely unsalvageable.

“I’m so mad. They make me so mad. All that and for what? Did it get it, did it get the cake? Did it have a nice meal?” Eddie kicks the charred corpse again. “NO!”

“Eddie,” Steve says softly, making him turn to look back at the two of you. “Don’t kick it while it’s down.”

Eddie sniffs angrily, wiping his hands on his jeans as he steps back. “Fine. Fine. Shit, is that…?” Eddie points at the disgusting sight inside the pastry case; a pulsating orifice that looks suggestively like female genitalia, but if either of them notice it they don’t say anything.

“Yeah, it came out of there.”

“Damn.” Eddie only then notices the wood shards on the floor in front of the case, the shattered remains of the once intact shelves to it. “Mimi’s gonna fucking kill us.”

You grunt, “Or Warren.”

Both of the boys look at each other, and Eddie bares his teeth. Warren, the assistant manager of the bakery, is a major asshole in the minds of all fellow employees. Except Mimi, of course, the only person that matters.

While Warren is just plain mean to the men who work the bakery, he’s often overly friendly with the women. Especially you. It… creeps you out from time to time, if you’re honest. Warren’s pushing 50, balding, and goes out of his way to gain your affections. It’s the little things, like greeting you rather than anyone else, seeking you out on break, or behaving like you turning a blind eye to his habit of stealing donuts is an inside joke.

(You don’t know that Eddie almost clocked Warren in the face once a couple weeks back, for saying you had ‘the finest ass in town’ as you were leaving the store. Steve had to catch him by his belt to stop him, actually. Eddie hasn’t forgotten.)

“Fuck Warren,” Eddie spits. “It’s not like he’s been eaten alive by demobats. He doesn’t know how to close the gate.”

“But we do?” Steve asks him incredulously.

Eddie pauses, tilting his head to the side as he thinks. He looks a little bit like a puppy dog when he does that, with his eyes drifting off to the side unblinkingly. “We know someone who does.”

“No,” Steve says simply. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m calling it in,” Eddie returns without leaving any room for argument, and steps over your legs to stride through the kitchen toward the back room.

Jim Hopper sort of shook Hawkins to its core when he came back from the dead and then immediately proceeded to absolve Eddie Munson of any so-called crimes he may or may not have committed in the eyes of the town. The man holds more sway in the court of public opinion than even the mayor.

That said, you don’t expect the chief of police to show up at the bakery at midnight, at the behest of Eddie, with a carload of… children?

“Tell ‘em what you told me,” Hopper grumbles, thrusting Dustin Henderson toward Steve and Eddie by the shoulder. Behind him, Lucas Sinclair and Mike Wheeler linger with sheepish expressions, their body language reading extremely uncomfortable.

“Uh…” Dustin looks sort of rumpled and sleepy, his eyes still bleary like he’s just been pulled out of bed and dragged here. “So, we know about the gate?”

“Oh, you do?” Steve snaps, donning a paternal tone of voice. He places his hands on his hips, appearing more and more like a disapproving dad every second. “And you didn’t care to mention it?”

Mike speaks next. “Well it’s not like we expected it to show up in your donut case-”

“Pastry case,” you correct.

“-pastry case. There’s one we found in a tree in the woods and one we found in the ceiling of Will’s old house. We think it has something to do with the Demogorgon.”

You squint at Mike, and then Dustin, and then Steve. All this funky jargon is starting to make your head ache. “The demo- what?”

“Demogorgon.” Dustin blinks up at Steve. “Have you checked your pool lately?”

Eddie frowns. “Why would he check his pool?”

“Remember that girl Barb who died-?”

“All right, enough.” Hopper looks irritable, maybe running on too few hours of sleep. “Cut to the chase, kid, quickly.”

“We think all the places where the Demogorgon first showed up have reopened as gates.” It’s Lucas who speaks up, peeking around Hopper’s left shoulder and looking bored. “The Demogorgon probably came through here at some point and left its signature on the wall. El’s on it, don’t worry.”

Steve does a double-take. “What do you mean, ‘El’s on it?’”

Lucas shrugs. “It means she’s on it, dude, how should we know? She just points at stuff and it does what she wants.”

“Who’s El?” you ask, more out of your element each second.

“My girlfriend,” Mike says.

“Our friend with super powers,” Dustin speaks over him, giving you whiplash.

“Great. We’re just relying on Eleven to close this gate before the morning?” Steve looks about ready to tear his hair out, and you feel even closer. “We were supposed to be out of here by ten. The morning team comes in at four, so that gives her… four hours?? To get this shit handled?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dustin argues. “I would have told you this shit was going on, but you and Eddie don’t want me to come in here because you have some girl-”

“Shuddup!” Eddie’s voice is high pitched as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “How are we supposed to explain a rift in the space-time continuum to our boss, hm? What are we supposed to do about the broken case? I can’t lose this job, man, I’m clinging to it with my fucking nails as it is.”

“You were robbed.” Hopper’s voice is level and calm, his eyes flicking briefly to the case.

“What?”

Hopper breathes loudly through his nose, obviously losing his patience with your inability to keep up with their rapid-fire crisis control. “Did you clock out when you were supposed to?”

“Uh… yeah?” You kick the toe of your shoe against the floor, feeling sort of stupid as you say it. “Mimi… Mimi doesn’t like to pay overtime?”

Hopper nods. “Okay. You clocked out at ten, you went home. Someone broke into the bakery, smashed up the case when they were grabbing the pastries, and stole a bunch of merchandise along with the money from the register. You weren’t here. A concerned bystander called in a tip.”

“But that’s-” You frown. “But we still have everything, unless you want to count the shit the demo- demofucker knocked over.”

Hopper blinks slowly. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike exchange excited glances. They look back at you, at the mounds of baked goods, and you know what they mean.

It’s always the bakery, isn’t it?

“For fuck’s sake- yeah, alright.” You sigh, and gesture vaguely toward the displays. “Where do you wanna start, the muffins?”

“Donuts, I call donuts!” Dustin shouts, whirling around to head for the case.

“I’ve always wanted to try the cream puffs, my mom says they’re too rich,” Mike mutters as he and Lucas crowd toward the refrigerated section and start grabbing armloads of pie slices. Even Hopper, tired as he looks, makes a B-line for the gourmet cookies and starts hauling out boxes two at a time with a childish gleam in his eye.

Perfect. Taking a page out of Warren’s book. Let them eat cake.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve reaching for the cupcakes and glare at him with a mix of horror and betrayal. “You too?”

“What, are the cupcakes off limits to robbers? Hm?” Steve cracks open the container and passes one to Eddie, who takes it gingerly and starts licking the caramel flavored frosting off of it immediately. “Get off my dick!”

You glance down. The button on his pants is still undone.

“Aw, lighten up, princess.” The ember at the end of Eddie’s cigarette glows in the darkness, the only other thing helping you to see his relaxed expression being the light of the half moon in the sky. He pulls his arm back, and throws a box of muffins in a perfect arc, until it crashes down with a splash into Lover’s Lake. “Nobody comes out here anymore. And if they did, all they would find is waterlogged baked goods. It’s no big deal, really.”

Steve sidles up behind him with a box of donut holes, and tosses it in a similar fashion. “Says the guy who desecrated a demobat corpse an hour ago for fucking up his bundt cakes.”

“Hey. That was personal, okay? I slaved over those things.” He blows out a puff of smoke and chucks another box into the water. “Besides, I saw Sinclair going after them. I’m sure he’ll treat ‘em right.”

The back of Eddie’s van is slowly emptying, leaving space for you to squeeze in and lean against the front seat, your ass just barely kept comfortable by a wadded up hoodie. You think it belongs to Steve, since you know Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead wearing bright sunshine yellow.

You cradle a box of sugar cookies to your chest like it’s a teddy bear. You can’t honestly say why it bothers you so much; your story will be corroborated by Hopper, who most people in town don’t question anymore. The kids each have taken home whatever they wanted to keep and agreed to toss the rest where it can’t be found. Even Hopper insisted that you should just go home and get some rest after getting rid of the evidence you’d all stashed in the back of Eddie’s van.

