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urhoneycombwitch · 7 months

Text

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill.

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days.

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place.

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you.

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge.

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs).

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue.

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties.

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.)

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course.

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you.

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school.

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before…

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend.

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event.

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room.

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh.

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space.

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts.

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise.

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals.

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily.

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form.

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are.

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda.

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes.

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak.

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet.

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel.

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours.

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here.

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?”

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds.

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude.

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him.

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there.

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours.

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone.

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you.

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you.

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside.

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks.

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year.

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

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makeyoumine69 · 4 months

Text

A Helping Hand (commission)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: You and Patrick are engaged and about to become parents. One day, during a fancy party, you face the difficulties of being pregnant, as your changing body, affected by the hormones, hurts, but your future husband is always eager to help you.

CONTAINS: Semi-public smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, nipple play/sucking, pregnancy kink (kinda), fingering, praise kink, body worship, dirty talk, pet names, sweet & horny Patrick Bateman himself.

WORDS: 1.6k

A/N: I'm so happy to finally post this! Hope you like it!💞

LINKS: [MASTERLIST] 🪓 [COMISSIONS]

After a lavish party on the roof of one of Manhattan's skyscrapers hosted by the Bateman family, the sun was setting and it was getting a little chilly, so the waiters brought everyone blankets to keep warm. You, wrapped in a blanket, sat next to your fiance on the small plush couch, waiting for the car to pick you up and take you home.

Sipping your hot chocolate that had been made specially for you, you looked at him with undisguised affection and embarrassment as you wanted to ask him a question. "Patrick, I... I'm so embarrassed that I... you know... bite and scratch you during sex. Is that a bad thing? I just don't think you like it..."

Thank God the other guests weren't paying any attention to you, but you still felt uncomfortable. Patrick's family was also out of sight, probably talking to someone on the balcony. However, you had already shown your appreciation for hosting such a great event.

While you waited for his answer, you stroked your little baby bump, your breasts already got bigger, so the dress you were wearing was too tight and your nipples could be seen through the fabric.

Patrick paused for a moment, considering your question with a thoughtful look that slowly changed to an approving one. The embarrassment in your voice was clear, but it only served to amuse him.

"(Y/n)," he began, sliding closer to you on the small plush couch, "your... enthusiasm is one of your most exquisite attributes." He placed a hand on your knee, his fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of the blanket that covered you. "I revel in your responsiveness, Kitten." His grin grew wider, a clear indication that your concerns were unfounded.

"Really?" You murmured back, averting your eyes, still feeling so uncomfortable. "I just remember how meticulous you are about your skin and stuff."

The man leaned closer, lowering his voice so it was just for you, a husky whisper that brushed against your ear. "Let's be honest," his eyes glittered with a mischievous spark as he bit his lip lightly, teasing you. "You know how much I enjoy making a mess of you."

"Oh, Patrick…" You giggled shyly and rolled your eyes.

Bateman’s hand moved from your knee, daringly creeping up the blanket to rest on your slightly swollen belly, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your dress. The tautness of your nipples, visible through the strained material, did not escape his notice. "These marks," he continued, his gaze flickering down to where your breasts strained against the dress, "they are a powerful reminder of the intensity we share. And I wouldn't have it any other way." Patrick smirked while his touch grew bolder, fingers skimming the outline of your baby bump before sliding up to the outline of your breasts.

The sudden tingling in your nipples made you squirm in your seat; his words always had such an effect on you. "Patty," you pleaded suddenly, placing your cup on the nearby table and looking around briefly before continuing. "My... my nipples hurt... can you help me with that?" Embarrassed, you lifted the blanket, suggesting that it could hide both of you and no one would see you, since no one was around so far. "Sorry for asking," you added, averting your eyes, ashamed as ever. "It's just...the hormones...I didn't want to tell you…"

Excited, Patrick's lips curved into a knowing smirk at your bashful plea. The fiery blend of your embarrassment and the raw need that spilled from your words was a concoction he savored with every fiber of his being. Sneakily, he cast a cursory glance around the room, ensuring the relative privacy, before refocusing on you with the predatory gaze of a man who thrived on such deliciously improper requests.

"Do they hurt really bad, hmmm?” he echoed, his voice a low, silky ribbon of sound that wound its way around you with the tender brutality of a python. "And here I was thinking you'd have the restraint to wait until we were home. But if my little girl is in pain..." The man leaned closer, the scent of your arousal mingling with the warm, sweet aroma of the hot chocolate you had abandoned. "You want me to make it better?" the man questioned, his breath fanning over your skin as he lifted the blanket to create a hidden sanctuary for your naughtiness. "You always were sensitive to my words, Kitten. Can't say I'm not pleased to hear they still affect you so... intimately."

Panting, you bit on your lower lip to suppress any noises which could discredit you. "Yes," you closed your eyes and sprawled along the softness of the couch. "You know how to play with words…" gasping, you trembled beneath his hot breath. "...to set me on fire."

Under the guise of the blanket, Patrick's hand drifted to the fabric of your dress, deftly unbuttoning it just enough to allow him access to the tender flesh you so desperately wanted him to soothe. His fingers brushed against your skin, feeling the hard nubs of your nipples straining for his touch. "Is it so?"

Grabbing the plush material of the furniture, you were about to lose it here and now. "Mmm…y-yes….ah-Patrick!"

"Shh, baby," Bateman didn't falter, not even as he looked once more over his shoulder to ensure no eyes were upon you. "I’ve got you."

Then, with a dexterity honed by numerous clandestine encounters, he ducked under the cover of the blanket, his mouth closing over one aching nipple with a gentle suction that belied the fervor within him. The warm wetness of his mouth enveloped you, his tongue tracing the sensitive bud before drawing it further into the heat of his oral embrace. Purring softly, the man suckled with a rhythmic persistence, each pull designed to alleviate the tender ache as much as to stoke the flame of your shared desire.

Above the blanket, he maintained the expression of a man casually enjoying the evening with his fiancée, his free hand resting on the arm of the couch, the very picture of nonchalance. Beneath it, however, Patrick was entirely focused on you, on the softness of your breasts, the sweetness of your need, and the sound of your subdued moans as they were muffled by the fabric that concealed your indiscretion.

"Better now, Kitten?" Bateman murmured against your flesh, a dark chuckle vibrating through your nipple, sending shivers down your spine. His free hand wandered to your other breast, kneading it softly, ensuring that both received the attention they demanded.

The way his tongue danced across your hard peak was maddening, to say the least. “Uh-huh,” you stammered, closing your eyes, your cheeks burning from the inside. Then, you cautiously grabbed his large palm and moved it between your legs, making it press against your soaked panties. "I need you, n-need you so much, Patty."

Breathing heavily, you looked up at him, knowing that what you were doing was wrong and sinful, but the storm of hormones from being pregnant raged through your morphing body, making you a prisoner of the current situation.

Fortunately, you were still alone, and the car hadn't arrived yet. “A-aww,” you whimpered into his mouth as Patrick sealed your lips with his plump ones, not letting the sound escape from them. “Mhmnn…”

It was a silencing kiss, a masterful stroke of control that muffled your moan. Under the protective shroud of the blanket, his hand maneuvered beneath the delicate barrier of your underwear, his fingers tracing the soaked lace before delving into the slick heat of your pussy.

The soft, wet sound of his fingers sliding through your folds was nearly lost beneath the hush of your ragged breaths. Hot and bothered, Patrick pulled back from the kiss just enough to watch your face, your eyes fluttering closed, your lips parted in silent supplication.

"You're so wet, honey," Bateman whispered, the rough timbre of his voice sending a shudder through you. "This is what you need from me, isn't it? To be touched right here...where anyone could see what a bad girl you're being for me?"

The pressure of his fingers increased, finding your swollen clit, teasing it with a firm, circular motion that drew a whimper from you. "Be quiet, Kitten," he advised, his voice carrying an undercurrent of threat and promise. "Or you'll force me to stop, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Your hand gripped his wrist, a silent entreaty not to cease his ministrations. Patrick's chest swelled with a possessive pride—you were his to command, even amidst this semi-public setting. Your need for him, a need he had so thoroughly ingrained in you, was a testament to his mastery over your senses.

Your eyes met, his holding a compelling blend of dark yearning and authoritative control. Patrick’s fingers quickened their pace, coaxing you closer to the brink as he watched the storm of emotions play across your tensed face.

Patrick leaned in once more, his lips hovering over yours, his breath mingling with yours as he spoke. "Cum for me, (y/n). Quietly, right here on this couch. Let me feel you shatter against my hand." His words, laced with an illicit thrill, were a command that brooked no refusal.

And as Bateman brought you to the edge, as he felt the clenching and unclenching of your inner walls around his probing fingers, he savored the power he wielded. In the luxury of the waiting room, under the soft golden lights of the city outside, this man was the master of your pleasure—a master who would be worshiped in silence, in awe, and with the unspoken understanding that you belonged to him, completely and irrevocably, no matter where you were.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine.

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close.

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say, “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail.

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon.

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him.

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?”

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos.

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click.

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys.

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious.

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.”

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you.

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly.

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you.

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life.

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife.

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris.

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns.

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted.

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before.

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light.

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution.

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat.

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out.

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin.

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths.

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.”

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth.

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants.

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you.

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans.

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned.

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body.

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening.

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means.

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them.

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door.

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions.

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over.

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him.

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway.

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish.

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris.

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing.

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known.

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to.

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means.

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail.

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap.

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over.

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message.

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger.

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t.

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out.

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers.

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.”

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up.

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth.

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat.

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now.

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him.

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad.

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding.

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found.

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it.

A stretcher carrying Harris.

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside.

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris.

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now.

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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luvjunie · 1 year

Text

— Unforgettable ( 1 )

part one • part two • part three • part four

pairing: e-1610!miles morales x fem!reader

contains: miles rizzing you up after knowing you for two seconds, a beef patty changing the entire course of trajectory for your life. nothing too major

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 1,634

a/n: this was originally going to be one long fic but i decided to split it up, and i’m estimating around four, maybe five chapters in total. also, chapter one is cute but i thought i should let y’all know that two of them will contain some angst/conflict! this is the first series i’ve ever written so it won’t be the best, and i’m still deciding if i like how i mapped out the rest of the story so please bear with me if updates are a tad irregular 😅

To think, a damn beef patty is what started it all.

A beef patty that had tumbled out of your hands, down the sweater you’d just taken to the laundromat— your favorite one, at that— and onto the dirty bodega floor when a hard surface came in contact with you on your way to leave.

“Oh shit—“

“Jeez, what the hell man!”

You lunch gone and your good mood with it, your head lifted a great distance from the murder scene at your feet to meet the apologetic face of who had committed this unjust crime against your rumbling stomach.

“I am so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going…” The boy in front of you murmured sheepishly, palm dragging at the back of his neck.

Lips pursed, your forefinger and thumb pinched at the bridge of your nose as you willed yourself to refrain from cursing him out. New york already had enough of that, you decided as he continued apologizing.

“It’s my fault. I bumped into you, it’s fine.” you grumbled curtly, clearly irked. Shifting the blame onto yourself was your best attempt at keeping your anger at bay. The last thing you wanted to do was cut up in this nice man’s shop, especially not on a Sunday.

With a heavy sigh and a scratch to your brow, you crouched down and swiftly scooped the discarded meal off the floor with a napkin. Great, money down the drain.

“Let me buy you another one.” He said to the top of your green adidas beanie, palms pushed together to accompany his plea.

“No need.”

“I really wanna buy you another one.”

You shot up and tossed the remnants into the trash, your frustration evident in how much forced you used. “Dude, it’s—“

“I’m buying you another one.” he insisted, chin raising when he hollered at the clerk. “Yo, Lenny, lemme get another beef patty, man.”

He shuffled past you before you could decline again, the man behind the counter already sliding a fresh one past the register after having witnessed the run in.

You stared at the back of this stranger, brows furrowed incredulously. He was nice, which was unusual for someone in this city, so your innate response was to be annoyed at his persistence. People were always bumping into you and ruining your day, but no one had ever offered to fix it before.

“That’s the last one I got for the day, Miles.” Lenny, the owner of the shop informed apologetically, his Jamaican accent heavy on his tongue. He knew the boy usually came into his store around this hour for one thing, and it was always for one of his beef patties.

“It’s cool, don’t sweat it.” Waving him off, Miles slapped the cash down onto the counter and snatched the pastry up.

“Here,” He turned to you just as you were brushing your hands off onto your dark-wash jeans, breath held with what he hoped would be a peace-offering, extended out to you. “I’m sorry, again.”

You looked up at him, then back down at the patty in his hand before you gently accepted it, the pads of your fingers lingering in his palm when you did so.