You don’t know why you’re so uncomfortable with it all. Maybe it’s just the fact that everything the boys are throwing into the lake represents hours of your hard work, and it just kinda sucks to see it all go to waste.

“Sweetheart? You’re off in space.” You didn’t realize Eddie had returned to grab more boxes from the van, but you blink up to find his imposing frame blocking out the light of the moon, his palms flat against the bed of the van as he leans slightly inward to look at you. Steve appears from behind him, curiously peering at you over Eddie’s shoulder.

You’ll never really get used to how attractive they are together. Sure, you’ve admired them both separately, choosing to focus on one or the other just to save yourself the struggle of having to choose between them. You hadn’t considered the fact that you could have them both until they’d given you the option. But together… together, they’re nothing short of perfect. Dark and light, scary and soft, the moon and the sun. Balancing each other out, complementing each other.

Your cookie box crinkles as you shift, looking up at Eddie unsurely. “I’m fine.”

Eddie’s head perks up. “Yeah, fuck that. No one says ‘I’m fine’ like that unless they really aren’t fine. Harrington, babe, help me-”

Eddie shoves an entire stack of boxes out of the van in one fell swoop, letting them all topple into the dirt. His hand claps down into Steve’s palm before Steve helps him jump up into the back, squeezing past more boxes to get to you. His hand pats your hip gently. “Gotta get behind you baby, c’mon, up-”

You squeak and sort of confusedly shift forward, your skirt riding up uncomfortably and your bare ass meeting cold metal as you try to create enough space for Eddie to worm his way behind you. He slots himself between your back and the front seat, plopping down loudly, toppling more boxes and then pulling you between his legs to his chest. He sighs. “There. Cozy.”

The sharp corner of a plastic cupcake tray digs into your thigh. You kick a bunch more boxes off the bed of the van and into Steve’s outstretched hands, trying to get comfortable. “Uh-huh.”

His fingers latch onto your cookie box. “Gonna eat these?”

“… No?”

“Okay. You wanna give ‘em to me?” Eddie’s forefinger and thumb pinch the box, wiggling it in your hands. You hesitantly let go, and watch him pass it to Steve. You expect Steve to immediately turn around and chuck them into the water, but he holds onto them instead. “What’s bothering you, sweetheart?”

“You mean besides the bloodthirsty monsters and the rifts in space-time and our jobs being on the line?” You blink at Steve and then turn your head to look at Eddie over your shoulder. “I dunno. I’ve never stolen anything before in my life, so.”

Eddie tuts, smoothing your hair away from your face gently. “I know. Look at it this way; you got special permission from the police chief to throw all that shit away. So, who’s gonna be mad at you, hm?”

“I just feel bad,” you huff, leaning back into his embrace. “Or… or maybe I just feel a little like Warr-”

“Warren?” Steve’s voice is calm, but he’s obviously miffed at the mention of the manager. “What’s Warren gonna do?”

You hesitate. You can practically see the guy wiggling his eyebrows, a little smirk on his gaunt face as he goes, “Well, lookee here. Don’t tell me you’re eating all that by yourself. You know store policy, darlin’…”

“He creeps me out,” you admit quietly. “He acts like… like I’m his sweetheart, or something. I don’t trust him worth a shit. If he found out I had something to do with this, I dunno. Maybe he’d use it against me…?”

“You’re not his sweetheart,” Eddie says sharply, his hold tightening on your waist. You can’t see the look on his face, but Steve can. All the possessiveness and rage, the nearly wild look in his eye that reminds him of when Eddie was ready to start swinging fists in the middle of the bakery. “You’re ours. And we’re here to keep you safe, baby. From everything. Demon bats and demon managers. Right, Steve?”

Steve nods. “Absolutely. To hell and back, honey.”

“And if he tries anything,” Eddie adds, speaking quietly into your ear- and even though you know Steve can hear him, you feel like he’s speaking to you alone- “anything at all. You tell either of us, and we’ll take care of it. You have my word.”

A grin breaks across Steve’s face. “Eddie’ll go all Rocky Balboa on his ass. Believe me.”

“Really?” you breathe, turning your head to nuzzle Eddie’s nose with your own.

“Mhm,” Steve confirms. “I have it on the best authority.”

Eddie’s hand comes up to capture your jaw, pulling you toward him so that he can press a gentle kiss to your lips. Nothing too overwhelming or passionate, but just a reminder to himself that he can.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re hot when you get all protective, Munson?” Steve says mildly, grabbing up a couple more boxes to throw into the water.

“So’re you,” you mumble, then nudge Eddie’s stomach with your elbow. “You should’ve seen him taking on that bat.”

Eddie’s arm tightens around your waist. “Oh, I know it, sweetheart. I’ve seen him rip one of those fuckers in half with his bare hands.”

“Is that true, Steve?” You look up at him through your lashes, hoping that you don’t look as turned on by that as you are. “You ripped one in half?”

Steve chuckles, looking sheepishly down at his feet. If there were more light out, you would be able to see the blush on his cheeks. “Yeah… I mean, it’s not really that impressive. It nearly choked me to death.”

You can’t help the little hum that leaves you, the indelicate shift of your hips as a sudden rush of arousal sinks between your thighs, debilitating in its strength. You thought you had gotten over that need to have them fuck your brains out today, but it seems like your body has other plans.

Eddie, the cheeky motherfucker, notices immediately. His voice low, a dangerous purr in the back of his throat, he murmurs, “Uh oh, Harrington. Little baby’s getting turned on.”

“Really?” Steve muses, a mischievous glint in his eye as he wanders a bit closer to the back of the van. “You need something, sweet pea?”

“I’m- It’s, uh-” You swallow thickly, trying not to shift against Eddie again as he drags his forefinger slowly along your arm. “It’s… we already…”

“Oh, you already,” Eddie reiterates, shooting Steve a wolfish grin over your shoulder. “Should’a known you’d jump on it as soon as you got her alone, big boy.”

Steve scoffs, turning away with a tongue-in-cheek smirk and throwing a box into the water with a loud splash. “Yeah? What were you doing all morning?”

“I was teaching her about proper finger placement,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “Y’know. For guitar.”

Steve grunts as if he’s not convinced. Your face- your whole body, really- is burning, both from embarrassment and desire. You’re starting to wish that Eddie would just cut the crap and move his hand from your arm down between your legs again, if anything just to satiate this ridiculous need that’s kicked up out of nowhere. You can only imagine his chastising voice if he were to find the sticky mess of your slick mixed with Steve’s cum already trickling from your cunt.

Steve takes the lead on it before you can come up with a way to vocalize what you want. You watch the way he leisurely rolls his head back on his shoulders, his neck popping into alignment. He reaches forward to pull the last few boxes out of the back of the van, climbing into the back to crawl toward you. “What can we do to help, honey?”

You nearly choke on your breath. “Anything. You can do anything you want to me. Both of you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie hisses, his hand immediately coming up to undo the front of your uniform dress for the second time tonight. “Perfect little baby- let’s get you out of this, alright?”

You squeeze your lips tightly together, nodding as you wiggle forward and let him pull the itchy dress over your head, discarding it somewhere near the front seat. Your hot skin hits the cool air, and you have to fight not to give an audible sigh of relief. Eddie’s hands are immediately on you, sweeping up your stomach to soothingly squeeze at your breasts, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck.

Steve parts your legs with gentle hands. Eddie, a bit more aggressive than Steve, hooks his calves around yours and pulls your legs wide open to give Steve an unobstructed view of your swollen pussy.

Steve groans at the sight of it. “Still got my cum in there, baby?”

You squirm, wanting to press your thighs together to stave off the violent throb in your core at his words. Eddie pushes back against your legs, an immovable object in the way of your struggle. You whine at the feeling of his tongue on your neck, and give Steve a shaky, “Yes?”

“Mm. Wanna taste it.”

You’re in deep. He doesn’t give you any other warning before he sinks between you and Eddie’s spread legs, and his mouth latches onto your cunt. A garbled, desperate noise comes out of your mouth; you’re not sure if it’s supposed to be a moan or a shout or both, but Eddie’s arm tightens around your waist and his long hair tickles your shoulder as he murmurs into your ear, “I know, baby. Stevie’s really good with his tongue, isn’t he?”

“Y-yeah,” you whine. You try to rock your hips against Steve’s face, but it’s no use- Eddie’s holding you too steady, his arms and legs keeping you motionless and party to Steve’s every whim.

“How’s she taste, Steve?” Eddie asks calmly, a hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

Steve lifts his head with a long swipe of his tongue that sends sparks skyrocketing through your limbs. “Fucking delicious.”

Eddie purrs, his lips skimming your bare shoulder as he reaches forward and grabs onto Steve’s head. Steve blinks up at the both of you, eyes dark and heavy with lust, and lets Eddie guide him back down to your pussy.

“Fuck, daddy.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, hands clawing at Eddie’s thigh and Steve’s shoulder in succession. You feel Eddie’s puff of breath against your neck, and then his amused noise of recognition.

“Daddy?” he echoes, turning his head to skirt his nose up the side of your throat. “He told you about that, hm? Steve, you dirty bastard…”

Steve makes a muffled grunt against your cunt, the vibration of it cutting straight through your clit and into your core, making you jolt. “She just sounds so fucking pretty when she says it.”

A deep hum resounds in Eddie’s chest, and he skims his fingers up your stomach toward your breasts. “What do you think, sweetheart? You like it when daddy eats your pussy like this?”

Your mouth drops open, but not to form words; you can’t form words, because Eddie’s fingers trace gentle circles around your nipple at the same time as Steve’s tongue does your clit, and you melt. A deep, loud moan leaves you with a gust of air from your lungs, and your thighs tense up as you feel your orgasm building up to reach its breaking point.

Steve takes the opportunity to turn his attention downwards, dipping his tongue into your channel. Just the slightest bit of friction to stimulate that ring of muscle, and you can barely contain yourself, your hand reaching back to grab onto Eddie’s hair for support. “Shit- shit, I’m gonna come.”

Your head drops back against Eddie’s shoulder, and you can feel him smile against your bare skin. “Shh, I know, baby. It’s okay, you can come on daddy’s mouth, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It’s that gentle permission Eddie gives you that tips you over, pulling you apart at the seams and making you come undone against Steve’s tongue. The sound of his mouth on you has you delirious, limbs jerking against Eddie’s hold, the only thing keeping you still against Steve’s caresses.

“Oh, look at you, baby,” Steve breathes as he finally lets up, his tongue still dancing through your folds a few times as you come down. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of that.”

“C’mere, pretty boy,” Eddie says, tugging on Steve’s hair. “Wanna taste.”

You lay limply back against Eddie’s shoulder, bleary and tired, but still decently aware of Steve advancing up your body and leaning over you. You watch as he cups Eddie by the jaw and spits into his mouth, letting him taste you on his saliva.

“Mm, fuck,” Eddie groans, turning his head toward yours. “So damn good. You need more, sweetheart?”

The proposition immediately has you lifting your head, blinking your eyes open at Eddie and nodding. Of course you want more. You’ll take as much as they want to give you.

Eddie snickers at the hopeful look on your face, exchanging a glance with Steve. “Needy little thing, isn’t she? Help me with her.”

Steve gathers you into his arms and lifts you like it’s nothing while Eddie undoes his belt. You’re so preoccupied with the way that Steve kisses you, his tongue licking into your mouth so deeply, that Eddie takes you by surprise when he grabs your hips and pulls you down onto his cock.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers into your ear, holding you tight as you whine loudly from him stretching you out so suddenly. “Such a good girl, taking it all. This what you wanted?”

“Please, Eddie, please-” you pant, hanging your head as you try to come up with something to say other than just miserable begging. “Feels so good. S’all I want, I just- fuck, move.”

Eddie takes that to heart, rutting his hips up into you sharply. You have to clutch onto Steve for dear life, because you’re too lost in the bliss of it. Steve’s hands are on your hips, pushing you to grind further down onto Eddie’s cock; and the noises that are coming out of your mouth are nearly deafening, even to you.

Steve leans forward and captures your mouth, managing to muffle them a bit, but making no effort to stop them from happening.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes into your ear, his hands roaming over your chest and squeezing your waist as he drills his cock into you. “You’re just drowning me- getting my balls all wet, too.”

You feel more than see it; Steve lets go of your hip with one hand, dragging his fingers across your thigh as he reaches down beneath you. Eddie chokes on a groan, shoving his face almost bashfully into your shoulder as Steve squeezes his balls, stroking them with a slick noise that can be heard over your cries and Eddie’s deep moans.

“Oh shit, my god, Steve,” Eddie whispers brokenly against your skin, and his hand shoots blindly forward, scratching for Steve’s fly with clumsy desperation. You salvage a little bit of your remaining mental capacity to reach forward and help him; fingers shaky but more accurate as you undo the button and zipper, a little more precise when you reach into his boxers and pull Steve’s cock out.

“Jesus,” Steve gasps, his forehead falling to rest against yours as you and Eddie both stroke him with fumbling hands. He hisses through his teeth, repeating, “Jesus- fuck me.”

“S’what we’re doing,” you grunt, and Eddie manages a shaky laugh. Eddie’s rings are cold when your fingers skim them, but you think Steve likes that little variation in the texture of your hands. His hips buck into your hands; below you, he tries to keep his touch gentle and give Eddie only what he knows he can take.

It’s Eddie who comes first. He gives Steve’s cock a quick squeeze at the base, a poor attempt at a wordless warning. And then Eddie shouts, his hips jolting and warm cum filling you, making you moan at the feeling. Steve lets him go slowly, lifting you off of him gingerly as the sensitivity creeps in.

“Mind if I take it from here?” Steve asks him, as if he isn’t already gathering you into his lap and lining himself up with your leaking cunt.

“Wouldn’t want to leave you hanging,” Eddie answers, sounding out of breath and fucked out. You feel Eddie’s hand fall on top of Steve’s on your hip, squeezing a bit as Steve pulls you down onto his cock.

Your agonized whine cuts through the air, head falling forward onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve shushes you, a hand coming up to hold the back of your head and his cheek pressing against the side of your head. Over your shoulder, Steve’s eyes flutter open to find Eddie absolutely taken by the sight- Steve cradling you close, his lips parted and lust clouded eyes trained on him.

It takes very little for Steve to get you to your second orgasm. Heaven knows Eddie had brought you halfway there, and with two sets of hands on you, one of which slides down to find your clit, you naturally don’t last much longer.

You make little effort to keep it quiet, baring your teeth, whining through it with sharp, pained noises. Steve finds it cute, cradling your neck as your head tilts backward.

“Good girl, just let it out,” he murmurs, slowly lowering you back to rest in Eddie’s lap. Eddie’s arms circle you, holding you steady as Steve grabs your hips, setting a pace to chase his own high.

Your face screws up, your hand reaching up to snatch onto Eddie’s tattooed forearm. “I- god, it’s so much, Eddie…”

Eddie looks down at you, giving you something of a mocking smile as he strokes your hair away from your face. “I know, baby. But you want Steve to finish, don’tcha?”

You can feel tears gathering in your eyes, the pleasure so quickly bleeding into overstimulation, but you still nod feebly in Eddie’s hands. “Want him to come… inside, I want it…”

“Hear that?” Eddie picks his eyes up to lock onto Steve’s. He grins devilishly. “She wants both our loads inside that sweet little cunt.”

“Fuck. Dirty girl.” Steve’s hands tighten on your hips, and he clenches his teeth. “M’gonna give it to her. Anything she wants.”

Steve’s hips slam into yours, jolting you further into Eddie’s arms. His fingers dig into your skin, head hung low on his shoulders as a stream of garbled curses leaves his mouth. His warmth fills you, seeping from around where he grinds his cock lazily into you one last time.