“Thank you,..” trailing off, you blinked up at him, a silent request for his name. He was tall, kind of lanky, and had the prettiest brown eyes you’d probably ever seen. They stared back at you, appearing puzzled before he put the pieces together.

“Oh!— Miles.” he answered with a warm smile, hands tucking into the pockets of his jacket. It was green, your favorite color.

“Thank you… Miles.” you returned his smile with a smaller one, something about it contagious.

Caught up in the way you said his name for a moment, it wasn’t until you were already halfway out the door when he realized you hadn’t told him yours.

“Wait! I didn’t get your—“ he called out to the air, the bell on the shop’s door a taunt of his failed attempt. “Name.” he murmured, shoulders falling with a sigh.

He felt eyes on him and turned to the side, lips smacking against his teeth in annoyance at who’s stare he’d caught.

“Don’t be mad at me, man. You gotta step ya game up.” Lenny threw his hands up in surrender and stifled a laugh, shaking his head at the boy.

Even though he had nothing to be smiling about when he exited the small store—seeing as he was out of five dollars and still hungry—Miles found himself walking home that day with a smile etched onto his face, a little pep in his step and something to keep his mind busy.

Nothing happened, that was obvious, but for some reason he felt like this wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

—

Exactly one thing was on your mind the next time you entered Lenny’s shop, and he already knew what it was before you’d opened your mouth to ask after approaching the register.

Well, maybe two things, but the second one wasn’t necessary to get into.

“Comin’ righ’tup, sweetheart.” He nodded at you.

“Thanks.” You smiled sweetly, idly tapping your hands against the counter during your short wait.

The white parchment paper cradling your all time favorite snack slid over to you a minute later. You paid quickly, your stomach rumbling just from smelling the savory treat.

Just as you went to turn around, you spotted that same boy who’d ran into you a week ago and nearly ruined your day. Miles, you remembered his name was, as you stuck an apprehensive hand out in front of you, patty pulled close to your chest and brows raised in warning.

“Chill,” He laughed, his hands shooting up in defense. “I’m out your way this time, promise.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, his playful demeanor rubbed off on you. “You better be.”

“Please don’t tell me you got the last one.” He pleaded with hopeful eyes, but wishful thinking never did much for him.

“She sure did.” Lenny called from behind the counter, eyeing Miles closely to see if he’d take the bone he threw. He then ticked his head to the side with a slightly widened stare, as if urging the disappointed boy to make a move.

“Woops.” Using your fingers, you ripped a piece off the patty and popped it into your mouth, shrugging as you brushed past Miles, who had just caught on to what the shop owner did for him.

With your back to him as you pushed the door open to outside, you missed the two fingered salute Miles shot towards the man as a thank you.

He followed after you, swiftly shouldering himself through the closing door and sliding outside, into step with you.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you my number for half of it.” He offered with a boyish grin, long legs able to keep up with ease.

You nearly choked, steps halting when you spun around to face him. What made him think you wanted his number? And maybe you did, because you definitely thought he was cute, but that was besides the point since he didn’t know that.

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked, and he perked up a bit.

“Depends. Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes. “How about my name first?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the side of the building a bit. “I kinda assumed that was a package deal, seeing as I’ll need something to save your contact under.”

Okay, you’ll admit it, that was smooth.

You put your hand on your hip, patty in the other with your head tilted in thought. “Somehow, I feel like this deal benefits you more than me.”

“That‘s possible.” Miles chuckled, and you can’t believe that’s all it took to convince you. How pretty he looked when he laughed. How good your name sounded rolling off his tongue when he’d repeated it back to stake it within his memory.

You quietly hummed to yourself, contemplating. You’d never accepted a guy’s advances this easily, and figured you’d test him in a way he’d most likely fail.

“Quick, what’s my favorite color?”

There was a pause.

“Green.”

Your jaw dropped. “What— How in the hell?” You gaped at him. “How did you know that?”

“You give away more than you know with your eyes.” He grinned. “Saw you eyeing my jacket last week, and you’re doing it again today. And your beanie, too.” With a raise of his eyes from yours, he pointed out the forest green hat pulled snug over your head and your hand mindlessly went to touch it. “But honestly, I was only like, seventy percent sure, so maybe you can call it a lucky guess.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh, so you think I’m checking you out now?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind.”

Well, you’d managed to lose at your own game, fair and square. Holding his gaze for a minute, you had to restrain a smile from splitting through your calm and collected facade and shooed away the urge with a clearing of your throat.

“Phone.” You held your hand out, beckoning him for it.

Fetching it from his pants pocket, he did the same to you with his other hand, palm upwards. “Patty.”

Huffing in frustration, you awarded him the half he earned and snatched the device, ignoring the triumphant look on his face as you punched your digits in.

—

It was pitiful. It barely took anything for you to take interest in a guy in general— but even if your standards were ridiculously high, there was no doubt that Miles would have weasled his way into your thoughts regardless.

You’d checked your phone at least six times in the past hour in hopes of seeing a text, coming up with unconvincing excuses like checking the time, or the weather— all while blatantly pretending to be oblivious towards the possibility that a message from an unknown number might just be there, too.

And then it came.

[Unknown]: Best patty I’ve had in a while. Food always tastes better when it’s not yours :)

He had you on your stomach, features pulled into a hopeful smile with your legs fluttering in the air off one message. You’d remind yourself to get a grip in due time.

Who’s this?

You knew damn well who it was. But you wouldn’t be who you were if you didn’t play hard to get.

[Unknown]: Damn, you forgot about me that quickly?

You clicked the info button in the top right corner of your phone and saved him as a contact before you replied.

Maybe. Remind me of your name again? Micah, right?

[Miles]: Okay, now that’s just hurtful. I do not look like a Micah!

You laughed to yourself at that, flopping onto your back as you typed a response. In the back of your mind you wondered if things would progress any further than this conversation.

But if only you could’ve time travelled and spoken to your future self, because she would’ve told you that forgetting about a boy like Miles Morales, or trying to, would be impossible.

tags: @cctoma

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x black reader

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realisticfanfictions · 9 months

Text

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: I love the Waitress!Reader so much for OPLA, so I've decided to do another one! I had to split this up into multiple parts, cause this ended up being a bit long. (Link to part two.)

Word Count is 4,829. Hope you enjoy!

"Where the fuck are my entrees?!" Your voice echoed in the enclosed space, cutting through the melodic and rhythmic sounds of frying, chopping and other things that went on in a kitchen. You brushed past another waitress who wisely got out of your way, your heels clicking against the tiles as you marched up to the pass and slammed your copy of the meal ticket down. "Chef!" You called out, pushing back a strand of your hair as you scanned the chefs who were cooking at a ferocious pace. You locked eyes with an unfortunate new chef, but despite him immediately looking at his feet and trying to walk by, you reached through the window and pulled him by the collar. "Who the hell is on entrees?" He stumbled over his words and you groaned in frustration at his pathetic attempt at the English language.