Stillness. That’s all you can register after Steve slips from you, and it’s just you and him and Eddie panting heavily in the darkness. The early autumn air from outside whisks away the humidity in the back of the van, leaving your sweaty skin cool and with a layer of goosebumps across it.

“You’re fucking amazing,” Steve says after a moment, stirring you from your daze. He’s sitting up now, looking a bit exhausted but not nearly as much as you feel. “The both of you.”

Eddie grabs him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him sideways to plant a sticky kiss onto his cheek. Steve laughs and collapses like a house of cards, falling onto the floor of the van next to you. Another couple beats of silence, and then; “Hey, is that my sweatshirt?”

Eddie jumps, turning at the waist to muscle the yellow sweater out from under his legs. “Oh, yeah. Remember that day we parked out by the old mill?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve laughs, but refuses it when Eddie hands it to him. “We need to get her dressed.”

“Right.” Eddie prods you to sit up, despite your tired noises of disapproval. “I know, I know; I promise you can lay back down in a minute, but you can’t be naked all night, we have places to be.”

“Like where?”

“Like getting you home.” Eddie gets the sweater over your head, and the soft fabric almost swallows you whole. “Steve, pass me that bag in the corner?”

“What is- what?” Steve snatches up the plastic bag and peeks inside it, pulling out your sweatpants and cami from the morning. “There’s no underwear in here for her.”

“Yeah,” Eddie snickers, taking the pants from him. “I know.”

As Eddie packs you into the sweatpants, something electronic crackles loudly from the front seat. Steve shuffles over and pulls out a giant, clunky walkie-talkie, snapping the antenna upwards. “Dustin? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s- get rid of- closed the gate.” The staticky message cuts in and out, and Eddie and Steve exchange a knowing look.

Steve presses the mic button. “The gate’s closed?”

“Yes, didn’t- hear me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Got it. Over and out.” He snaps the antenna back down, tossing the walkie back into its place on the front seat. “Kid’s gotta get that attitude in check, I swear.”

“You guys have a walkie talkie to communicate with those kids?” you ask blearily, half asleep and confused as hell.

“Yeah…” Eddie draws out the word, pursing his lips and looking at Steve for help. “This has been going on longer than you think.”

You grumble, not wanting to argue. You’ll worry about it later.

“Steve,” Eddie mutters, and shuffles you gently into his arms. You settle back against Steve’s chest, taking a deep, cleansing breath, and sinking into his warmth.

Eddie’s ringed hand pats yours, and then Steve’s, and then you hear Eddie clambering out of the back of the van. A few more moments of silence, hearing only Steve’s slow breathing, allowing yourself to slowly drift off to sleep and wondering where Eddie’s gone. And then, you hear a quiet splash.

The bakery is a mess.

Cops are everywhere. You didn’t know that there were this many cops in Hawkins, unless they hired out. Mimi looks less stressed and more pissed, hands on her hips and barking orders at everyone who’s running around to clean up the damage. Over her shoulder, Jim Hopper makes eye contact with you and nods curtly. Anyone watching would think he was just being polite. You know better.

There’s a garbage bag that’s been cut open and rolled out to create a tarp to cover the pastry case; it sways in the breeze from the open front doors, through which cops and employees alike pass as they try to make sense of the ruckus.

Steve tilts his head beside you, looking at the writing scrawled on it. “Don’t Broken, Open Inside?”

“Don’t Open, Broken Inside,” you correct, pointing at the vertical writing on either side of the partition that cuts the case in half.

“Oh shit, the pastry case is broken?” Eddie says with a cheeky grin as he walks into the store, immediately going to pull the tarp aside.

“Eddie!” You yell, jumping to snatch his hand, but he’s already managed to open the case part-way. You get just a glimpse inside; just enough to see that the disgusting extra-dimensional gate is gone, only leaving broken shelves in its place. It even looks as though you and Steve had been able to clean the case like Mimi wanted before you clocked out.

“What happened here?” you hear Steve ask with a facade of innocence, and turn to see Warren stalking through the bakery lobby with a sour expression.

“We were robbed last night, haven’t you noticed?” Warren spits. “Someone called the cops around midnight. Who the hell robs a bakery?”

You press your tongue hard against the roof of your mouth.

“Yogi Bear?“ Eddie offers. “It’s bear season.”

Warren blinks at him, turning a bit red in the face as he seethes at the sight of Eddie looking so entertained by all the chaos. Warren snatches a stray bag of bread that had been left behind off the display beside him, thrusting it into Steve’s arms and nodding at it wordlessly.

Steve looks down at the bread unsurely. “Uh…?”

“Dust the bread shelf.” Warren walks into the kitchen without another word.

Steve nods, looking like he ought to have expected that. “Okay.”

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

122 notes · View notes

deepflowerruins · 1 year ago

Text

PHOTOSHOOTS

navigation link

zoro × reader, fluff, smut, jealous zoro, slight harassment, pining down, licking cunt, spilling cum, squirting, slight bruises, strawberries, chocolates, angry zoro, loud moaning, grinding, strawhat reader, short revealing dresses, explicit, very random lmao

warning - only for 18+ readers, some might find this violent and disturbing, you have been warned, might have some mistakes as the text has not been proof readed

word count - roughly 600

synopsis - straw hats were famous throughout the world, photographers who are in alliance with the pirates, famous throughout the world, offered photoshoots to the renowned straw hats. you and zoro have been dating for years now, and your relationship was only known to your crewmates

"you ready?"

"yeah" you replied to robin. everyone was dressed up in their top notch clothes, ready for the photoshoot, men dressed up in suits while the ladies were ready with their short sexy dresses. you wore a black dress which showed off your cleavage and a bit of chest, complimenting your pale legs and perfectly hugging your curves. any men would fall for you.

the girls got out of their rooms only to be greeted by the men. "are you guys finally ready? took you long enough" luffy said, only to be replied by nami "we take time cause we look good!"

meanwhile zoro pulled you by your waist to kiss your forehead, admiring your beauty, you fixed his tie and put your hands around his neck, gave him a small peck, his cheeks red and a smile plastered on his face.

"let's go shall we?" usopp said. one by one everyone headed towards the shark submerge III, designed by franky.

they headed to the location fixed for the photoshoot.

everyone got their group and a couple of photoshoots done. it was now time for the individual ones. your turn came. you headed towards the center. the photographer came near you. he put his hands on your shoulders.

"please lean down ma'am" zoro was already getting angry at the photographer for touching you. you leaned down to the position. he clicked a few photos, and came near you again.

he touched your cleavage and made you sit in a seductive position. you were clearly uncomfortable. zoro and other crewmates noticed that.

"mr. photographer, can she take a break for a while, she seems tired" sanji said. you walked towards sanji and thanked him for noticing your uncomfortable situation.

you walked over to zoro "baby, I am not getting a very good feeling about this" zoro fumed with anger. maintaining the eye contact with you. he was very angry yet his gaze towards you was very soft and concerning. "you want me to cut him into slices?" "no it's fine, I think I can handle this" you replied, with a reassuring smile.

the photoshoot was over and you guys were back on the ship. you sat alone in the aquarium room, eating the strawberries with some chocolate.

zoro walked towards you. "do you know how angry I was?" you smiled at him. "I know love, I know you better than you" "well then you must know why I came here to you?"

"you want some help?" you smirked at the sight of him. "I don't want help, I'll do the things myself"

the next thing you knew, you were pinned down on the bench, his hand holding yours down causing your hands to bruise. he drilled himself inside you. each time hitting your cervix and getting deeper. you moaned uncontrollably, enough for others around the room to hear your activities. as soon as you came on his throbbing cock, and he poured his juices inside your cunt.

he headed down to your cunt. licking you, eating you out, like some hungry beast, hungry since days for this taste. you shrieked loudly at the feeling. he shoved his fingers inside you, making you squirt.