"That's me." You pushed him back and looked past the cowering chef at the man who had just spoken up, your boyfriend and the love of your life, Sanji. His normally pressed and tidy chef attire was in disarray with his shirt untucked and his sleeves stained with various sauces. He sounded hoarse and was covered in a thin layer of sweat as he cooked some type of meat, flipping it over in the pan to cook it evenly. Intense concentration was etched into his face and the way he scrunched his nose was adorable, but right now you couldn't think of anything else but punching it.

You opened your mouth to speak, but a nearby busboy ran in front of you and you snarled at him. "Watch it, asshole!" You refocused your attention back on the blonde in front of you. "I have thirty-eight tables out there with at least four head a table, and only two waitresses working the floor-!"

He shook his head and his pan aggressively hit the stove top each time he moved it. "You know, it sounds so hard to look pretty and run around in heels all night, but I actually have a real job-"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. And I'd appreciate it if I didn't have you bitching in my ear all night!" He threw some butter in the pan and began to bast the meat.

"Then maybe, if you were actually good at your 'real job'," You said with quotation marks. "Then you'd tell me why the shit it takes thirty-five goddamn minutes for a premade french onion soup!"

He whipped around with a laddle in his hand and he marched over to the pass. You both bent down to see each other through the window. "Hey, if I had any fucking help around here I would have gotten that to you twenty minutes ago, but I'm stuck here-"

"And here we go!" You exclaimed as you threw up your hands dramatically and walked through the swinging doors. You avoided Pattie walking out with a tray of fresh bread and popped on an apron attached to a nearby hook.

"-with my thumb up my arse because apparently no one knows how to plate a damn steak in this kitchen!" He moved around you as you took his place, grabbing the offending meat and placing it atop of the mashed potatoes.

Annoyed, you grabbed the garnish. "Well, where the hell's the plating station?"

Sanji came back and unceremoniously dropped a large stock pot next to you. He bent down to look you in the eye and threw his hands up in the air. "He quit."

Your eyes widened and followed him as he walked to the other side of you and started plating beside you. "He what?"

"He fucking quit! Just like every other bitch who couldn't handle Tuesdays at the Baratie." His brows furrowed and he let out a small shout of frustration. "Whoever the fuck did the halibut, refry it!" He yelled as he set it off to the side. "Just 'cause we're busy doesn't mean you can push out a shit and pass it off as fine dining!"

You plated another order and put it under the heat lamp at the pass, then rang the bell, but no one came. "And we're short-staffed on waitresses too!" You exclaimed and spotted the busboy from before, "Oi! You! Get off your ass and start serving!" You threw your ticket-book and pen at him, which he barely caught from where he was sitting.

"B-But I'm washing dishes-!"

You dramatically gestured around. "We aren't even sending anything out, so unless you've been storing them up your rectum, what fucking dishes are you washing?!" You grabbed the french onion soup in the stock pot that Sanji had given you and quickly poured it into three bowls laced with garnish on top. "Take these to 12, and the steak to 24. Tell 12 that they'll get a free dessert in about twenty minutes. Well? Get a move on! You aren't getting paid to sit there and look pretty, 'cause you sure as hell ain't fucking pretty!" He scrambled to pick them up and he quickly ran out of the kitchen.

"That turned me on more than I'd like to admit." Sanji appeared beside you with another plate and rang the service bell. "If we weren't busy I'd kiss you, darling." He exclaimed as he grabbed a handful of garnish and placed it atop of the plate.

"Oi, fuckface." When he looked over, you quickly pressed a kiss to his lips and grabbed the metal tray of halibut. "Now, let's get these pretentious pricks fed!"

You both worked side by side, barking orders at each other and bickering over every little thing you could - even Zeff yelled at you both to shut up. But it worked. Within minutes, you both had worked through the back orders and finally got to a point where you weren't struggling to complete orders from guests who'd been waiting for hours. When the last table left, you and Sanji just about collapsed. Leaning against the cool wall tile with you by his side, he sighed. "That was definitely one of our busiest days," He said with pure relief that it was finally over.

You couldn't remain standing and slid down the wall, your high heels clicking as you sat down. "Yeah, who knew so many people would wanna celebrate Father's Day?" You replied sarcastically, but a playful smile told your boyfriend that you weren't being mean. He softly chuckled and followed suit, sliding down the wall until he reached the floor with a groan.

He pulled out his cigarettes. "I've earned one of these." He says as he puts it between his lips and waits for you to light it. You roll your eyes and oblige, taking out your lighter and lighting the end of it for him. He took a slow drag, closed his eyes, savoured it, and then exhaled out the smoke.

"You almost make lung cancer look sexy." You remarked with a grin, and he returned it with his own charming, beautiful smile.

His eyes slowly flicked up and down. "And you always make yelling and shouting look so sexy." He licked his lips and leaned in, giving you a kiss that lingered. Your eyes fluttered shut and you enjoyed the small respite from the craziness you had both just experienced. Even when the kiss eventually ended, neither one of you moved away. "Are you working tonight?" He asked under his breath.

You sighed and pecked his lips. "In two hours."

"Till?"

"Four."

"Shit."

"I know." You pressed your lips against his once more and moved some hair out of his face. "But, I'm not working tomorrow so we can sleep in."

He sighed. "I start at nine tomorrow."

"Till?"

"Six."

"Shit."

"I know." You both quietly laughed and pressed your noses together, then rubbed them together while stealing kisses and giggling like you used to when you were kids.

You'd been at the Baratie ever since you were fifteen, and you'd been dating Sanji since you were sixteen. It wasn't really something you both had officially decided on, nor did either one of you do this big, elaborate confession that made both of you ugly-cry. It happened slowly over time. Many customers and fellow staff would constantly tease you both with things like, "Where's your girlfriend, Sanji?" and, "Aw! You both are so cute together!" At first you both denied it, but eventually you just... stopped correcting people. You were each other's first kiss, first love... first love, and despite how it looks from the outside, you couldn't be happier.

"Oi, Sanji." You called out as you leaned closer to the mirror to focus on your eyeshadow. "Be careful, there's been a lot of pirate activity lately. They might stop by, so Zeff has officially-unofficially instated a no-tolerance policy for- Sanji!" You laughed when your boyfriend wrapped his arms around you and you struggled to do your makeup while Sanji hung off of you and pressed kisses along your cheek. "You toad! You're going to ruin my smokey eye."