"you wanna moan too loudly today huh?" he grabbed the strawberries and chocolate kept nearby and shoved it in your mouth. silencing you. time after time you came, but he didn't stop till you passed out from exhaustion. "you're mine darling" he let out a cheeky smile.

"come on let us go bath" he said and picked you up. jealous zoro was too much for you but you couldn't deny the enjoyment you received.

161 notes · View notes

sasheneskywalker · 1 month ago

Text

bernard is an avid tumblr, reddit, twitter, discord, and ao3 user. he participates in the rpf hero/villain fandom, writing fics, drawing fanart, sharing meta, and posting strange but compelling theories. due to his engagement with fandom discourse and writing what many fans consider problematic content, he quickly becomes a prominent but infamous figure with a legion of loyal followers and a horde of ardent haters.

when tim and bernard get together, tim accidentally stumbles upon one of bernard's more popular accounts. intrigued and baffled, tim looks into bernard's other fandom activity and finds years' worth of material. and all of it is something tim wouldn't have otherwise ever sought out. there're a robin i/batman dubcon sex pollen smut fic and a red hood/red robin noncon whump oneshot. a red hood/nightwing fanart of them hatefucking on a rooftop, based on a real altercation between jason and dick that someone has filmed and posted on twitter. headcanons of red hood being into gunplay and calling batman "daddy". theories about batman sexually abusing robins and grooming them. a nightwing/robin iii fic rec list.

tim has so many questions. this is a completely unknown side of his boyfriend. he's feeling weird. he always knew there was a hero/villain fandom but he has never read any fanfics about his own vigilante persona. he never even thought people shipped him with other bats. and bernard's writing and art is hot. tim is discovering so many new kinks he might want to try out and starting to indulge in some questionable fantasies that he definitely shouldn't entertain. (is it morally wrong to imagine fucking your adopted relatives and getting off on it? especially if you have a boyfriend? who gave you the idea of fucking your family members in the first place?). also, bernard seems utterly convinced that red robin and superboy are crazy in love, where did that come from?

meanwhile, after months of dating tim, bernard realizes his boyfriend and red robin are the same person and has a silent freak out session. he can only hope tim never ever learns about his favorite fandom pastime.

#dc #tim drake #bernard dowd #timber #timbern #batcest #idea #sashene's drawer of wips #feel free to use this idea for your own work and if you do please send me a link so i can read it :)

44 notes · View notes

insuke69 · 8 months ago

Text

What's in a name? P3

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II, Part III

3/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, depictions of smut, ‘tantrum’

Rated 13+(??)

✰6.5k words.

⚥Afab/fem reader

____________________

The last month has been.. Blissful.

Relaxing and calm for you, Hobie making you feel things you’ve never experienced with his tongue, hands, and words.

Something about him as the punk he is almost leveled out your expensive life, humble houseboat compared to your marble mansion. Some nights were spent planning, some were small date-like hangouts, some were spent with his lips locked in yours and his tongue teaching you how kissing should feel.

But you didn’t realize how little he mentioned or even acknowledged (y/n) in your presence. You didn’t know if he was fully alright with everything that went down between you two though. He would stop wearing his spiderpunk mask around you and you’d stop wearing your balaclava which probably- or hopefully meant he still trusted you.

You even started taking more money from your dad and buying even more things to donate with less fear of being caught, you and Hobie would go to large corporations disguised as a cute couple that definitely wouldn’t pocket a particularly enticing trinket.

You kind of feel like robin hood, but instead of stealing actual gold and riches, you spend what's given to you for different purposes, one step at a time. Hobie has shown you the differences between real and fake silver, obviously you know how to tell in your jewelry by seeing its shine, but now he’s explained the more simpler ways and reasonable prices for normal people since way back then you never had to look at the multiple thousands on a cute bracelet.

Your shoebox of polaroid pictures grew and so did your relationship with Hobie. You began learning about your own pleasure along with learning of his, what movements you can do with your tongue or hips that makes him whimper beautifully throughout the bedroom of his small houseboat.

And Hobie hasn’t hesitated with taking his pictures and tucking them into the waistband of your panties for ‘memorabilia’, So now that shoebox consisted of pictures of you and him spray painting, your masked smile posing beside another one of your fathers now vandalized buildings, and some of Hobie’s favorites.

Ones where he’s bottomed out, hips against your plush ass and his hand holding your hair in a make-shift ponytail, the other taking the picture. Another one where you’re looking up at him with your eyes doe and tongue out, his seed stained on your lips and chin. The list goes on and on about the lewd adventures you and Hobie have done. Each picture is more intimate than the last.

___________

The knock on the door makes your chest tense, immediately shoving the pictures and shoebox under your bed and leaning your hips against the mattress, looking over at the door.

Roxanne opens it and comes in with a clipboard in hand, head dipped downwards as she began rambling about another event your father is planning to host in your mansion.

“Alright so, security will be tighter but your father will be making a party to celebrate the new opening of a bank, so you’ll be wearing a mostly green dress and most of the house will be open to guests. Unlikely anyone will come to your room but the housemaid will be sure to clean everything top to bottom, left to right.”

You were practically tuning her out since she often covered this information for every event, the same information.

For every event.

The only difference was that this was going to be held at your house for the first time since your mothers funeral. It was weird but you remembered the procedures: Big guard watching your every move, random people whose gross hands you have to shake, rinse and repeat.

“So when is this thing gonna be?” You ask Roxy with a tilt of your head and sitting on the edge of your bed as she remained in her spot where she stood.

“Soon, around the twenty-second.” She answered without her gaze moving from her clipboard, her pen tapping it in a senseless rhythm which expressed her deep thoughts on the subject, Likely thinking about some things more important than your petty dress or makeup.

“That will be all. Your father will give you his black card so you could buy a dress of your liking. Special event means that-”

“I can’t risk re-wearing something I’ve worn before, yeah yeah.” You cut her off with an eye roll, knowing what she was gonna say.

Roxy raised her eyebrows at this attitude but shrugged it off, “Precisely, you’ll be sent out around the afternoon, let's say at around two-thirty.” And with that, Roxanne nodded and walked right out, leaving the door open on her way out.

You stand from your bed and shut the door, pulling out your phone to text Hobie once the click of the knob confirmed its closed position.

“Im going out later with Normans money” It felt weird to refer to your dad by his first name, but referring to him as your dad didn’t feel right either, and calling him ‘Osborn’ had too much association with you.

“K” Hobie messaged back, “what time”

“I’ll actually have to buy something. A pretty dress so do you wanna tag along for that too?” You smiled to yourself, knowing Hobie wouldn’t really want to be in a fancy dress shop and have to judge each and every dress that's even a shade of green-

“Why not”

You can feel the shrug from past the screen, his usual gesture whenever he says something like ‘why not’. And before you knew it, by the time you ran off from your secret service-like bodyguards, you spotted Hobie.

Not spiderpunk- You spotted the handsome man beneath, face covered in piercings and hair being as lawless as his other punk persona. He grins down at you and offers you his arm and with a mocking tone, says “Alrigh’ M’lady, Where we goin’ first?”

“What are you playing at, Hobie?” You ask as your head shook and your arm intertwined with his, walking down the street towards your usual dress shop you’ve gone to since you were thirteen. No other place was ‘trustworthy’ as your father put it, and you’ve never liked the hassle of exact measurements.

“Whatever could you mean, Ms Osborn?” He grinned, looking around the streets at the peoples heads turning because of some random punk star with the daughter of the richest and most powerful man in the city.

You two were in the main street where more expensive shops were, you had your dads credit card so you couldn’t spend it in the smaller businesses Hobie had shown you in his part of town because they would show up in the statements, or because they didn’t even take card. Hobie felt like a fish out of water when he was walking down these sidewalks with smooth brick tiles instead of cracked pavement for once.

“You know damn well.” You scoffed in response, “Do you seriously want to do dress shopping with me instead of.. Emily?” Your voice lowers as you mentioned your masked persona which makes Hobie chuckle and shake his head.

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to spend time with either. Plus, It doesn’ matter now, Wha’ dresses are we gettin’ you now, princess?” He teased in a lower voice with a stupid smirk as the arm that was intertwined with yours slid to your waist. You could feel your face heat up but you keep your head up and continue walking with him beside you, him walking on the part of the sidewalk closest to the road.

“Fucking hell, just.. Okay so the plan is that I’ll try on dresses and you’ll boost my ego in every one and you’ll tell me which one is the best look for me.” You told him, trying to brush off how he called you princess, how you can swear he knows what he’s doing.

He raised his eyebrows then his hands in a faux surrender gesture, “Yes ma'am.” His voice is smug and it’s as if he’s coming along to humor you.

Your eyes roll and you shake your head, walking beside him with his arm intertwined with yours in a playfully chivalrous manner, as if he wasn’t already polar opposites with you. You seem like an elegant quartz and he was a stone pulled out of a vandalized building. Your height differences making you either unfortnately shorter or him somehow taller.

“Here’s the place, just-” You began, almost getting to the dress parlor but Hobie soon pulled you into an alley right beside the building and kissed you, which made you squeak and your hands moving to his chest.

“What the fuck?!” You asked as you looked up at him and he just smugly grinned and looked down at you, his hands on your waist as you continued, “Anyone could have seen. I would be fucked if anyone saw that, neither of us have a mask and unlike you, if my reputation gets a single mark, that would get my dads attention and-”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again, as if to stop your worries. “It’s fine, tell me: Do you ever look into alleyways when you’re shopping?” He asks rhetorically to get his point across, most people like you wouldn’t care for smaller details and excuse the alleyways whilst on their errands

“.. What if someone decided to look? We’d be screwed.” You retort, shaking your head, which made Hobie shake his head back with a chuckle.

“You’re paranoid.” He scoffed as he took your hand and brought you back out to the sidewalk and towards the shop you had mentioned.

Hobie brown will be the death of you, but spiderpunk always made you feel alive.

_________

You got the dress and Hobie let you go on your merry way before you got picked up so that you dad’s men wouldn’t see you with anyone.

The event had arrived and like you assumed, random rich womanizers with their trophy wives and laughing as if they owned the world. Well, they practically do, But there's one specific couple that makes you seeth.

Your father has always been family oriented so now that an event is at your house, your uncle and aunt will be coming over to be more heads to count at the party. There's nothing wrong with your uncle Wilson or aunt Doris on paper but it’s the kid they have that makes your blood boil.

The kid is named Elizabeth as if she were a respectable person, but she was barely a freshman in highschool who has as much as you did financially, except she wasn’t homeschooled like you were and her ego was as big as the numbers in her parents bank account. She never grew out of her brat phase and she’s more spoiled than you because if she sees someone with something she wants she asks for it tenfold.

“Oh my god! Where did you get those earrings?” She grinned as she ignored your concept of personal space and reached out to grab the shiny jewelry that hung from your ear.

You pull away from her and awkwardly smile once you avoid her touch, “Your Aunt Emily gave them to me.” You answered with almost exaggerated politeness, referring to your own mother as her aunt because there’s no way she’d remember her as your mom.

“Oh yeah! She’s dead right?” She frowned, “She can’t get me anything like that? Where did she get them? Do you know?” Her tone was laced with disappointment.

You almost froze at her words. You never minded much about who spoke about your mom but the way she said it as if she were simply talking about a show that was canceled.

“..Yeah, Last time we saw each other it was literally her memorial ceremony.” You mumbled with slight snark to which your aunt chimed in a half apology before ushering your cousin away.

“But Mom! Why does she get cool things? I wish I were homeschooled and that my daddy was the president! It’s not fair!” She whined dramatically as she threw her arms around, as if throwing a mini tantrum for her mother.

And you think that's the only time anyone has been understanding of your situation, because your aunt swatted her on the back of her head and began telling her to calm down, and that homeschooling would take away her reputation as the popular girl at school which shut Elizabeth right up.

They fade into the crowd and you stand aside, eating an appetizer of a snack before suddenly a large suited man recognized as your bodyguard approaches you and quietly says into your ear, “Have you allowed Ms. Elizabeth into your bedroom?”

When he says this you decide to play it cool and softly shake your head, placing your hand on his shoulder once he begins walking back towards the hall of your room then stopping him. Walking to your room instead, and once you were out of sight from the party, you bolted up the stairs towards the creaked open bedroom door.

You shove open the door and feel your heart drop, you knew your cousin was snooping around your room but what need did she have to look under the bed?

And in your goddamn shoebox.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yelled as you went over to her and snatched the pictures out of her hands, which she sarcastically surrendered with a dramatic gesture of her hands.

“What are you doing? Actually, who are you doing?” Elizabeth grinned as she held out another picture where it was you on top of Hobie, a loose shirt adorning your torso which luckily hid where he disappeared inside of you.

“Shut up! You’re just- you aren’t even supposed to be in here!” You snatched the picture and quickly shoved it into the shoebox, then the box under your bed.

“I was looking for any extra earrings you could give me, not like you have anyone to look good for other than that rando.” She commented with childish snark as she vaguely gestured in the direction of the intimate box and images. “I didn’t realize you had a little boy toy you’ve kept hidden, Does my uncle know?”

Your eyebrows furrow as she asks if your dad knows about him, About Hobie. You keep your mouth shut and glance away as you struggle to hold in your genuine frustration at how this is how you ended up caught.

“.. Still doesn’t explain why you’re looking under my bed for some earrings.” You change the subject off of Hobie and back to how she’s in the wrong for snooping around your bedroom in the first place.

“You still haven’t told me who this guy is! I’m guessing he’s just some booty call, not even a boyfriend to you?” Ellie said with a smirk, but more in a condescending way as if she were better than you for having some kind of relationship that wasn’t based on sex.

“He isn’t just ‘some booty call’-” You began before the teenager continued, looking over another picture.

“He’s hot though, but too many piercings. Does he have a piercing on his tongue? Can’t see your face well on this one but wow, big hands-” She teased which made you snatch the next polaroid from her hand and your cheeks flush red at what that one was this time.

It showed Hobie’s unruly hair between your thighs, which were being held tightly by his ringed hands to keep them open, his eyes straight up into the camera where you took a picture of him feasting on your core. You’re so grateful she was on the more basic side of popularity where she didn’t know punk stars, Hobie seemed like some random emo to her. Luckily.

You could see on her expression that she had a request and something to say, so you gestured your hand ironically, “Go ahead, take your time. Go ahead.” You prompted sarcastically.

“So, It would suck if your dad found out about this.” Her head tilts, “So, Just give me your earrings. Unless you want your dad finding out you have some other ‘daddy’?”

You cringe at how she referred to Hobie as your other daddy, but your stomach soon drops as you realize that she’s blackmailing you just for a pair of your moms earrings.

Dead Moms Earrings.

“You sadistic bitch!” You cursed as you got closer, about to give her a well deserved slap for her stupid actions, wanting to humble her like she deserved before she stopped you and stepped back.

“Hurt me and I’ll go announce it to the event! Imagine the headlines, ‘Norman Osborn’s daughter caught with a random guy!’, your reputation.” she said with a sarcastic gesture of her hands as she walked towards your door.

“Reputation? Fucking- fine.” You yanked her sleeve to keep her from walking out, soon moving your hands to your ears in order to take off your earrings, “I want you to just.. Take care of the earrings. Please.” You mumbled before passing her the pair of jewelry.

“Whatever.” she shrugged as she looked at the shine of the gold then shoved them in her pocket, “Thank you cousin dearest.” She playfully mocked before walking out of your room, leaving you with your own thoughts and leaving the door open.

You nearly slam the door shut then lean on it with your back, eyes quickly filling with angry tears and hands moving to grip your hair in frustration. At how easily you were manipulated, at how your cousin obviously thought little of you, how she called Hobie a random booty-call.. Familiar feelings erupted in a choked sob from your throat.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

Your fist tightened and was about to be tossed back to punch any surface you could to relieve what you could but soon you heard a twhip and a sticky white rope soon surrounded your hand and kept it from going anywhere or doing anything.