He playfully moaned. "But you're so sexy," He whined and pulled back enough to give you puppy eyes. "And you shouldn't work tonight if there's pirates anyway."

"I still have to work." You replied, giving up on doing your makeup and stealing a quick kiss from him. "I'm the head of front-of-house, I can't just ring up Zeff and say, 'hey, your son wants to sleep with me so I can't come in today!'"

"No, you can't." At the sound of his voice, you looked up to see that your boss had entered you and Sanji's shared room. He would have seen the neatly pressed and ironed button-downs wrapped around hangers, and two mismatching pairs of high heels strewn about the floor. His eyes met yours. "We have a full house of rich, but important pricks tonight, and I need all hands on deck. If someone calls in sick, drag them out of bed if you have to."

Your boyfriend pouted playfully. "But she never gets any time off, can't we just-"

"(Y/N) is our head of house, she's too important to lose tonight." Zeff straightened up and crossed his arms over. "Little Eggplant, you can't distract (Y/N) from doing her job. Unlike you, she has to work to stay here." The old man looked over at you and you nodded, you knew that you were a staff member first and foremost - being the girlfriend of his adopted son was second to that.

Sanji's smile tightened, and he stood up. "I know." His blue eyes flashed with something that you meant he wanted to say something but didn't. His smile returned when he looked at you. "I'll see you in the morning."

As he brushed past Zeff and walked out of the room, you furrowed your eyebrows at your boss and father figure. "Now that's one way to get him pissed off at you." The words came out a little more aggressive than you meant to, but you didn't bother correcting yourself.

He sighed and turned to leave. "Leave it alone, (Y/N)."

"And one way to get me pissed off at you too." You dropped your eyeshadow onto the table and followed after him. His wide frame took up quite a bit of space in the hallway, but you squeezed past him to block his path.

Zeff groaned when he saw you and squeezed the bridge of his nose, then released it to gesture while he spoke. "(Y/N), I apologise if you felt offended. You're a part of our family, and--"

"I don't care about that." You scoffed in disbelief and gawked at his lack of social awareness. "You must be really thick in the skull if you think I'm upset about that."

His face scrunched up. "Then what are you upset about? Hm? What are you upset about now?" He gestured behind you. "I have dinner service to prep for," He started to list off on his fingers. "I have a team of flaky waitresses-your team of flaky waitresses to deal with, and I need to make sure that we have enough lamb being delivered for our special tonight. So what could it possibly be that is so important you're holding me up for?"

You counted to five in your head before opening your mouth to speak. "I love him. And I don't give a rat's ass that you sign my paycheck, or give me a roof over my head. You don't make Sanji, my boyfriend and your son, feel shitty just because you think it'll toughen him up. And you certainly don't use me to do that." You keep your gaze locked onto his. "You ever do that again? I walk." You stepped backward and straightened up. "I'll get the team ready for service."

You never regretted what you said. Was your tone harsher than it should've been? Yes, but you needed to get your point across to him. There wasn't any time to think about it though, because it was Friday night and thirty minutes before opening - you didn't have the time to regret what you said.

"Ladies!" You called out, then smiled. "And Sapi." Said fishman smiled at your acknowledgement as your team of staff gathered around to form a semi-circle in front of you. You held up your checklist. "We have fifteen V.I.P tables tonight. I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour. That means no frowning, no blowing your nose on the customer's napkins, and no- oh my God, Macy. If you don't shut the fuck up." The red-lipped, pigtail-wearing waitress jolted back from where she was gossiping with another waitress. You raise your brows at her as if to ask if she was done and rolled your eyes. "And no unprofessionalism." You finished with a glare.

Spai cleared his throat. "How many free tables do we have tonight?"

You looked back at the clipboard and flipped over the page, counting quietly to yourself. "There's two at seven and one at eight. The two at seven are one and eight, and the one at eight is seven. One can be for eight, but don't offer seven to under six because seven and six are over eight. Got it?"

The room was quiet for a moment, and Sapi slowly blinked. "May I have a copy of that, please?"

"I'll bring one to your station," You looked around. "Any questions?" Silence. "Good. Now, put on your fakest smile and happy ga-ga voice - we've got a line of ships waiting to be fed!"

"Let's do this, team!" Macy's voice screeched out and she was met with silence.

You exhaled gruffly and squeezed the bridge of your nose. "Macy, I swear to- let's do this, team!" This time, it was met with a round of cheer as they dispersed to familiarise themselves with their tables for the night.

A pleased sigh escaped you, content with your small but mighty team that you had managed to drag out of bed to work the floor. A glance to the suspiciously blank specials menu made you curse under your breath. You were going to have to talk to Zeff to get tonight's specials. With a defeated sigh, you clipped your pen to your shirt and sucked in a deep breath, before making your way to the kitchen where it sounded like food preparations were already underway.

"...and get those lamb in the cold room!" Zeff's voice was apparent the second you walked through those doors. The kitchen was a mess of people marching backwards and forwards like ants while Zeff, their queen, barked orders as they passed by. You thought about just turning around and pretending that the fight had never happened in the first place, but the old man spotted you and waved you over with a finger. "What can I get you, Sprout?" You breathed out a sigh of relief, hearing his nickname for you was like a wave of fresh air.

You straightened up and grabbed your pen. "Hey geezer, what's the specials tonight?"

He waited for you to finish writing "Specials" across the top of your sheet of paper. "We have Lobster Thermidor paired with the 1500s Chardonnay, or a White Burgundy if they snub the Chardonnay. Then we have classic Red-Wine Braised Lamb Shanks that you can pair with any Grenache you find." He slid a piece of paper to you. "These are the prices. I only want you handling checks tonight."

Out of sheer habit, you slipped the piece of paper into your bra. "Why's that?"

"Because someone messed up the till last night, and I want someone I can trust running it."

That made your heart clench. You sighed. "Look, Zeff," You started and lowered your clipboard. "I'm sorry for stepping out of line earlier. I was angry. Sanji was trying to get some 'us' time because we haven't even been awake at the same time for the last couple months. And when we have it's been with me running the floor and him- you know what I mean. Look, I'd never walk out on you, Zeff."

His face, as always, was blank, but you can tell he was processing what you had just said. He was quiet, but then he nodded. "Get those specials on the board. We open in ten." You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, then turned around. "Don't fuss, little brussel sprout."

A smile wormed its way onto your face and you looked over your shoulder at him. "Fussin' ain't worth fussing over. Isn't that what you say?" You barely dodged an incoming head of lettuce.

"Good evening, welcome to the Baratie. My name is (Y/N), can I get you started with some drinks tonight?" You were a natural at this. It didn't matter if you were having an "anti-person day", as Sanji called it, there was no denying that you had talent.

The man with soft, pink hair hummed and looked over the menu. His brass knuckles glistening under the dim lighting of the restaurant. "What are your specials for the night?"

A polite smile went a long way. "The chef has prepared for you a selection of the most wonderful meals made only from the finest and freshest ingredients in the Ease Blue. We have Lobster Thermidor paired with a Chardonnay that I find adds a bit of a fruity, uplifting compliment to the meal. And we have our high-in-demand Lamb Shanks braised in a nice red wine, and paired with only the best Grenache you can find for miles." You didn't bother telling him that it was the same Grenache you had found in the back of the freezer from four months ago.

"That sounds lovely, and what is the cost?"

You quietly hissed and looked over at the beautiful blonde who was sitting across from him, then leaned in to whisper. "I find it's best not to discuss such things on a date. You wouldn't want her to think she isn't worth it, right?"

Well, that certainly worked. He slowly looked between you and his date, who smiled sweetly and encircled the rim of her glass with her perfectly manicured french tips. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "You're right. We'll take one of each, and I'll have to rely on you for what pairs best."

You took the menu he offered with a smile and a nod. "Very well sir, I hope you two enjoy yourselves. Our bar is open all night." And with a wink, you danced away to the kitchen to place 'his' order. It was easy with men like that. All you had to do was dangle their woman's respect in front of them and they'd eat shit just to keep her smiling. But despite the monotony of it at times, you met a lot of interesting people from different backgrounds. You gave a small wave at the man at table two, a regular who had just come back from his royal ballet tour appearance and was with his rich, aristocrat girlfriend, who he said wasn't feeling well.

An set of voices, loud and uncouth, came from above and you stopped to cast a glance upwards. They were... pirates? Well, Zeff did say that they'd been more active around this area as of late, so it wasn't that much of a surprise - especially since there was already a couple tables of them. Sapi looked a little overwhelmed, so you sighed and grabbed a nearby waitress. "Could you take an order to the kitchen for me? It's table three with the two specials, two too. The man at two in the tutu wants it blue, but not at two with Ms. Sue in the red shoes. She has a touch of the flu, so any red meat or roux will make her spew. Got it?"

She blinked. "I think so?"

You patted her on the shoulder and briskly floated up the stairs with as much grace as a head waitress could muster. Their conversation slowly grew louder and you were able to hear some of their conversation. "My apologies, but I don't accept money for-"

"Is there something I can help you with?" At your words, the group looked over and Sapi, who had been trying to refuse some berri the orange-haired woman was offering him, visibly relaxed.

"Nothing is the matter, this group was just leaving." He answered and looked at them to see if they got the hint. The woman sighed in defeat and pocketed her cash. You looked over at the two young men leant against the railing staring into the restaurant below, they were very excited and looked as if they hadn't eaten a proper meal for a few days.

With your mind set, you glanced over at the time, then straightened up and smiled. "You know what? It's seven, so I believe we might have a booth available if that's suitable for your needs?"

She smiled and breathed out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, here-"

You held up a hand before she could reach into her pocket. "Save that for your meal." With a quick nod to Sapi, you stepped aside and gestured toward the staircase. "Follow me." The man with green hair and three swords rubbed you the wrong way almost the second you laid eyes on him, and you could tell he felt the same way. It was almost a sense of mutual familiarity. But you broke off eye contact to lead the rest of this strange, rambunctious crew further into the Baratie. "The Baratie was established by our current owner Zeff, and we recently celebrated our tenth anniversary."

The boy in the straw hat gawked at everything he saw and heard you say, and smiled brightly. "This place looks like it serves good food!"

That brought a smile to your face. "It does," You said as you guided them to their booth amidst other pirates and similar rough-looking guests. "And I don't just say that because my boyfriend's the sous chef."

"Are you sure about that?" The guy in a pirate costume asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief and laughing along with his young friend.

You smiled along and shook your head. "I'll let you guys get settled in and will return in about five minutes with a menu. Please enjoy the music." With a few friendly waves and a "see you in a bit!" from the straw hat boy, you turned and walked toward the back of the room to collect a few menus.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and your boyfriend appeared looking more than a bit annoyed. You didn't even think he was on the line tonight, but your attention was drawn to two men who had began to cause a bit of a ruckus. You weren't close enough to hear what was being said, but you tucked the menus under your armpit and darted toward the pair that were now being consoled by Sanji. "...we don't waste food, and there's no fighting at the Baratie." You slowed your walk toward them and continued at a crawl. The man you had served not that long ago was dealing with a rowdy pirate. You heard something that sounded like a threat and Sanji spoke up again, his voice cutting through the argument before it had the chance to escalate. "And I'd like to pour you each a glass of Ithürzburger Stein. On the house."

The pirate nodded. "Okay, I'll have that drink." His brows furrowed and his voice grew irrate. "After he apologies for his bad manners!"

"Over my dead body." That was certainly the wrong answer. With a growl, they both lunged for each other and you sped toward them, watching as Sanji, in a blur, flipped over the table and kicked each of them.

The pink haired man grunted and got back up on his feet, drawing his gun but then froze when he felt something cold dig into his back. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." You warned, shoving your own gun into his back and whispered in his ear. "Drop it." Like the coward he was, he did and you effortlessly slammed the butt of your weapon into his temple - knocking him out cold.

You motioned for a nearby waitress to deal with the unconscious men, then snapped your attention to Sanji who picked up his plate of scones and continued his walk. "No cause for alarm, folks. Please, enjoy your meals." He called out and you quickly pocketed your gun back into your thigh-holster, smoothing out your dress and turning to the waitress who had arrived at your side.

After gesturing for her to take them out the back door, you readjusted yourself and quickly walked up to Sanji's side who's forced smile made you tilt your head in confusion. He shook his head, he didn't want to talk about it just yet. You both made the few steps over to the table you had just seated and, despite his mood, he set down the plate with his usual grace. "Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?" While he spoke, you placed down some menus and tried to ignore the straw hat boy who was currently stuffing his face full of our complimentary scones.

The woman grabbed a menu from you with a smile, but the others had their eyes locked onto Sanji. "One of everything, please!" The straw hat boy called out without taking a look at the menu you had walked twenty feet in high heels to collect.