You sigh once you realize what caused it, and soon that reason walks- or drops in through your window, pulling off his Spiderpunk mask and heading over to you.

“You alrigh’?” Hobie said softly as he got the web off of you and kneeled beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

Hobie knows that when you cry it's never for no reason, He has learned about your sensitive habits but he has never seen you like this. Tearing up with anger he had only seen the night you two argued, and the second you choked another sob and your arms wrapped around him he quickly hugged you back.

You felt safe in his lanky arms, comforted and as if he could shield you from dangers or people that couldn’t ever treat you as a person. He couldn’t ever be just a booty-call because he's the only feeling of ‘home’ you’ve had since before Osborn industries became a bigger thing.

After you didn’t answer his question as if you were alright, Hobie simply held you close and cradled you like how you deserved.

Once your breathing calmed and relaxed, you soon moved your hands to cradle his face and he quickly met your gaze with his, “Was this jus’ an excuse to hug me?” Hobie joked with a chuckle to lighten your mood, soon being met with a swat to the shoulder.

“..My cousin blackmailed me into giving her some earrings, but they used to be my moms.. And she didn’t care.” You explained softly to summarize, pulling back and running a hand through your hair.

“Blackmailed? That’s.. That’s dumb, what was she using against you?” Hobie asked as he rested his hands on your waist and looked down at you.

“Your pictures.” You scoffed as your hands lowered to his chest, nodding your head towards the shoebox where the picture of Hobie with his head between your legs was faced up. You saw Hobie’s smirk adorn his lips as he looked at the polaroid and bit his lip, making you roll your eyes and softly hit his chest.

“What! What do you mean by my pictures? As far as I’m concerned, all of that was a team effort.” He cooed as his hands lowered to your hips and he pulled you closer where your body flushed against his.

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, “You realize that I’m fucked?” You half joke, “She found our pictures, and if she blabs to anyone around here, That will spread like wildfire.”

“Yeah yeah, what if you just stopped worrying? What if I had a solution?” Hobie teased before giving you a peck on the lips.

“Hm?” You question as you kissed him back, “Well, I’ve been fixing my houseboat.. And what if we could sail away together?” Hobie responded smugly.

Your eyebrows raise and you chuckle as if he were joking but his smile remains the same and his eyes gazing into yours. “Seriously? No- I don’t.. I can’t.” you retort with an awkward chuckle, “I don’t have any money without my dad, I wouldn’t be able to contribute.”

“Don’t worry about that, We could run off- spiderpunk can protect another place and you wouldn’t be the daughter of a monster.” He said before kissing you again before you argue and respond. “Think ‘bout it.”

“Hmm.. No.”

As tempting as it was, Seriously tempting, The idea of being able to go away and get out. Be your own person and finally be independent, you couldn’t bear the idea of your dad being heartbroken that you’re gone. He’s a horrible person, a horrible man, But he’s still your father.

And a damn good one.

What he’s done is unforgivable but he always was able to put food on the table for you and never once missed the chance to tell you he loves you. When your mother died it was you and him against the world, even if he was what mostly made up the issues of said world.

Hobie’s expression was like a mixture of confusion and disappointment which makes you sigh and explain yourself with your hands soothing onto his shoulders, “Sorry, It’s just that.. I can’t leave him. He’d be alone without me, and he was already broken when his wife died and no way I’m making him go through everything and worse.”

Hobie smiled at how thoughtful you were, almost too much for your own good.

“Alrigh’, I won’t be able to live with myself if I force you to come with me anyway.” Hobie chuckled before kissing you again, with a softer peck with his lips against yours for a moment.

“Well, okay. I feel like any moment now some random lady’ll knock on your door. You go’a get back to being a princess.” Hobie teased before pulling away from you, soon heading back to the window from which he came in.

“Awh, how will I survive without my knight in shining armor?” You said sarcastically as you followed him, and with a grin he brought you close and kissed your forehead, “You’ll manage.”

And with that, he flopped out and a web shot to a nearby building where he swung.

You watch his figure disappear into the distance and sigh to yourself, taking a breath to mentally prepare yourself and going to your vanity to reapply your makeup that smudged in your earlier ‘tantrum’ as Hobie would tease.

______________

The night breezes by as you stay aside, and thank god it speeds on by as the guests fade away and thankfully all those who are left are your uncle and aunt, and their hellspawn.

Thinking they were in any other place, you go to the kitchen for a snack.

And there was your thirteenth reason.

The hellspawn of satan and the embodiment of one of the seven sins was in your kitchen, sitting on the counter munching on your chips, On your chips you specifically have been saving for a time like this when you were craving them specifically.

She looked over at you before munching loudly on the savory snack, making your blood boil as she seemed to not care she’s eating the snacks you’ve specifically had stored in another part of the kitchen. Clearly implying that they weren’t up for taking.

But before you speak, you notice her wearing the earrings you gave her, her mom obviously knew you didn’t want to give them to her in the first place so how could she just shamelessly wear them?

“Oh, I’m a woman of honor so I won’t need these anymore, they’re heavy and they’re just not my style.” You cousin said as she pushed herself off the counter, with her dusty fingers she removed the earrings and passed them to you, leaving the silver greasy and you’re right about to slap her into the next century until your aunt and uncle walk into the kitchen seeming tense.

Your dad follows behind them, seeming tense as well but his discomfort is much more easily hidden than your aunts.

“We’re going now, say bye to your cousin.” Your aunt said curtly, her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as your uncle straight up walked out without glancing at you.

“Bye! Good luck.” Your little cousin cooed before leaving with her mom giving you a disappointed glance, then following suit.

“..Dad? What's all that about?” You ask with an awkward laugh that came out more as a nervous outward breath, to which he looked at you and in your hands at the earrings.

“Get those cleaned up from that grease, they were your mothers. At least Elizabeth practically refunded you.” Your dad chuckled dryly before walking past you to the stairs.

Refunded?

Shit.

You place the earrings on the kitchen counter and follow behind him, his objective clearly being to go into your room.

“Wait! Wait- wait, dad, what are you doing? Remember privacy..! Our rule being I can’t go in your room and you can’t go into mine?” You stumbled on your words as you watched him open your door like a man on a mission, You distinctly remember that when you turned around twelve years old and was learning more about what Osborn Industries do, your dad has done his best to make sure you had little to no part in his business, which meant no more ‘office visits’.

He hadn’t been in your room since you took down your My Little Pony posters and stopped using jewelry boxes with music and rotating ballerinas in them.

He abruptly stood next to your door and gestured for you to go in first. His silent order was enough to shut you up and walk in, your father stepping into your room behind you.

“Anything you want to show me?” Norman asked with a tilt of his head, looking at you in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen happen in your life. You were always a ‘good kid’, meaning you weren’t always caught.

With your answer: Silence, Norman looked away and took a breath with his tongue in his cheek and his hands on his hips. “Take it out.” He ordered, and before you even tried to act dumb in your answer, he repeated himself with a louder tone and pointed towards your bed.

Digging your own grave, you nod and do as he said, going to your bed and taking out the shoebox, placing it at the edge and sitting beside it.

Your dad came closer and sat on the edge of the bed with the box between you two, “So, Do you want to tell me what's in here?” His hand rests on the top of the shoebox and your hands clench into the lace of your dress.

Your dad never was the kind to ask anything unless he already knew, so you really were practically six feet under. If you say no, he’ll make you open the box. If you confess, you have no idea if anything worse will happen.

“..Pictures..” you murmured,

“Pictures of what?”

“Of me and someone.”

At your vague answer, his hand suddenly moved to the side of the shoebox and he pushed it off the bed, the cover falling off and the photos spilling out. He doesn’t look at the pictures at all and instead looks at the wall in the opposite direction away from them.