"Any drinks?" Your boyfriend offered as he shoved his hands into his pocket, unconsciously looking for his packet of smokes that you knew he couldn't light. You briefly wondered if you should offer him a smoke break to calm him down. "One of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?"

"Giving us the hard sell, huh?" She asked as she slowly lowered her menu and you found it increasingly harder not to smack the blond.

And, as usual, his entire demeanour changed. "Apologies, madam. I didn't see you there. Would you care for an aperitif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock. Or perhaps you'd like a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet-" He winked. "-for someone sweet."

"Something wrong with your eye?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. "No, but there is something wrong with his head if he thinks he can flirt with another girl in front of his girlfriend."

That garnered a few giggles, snickers and mock gasps from the table. Sanji chuckled and turned to you. "I hope I'm not in the doghouse tonight?" He pulled you in and gave you a quick kiss on your cheek, but you waved him off.

"We'll see." You shot him a not-so-serious warning look and focused back on the table. "Sorry about that, did I hear you were after some drinks?"

The green-haired male looked you up and down, faint recognition in his eyes as he cleared his throat. "Can I get a beer and something for my friends?"

The pirate-costumed man spoke up. "Two beers. I usually have three, but-"

"And a milk!"

You scribbled down their orders, and Sanji's hand crept around your waist. "Three beers and a milk. And, uh, for madam?"

"Water."

"Still, sparking, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?"

You stopped writing and slowly looked up to your boyfriend. "...Taken, Sanji." You reminded him and he stared back at you innocently.

Even the woman leaned back in confusion. "Regular water, in a regular glass. Thanks."

"Right away." He said with a wistful expression, and with the roll of your eyes, you dragged him away before he made a further fool of himself.

AN: Sorry about ending it there, but it was getting WAY too long and I figured it'd be easier to break it up into multiple pieces rather than having one solid chunk of 12k words. Or however long this fic ends up being. I'm actually kinda digging it, so I may continue to write it for a while! Also, I have no idea how old Sanji is meant to be in this universe? According to the internet (and the massive reddit fight I accidentally spawned) it's a tossup between 19 and 26 (OP Sanji's vs the actor's actual age.)

I also hope you appreciate the word-puns. I don't know why but I really enjoy writing them and love to include them in my writing-

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months

Text

I don't think I'm alone in hating helicopters. Unlike other kinds of vehicles, there is no direct animal comparison to the helicopter. Planes? Birds. Cars? Cats or something, I guess. Tanks? Uhhh different kind of cat. Hot air balloon? Okay, now you're just trying some shit, but – jellyfish, how's that? Not so smart now, are you?

All throughout our history, mankind has drawn inspiration from the animal kingdom in order to engineer things. It's very reliable. After all, it's been around for millions of years without a single warranty claim. Once in awhile, though, someone gets a little clever and tries to exploit the laws of physics to do something we don't see in nature. Case in point: helicopters.

Have you ever wondered why otherwise competent pilots have so many horrifying crashes in helicopters? And I'm not even talking the usual ones, like smoking a building or getting tangled up in power lines. Some snot-nosed kid with bottle rockets on the back of his BMX could do those. I'm talking full-on, uncontrollable auto-rotation, Jesus-nut-fell-off-the-rotors, nothing you can do but wait to die crashes. The kind of stuff that scares the folks that operate them. It's because helicopters are an affront to proud Mother Nature herself.

Helicopters aren't just bad on one axis: they're loud, they're obnoxious, and nobody really knows how to fly one. If I put your ass in a Boeing right now, you'd probably be able to keep it in the air for a half-hour or so while an adult tells you what button to make it land. Helicopter? There's no chance. You'd flip it upside down, it would enter an unrecoverable state, and we'd both be sausage patties on the freeway. Because it has not crossed paths with our evolution to date, we have no natural intuition for this hostile alien artifact.

Sure, there's lots of other things where we've thumbed our nose at her, too. Particle accelerators, like the one that pushed us into this alternate timeline. Computers, which allow horrifying thoughts to be beamed instantaneously to billions of receptive minds. PTFE, which makes pans non-stick for about a week or two but will kill your parrot. None of these things are as disturbing or as vicious as the not-so-humble helicopter. So let's smash them all, and then put the engines in our hot rods.

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leonw4nter · 8 days

Note

Hi hi, may I request a F1 racer Leon and photographer reader fic where reader somehow garners his attention in a sea full of people trying to get his autograph?? (Re4 Leon or Re2 Leon will do!)

Close To You

Racer!RE2!Leon x GN!Reader

You two lay in silence on your bestfriend Leon’s bed, staring up at the dark ceiling as you both listen to the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead. He’s leaving in a few hours, right when the first few rays of pink illuminate the otherwise dark sky; in just a day, he’d be in a completely different timezone from you. He promises to call but you don’t expect him to stick to it a hundred percent; college will be a busier time in both your lives after all and with his aspirations, you don’t expect him to handle too many things all at once. It’s 2:20 AM and both of you should be fast asleep, him in his bed and you on your air mattress that Leon insisted on helping to inflate, but you both can’t find it in you to spend the last few hours sleeping.

“Why aren't you sleeping?” Leon asks in a hushed whisper. His head rests on his arm, his mop of ashy-blond hair sticking out in small strands due to the amount of times he ran his fingers through his tresses.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” You respond back with a slightly aggressive whisper, head tilted to face him for a moment. “You’re going to be travelling for five-and-a-half hours. Staying up is going to bite you in the ass later.”

“I can’t sleep,” he responds back. “I’m nervous and already homesick.”

“C’mon, you got this! Nothing like a new change of scene for Leon Kennedy, right? It’s going to be awesome, I swear.” You reassure him with a smile, though your heart drops to your feet again and the feeling of missing him creeps up on you but he hasn’t even left yet.

“I mean… It’s gonna be an experience being in a new place and all but… I’m going to miss you,” he softly confides. He turns to lay down on his side, a hand tucked under his cheek as he looks at you through thin strands of his hair obstructing his view. “I don’t think we’ve ever done anything without each other. It’s gonna take a lot to adjust to this new setting.”

He sounds genuinely anxious, his voice lacking the usual confident quality it almost always carried. As sad as this whole predicament is making you, you’re forcing yourself to look less defeated than you feel; you can do the crying later for when he can’t see you anymore.

“I know, it’s… definitely going to be hard for the first few months but we’ll get around this eventually.” You reassure him with a small grin. “It’s not going to be the same without you, though. I’ll really miss you so don’t forget to at least text me, okay? When you’re free, of course.”