“Grab a picture where I see who it is.. Try to find nothing inappropriate.” Norman continued, seeming to wait patiently for you to do as he says. Now you feel like you’re being questioned to the point your teeth or fingers are at risk.

You look at the fallen pictures and back at Norman to make sure he's faced away, and look through them, looking for the least incriminating one of Hobie. Tears of dread and humiliation pooling at your eyes as you place it on the bed in front of your father, one where it's simply one of hobie with his neck craned to show hickeys littered on his slim jawline and collarbone.

Norman hums and nods slightly, “Is this that guy you liked? His music was like rock and his name was.. Harry? Henry? something-brown?”

“Punk music, and uhm.. It’s Hobie.” you mumble, you could never go against your father as if you two were like mixing oil and water.

He hums again before speaking with a firm and cold voice, “You aren’t seeing him again, and you’re not allowed out of the house. Roxanne will make your purchases and do your errands, and I’ll hire a twenty-four hour bodyguard.” He then stood as if your heart wasn’t just shattered by how you won’t be able to help anyone anymore, you’re more trapped than you were even before Hobie was in the picture, literally and figuratively.

You stood along with him and gestured your hands frantically, “What!? No! You can’t just-” You yelled before your words suddenly stop the moment you feel a sting on the side of your face, he just slapped you..

“Osborns don’t yell, and we don’t do disgusting activities with a perverted musician who’s only success in life is his ‘lifestyle’ of acting like a worthless punk.” You’ve never heard such venom in words spat from your father, never directed towards you at least.

And with that, he walked out. You felt like you were going to explode with all the anger boiling and frustration bubbling in your chest and when he walked out of your room, you screamed into your pillow and cried your heart out.

You don’t realize how long it’s been when you wake up, sitting up from your bed and looking over your bedroom where the few things that brought you joy were gone and cleaned out. Like your stereo, record player, Vinyl records, and your phone.

You felt tears prickle at the sides of your eyes and wish that this was a dream, that you can wake up to your father still loving you and hopeful that this really wasn’t happening.

About to lay back and cry again, you hear a thump on your window and then a few knocks.

You stand up and head over to your window to find Hobie awkwardly hanging on the wall while gesturing to the wooden frame of the glassed hole in your room.

You see that there's a lock, but a whole ass padlock that requires a key as if your window were the gates to a junkyard.

You shut your eyes and clasp your hands over your face with an exaggerated gentleness, knowing Hobie would break the window if he saw you physically take your frustration out on yourself or anything around you.

But just then your bedroom door flies open with Roxy standing there, staring at you and the punk by your window. You open your mouth to speak but she stops you with a gesture of her hand.

“Your father sent me up here to tell you that you’re no longer allowed out without your bodyguards, tomorrow security cameras will be installed outside your window, and.. I think you can tell what else I was going to say.” Her eyes fell to the window you were standing next to, hardly getting a glimpse of Hobie before he put his mask on. All she could see was just his skin tone and the dim shine of his piercings, “Window is locked with a key he’s trusting me to keep.”

“Roxy, please..” You mumbled as you went to her, tone pleading and genuine, “You know this is worse than before, couldn’t you have told my dad to go easy? This is my first offense, I always was well behaved for hi-”

“You know as much as I do that these are your consequences, I should have never let you go out so many times.” She sighed in disappointment, directed to either you or herself as she continued, “I’m sorry but it's not that it’s your ‘first offense’, it’s the fact that you’ve gone out and behaved like a borderline slut with a man you know your father despises.”

“..The slut comment wasn’t necessary.” You commented as you looked away and crossed your arms over your chest. You knew she wasn’t wrong but this felt like, “This is overkill, dude.”

“Yeah well, say that to your father when he’s back to being able to look you in the eyes.” Roxxanne didn’t even seem to do it either by how she looked at you but not at you.

“Please, Please at least unlock the window so me and ho-” You pause, “me and him can just say goodbye?”

You knew this sounded dramatic but you knew your dad wouldn’t give you the chance to do anything until you were thirty, maybe longer if he keeps denying the fact that you aren’t a little girl anymore.

“You’re just so.. Dammit.” That was the first time you’ve heard Roxy come close to cussing, but you immediately forget that as you watch her take out a keychain from her pocket, you couldn’t help but grin at her singling out the key that opens the padlock of the locked window.

The padlock soon opened with a click, the window sliding open and Roxy stood aside as Spiderpunk crawled in, flopping on the ground and getting up casually with an awkward nod of his head as a greeting to the woman that let him in.

She looked him up and down before back at you, “Keep this quick, if your father finds this out you’re completely on your own.” Roxy said seriously.

“Thank you so fucking much!” You grinned before latching onto her in a hug, to which she loosely embraced you back. “You’re still on thin ice, alright?” She whispered to you before pulling back and patting your shoulders.

Roxy turned back towards the masked punk stood there, getting face to face–as much as she could with him towering over her–And spoke with a hint of threat. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, keep her safe or so help me god Mr. Osborn will know of everything done.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spiderpunk replied with a surrender gesture of his hand, “She’s in good hands.”

And with that, Roxxanne said something about how you two have an hour, keeping things PG, and so forth. Then, she was gone with a shut of the door behind her.

“..Seems like you were found out.” Hobie commented with a dry chuckle, making sure to lock the door before taking off his mask, soon being attacked with a hug by you, your face in his chest and your arms clinging to him tightly.

“It’s worse than before! There's locks on everything and theres- theres gonna be cameras everywhere, my dad managed to make this place hell even more than it already was.” You sobbed into him, making hobie tightly hug you back with his gloved hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’s alright dove, we can figure something ou’-” He gently began, using the tone he often had to whenever you got like this, but cut off by one of your choked sobs and continuing.

“He’s never yelled at me before, He always was patient and talked about things but it’s like I’m not even his daughter anymore! Treating me like some dog on a leash he thinks he can hit and make the leash tighter.”

You felt him tense, soon feeling him nuzzling into the top of your head, “Shh..shh, Wha’s this abou’ him bea’ing you like a dog?” His voice was over exaggeratedly calm, making you tense as well.

“No no no no no hang on,” You quickly back tracked, moving back to wipe your tears and look up at him, “He didn’t beat me I was just exaggerating..! He just slapped me and he didn’t do anything more than that nor would he ever.”

You were practically biting yourself in the ass at how you were defending the man that even you hated, but Hobie wasn’t the type of man to let anyone get away with hurting you, he already had enough reason to hate everything your father stood for.

“That son of a..” He trailed off and turned around, he would have beaten your dad into a pulp if you didn't grab his wrist to turn him around to look at you.

“Hobie, you know that this wouldn’t help if not make things worse.” You said to him while looking into his eyes, his face furrowed and tense in his moment of blind rage, soon, his fisted hands relaxed and he let out a breath before pulling you into another hug.

“Look, you’re my whole world and you know this place isn’ good for you.” He murmured into your soft hair, “Please.. Come wit’ me.”

You weren't able to think if its because of the need to try and go against your own father, or at how he seemed so genuine, but the idea of leaving everything you knew behind was too much. You just had to get the last word.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Hobie let out a breathless laugh, pulling back to cradle your face and look into your eyes, “Seriously? You mean tha’?” He beamed before kissing you, you could feel the grin on his lips as you amorously reciprocated.

You giggled and nodded, your hands moving to his chest to look up at him, “Yeah! Yeah, when do we go?”

“Within the next hour, pack whatever you can and- and I’ll get whatever we can sell, yeah?”

And with that, The next moments are a blur, you filling your pillowcase with any clothing you can that wouldn’t get you mugged, and Hobie filling another with everything you’ve bought with blood money. From old too-heavy tiaras, to rings, to necklaces you’ve worn once.

Hobie webbed the pillow cases shut and together, having you hold them while he focused on holding you and web slinging to his houseboat.

__________________________

From then on, You’re known as Emily brown.

Not as the daughter of a monster,

Not as the bratty girl with her life handed to her on a silver platter,

Finally your own person.

__________

YIPPEE

☆ taglist:

@craziblondi

@fodmdk123

@vinxernica