“I’ll miss you too and yes, I promise.” He sighs, shoulders slumping with his hushed exhale. He stares at you quietly through the dark, trying to map out your features despite the darkness of the room.

It turns into a game of staring and who will be the first to interrupt that has settled over you two like a blanket but it wasn’t the kind of staring that was just an empty, zoned-out stare; it was the kind where you two were committing every single detail of each other’s features to memory, to get the most vivid mental image you both can. You find it hard to swallow down that this face is going to be on your laptop screen, composed of pixels that won’t do his beauty any justice. He finds it difficult to grapple with the fact that he can’t brush the hair out of your face anymore or wipe away a speck of food at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Turns out, this isn’t just a staring contest– it’s a contest on who can hold off from giving in to the desires of their hearts.

“You’re going to have a lot of your firsts without me,” you speak up. “First love, first parties, first kiss…”

“So, Leon, have you ever been kissed before?”

You’re taken aback by your own boldness, shocked at this question. Of course he has; in the third grade, Patty Briggs gave him a valentine and kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her friends. You’re not sure if Leon remembers but you do and that’s because you were fuming that another girl has taken his first kiss away from you.

“No,” he responds. His voice is steady but you know that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are probably warm.

“Yes you did,” you counter before telling him about Patty and her valentine.

“I wonder how it–kissing– felt. If it feels slimy and icky or if it’s soft and plush.”

“Do you want to find out with me? How kissing feels?”

And that’s how you and him shared a first kiss on his saggy mattress, in his cold and dark room a few hours before he had to leave for the airport. Leon got his answer: it felt perfect, addictive. He wanted to keep kissing, to relive the spark of your lips pressing delicately. He even got the courage to bring a hand up to your cheek and bring your face closer, making the kiss feel deeper. He very well knew that he was running out of air but he didn’t want to break away, just lost in the velvety warmth of your lips, though slightly chapped.

Even when he was hours away from you, now onboard a plane, all the lovey-dovey songs he had on his portable music player were reminiscent of you and your magical kiss. You, on the other hand, were alternating between tears and giddy giggles. You managed to look put together and strong when you were seeing Leon get into the cab, though glassy-eyed by this time, but tears raced down the slope of your cheek fast as soon as the cab’s engine roared to life as the distance between you and him quickly grew from an inch to full-on kilometers. It’ll be hard to sleep with the lack of each other’s warmths on both your beds.

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Life was odd without the other, it didn’t feel entirely complete– bright moments would have been brighter if Leon was by your side, sadder moments would be less sad if Leon had you. You two promised to text and call as much as your conflicting and busy schedules could allow you both but soon the distance felt even more palpable, the five-hour time difference that would place you in his past too real and soon, you grew distant but you were not mad with him and he was not mad at you: you were both busy with your endeavors and life is a ball that keeps rolling, no matter how rough the terrain could get. No matter what, Leon still thought of you before sleeping, images of you flashing as he closed his lids; he thoughts about how you’d look now– if you cut your hair or styled it differently, if you got new piercings, or if you’d still smile at him with so much warmth. As if his fingers have a mind of their own, they travel upwards as the pads of his fingertips gently pat his puffy bottom lip as he thinks about the kiss you both shared before he left at the break of dawn’s first rays of light. He tries to fight back a smile, pushing down the giggle that threatens to rise from his chest and tries to contain it there until it dissolves into nothing. It doesn’t dissolve into nothing and the fizzy excitement that the mere thought of you conjures just doubles in amount; he has to do something about this and so he turns to his side, arms reaching underneath the pillow beneath his head, and brings it to his face as he laughs and giggles. He kicks his feet, occasionally poking out from his duvet. He realizes how stupid he must look now: a grown man giggling and shaking about in his bed when he’s supposed to be asleep at this time in the night but he doesn’t care, let a man explode into a fit of glitter and blue raspberry candies when he thinks about his best friend– wait, best friends don’t kiss on the lips. But you’re not exactly boyfriend-girlfriend either, you’d never said anything about it and neither did he but he’s positive that you like him back and so does he. Upon the realization, his giggles melt into a groan as he thumps on the pillow with a fist.

Like him, life has been fast-paced and seemingly unwilling to slow down for you. You had requirements to submit and organizations to attend to; things were busy for you but it kept thoughts of missing Leon too much at bay. You busied yourself with textbooks and leadership roles, a part-time job at a movie theater, being a photography studio’s assistant, and studies. You catch your thoughts slipping back to Leon– what is he doing with his life now? Has he got a girlfriend? How’s racing turning out for him? Has he been eating well? Does he still wear his retainer? You can only hold off for so long until all those feelings come to shock you in the middle of an otherwise lovely day. You wished that you both weren’t so busy or you both cared slightly less about whatever you were doing and talked for hours and hours again, maybe even watch a movie online, and discuss the cinematics of the film in full detail, maybe even share interpretation. You see his eyes on a clear blue sky, his hair in feather reed grass panicles, his voice in rock songs playing in music stores, and wrinkled blue t-shirts. You arrive home from university, dropping your backpack to the foot of the bed before flopping down to your bed. You lay silently, limbs spread out in a starfish position, and groan to let even a little bit of the stress and exhaustion leave your body. You move to sit up but your leg hits something, sending it cluttering to the ground.

“Fuck,” you hissed as you bent to pick the thing up. It felt light and rectangular and it clinked lightly when you moved it around. Switching on your bedside lamp, you noticed that it’s one of the cassette tapes Leon had given to you before. You look at it, a finger tracing on your name written in black marker with Leon’s angular penmanship.

“Oh, Leon,” you quietly mumble to yourself as you look around for your earphones. “Do you still listen to Queen? You still better.”

You find your earphones and slide the jack into the port, placing the buds on your ears and plopping back in bed once more as you face the ceiling. You click the play button, waiting for a song’s first melodies to come through. You expect an intro of drums and electric guitar but it’s a gentle piano that greets you instead and instantly you recognize it: ‘(Close To You) They Long To Be’ by the Carpenters. You and Leon had ‘your song’, a collection of songs that are strongly associated with each other and your friendship; most of them were songs like “Don’t Stop Me Now”, “Little Lies”, and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” but there were softer, calmer ones with that song being one of them. During camping trips with your family, you’d be sitting in the rear passenger seats sharing an earbud and singing along to the songs, most of the time going off-key but you were both happy regardless. You find yourself singing along alone, closing your eyes as you don't resist letting a smile tip the corners of your lips upwards.

“I hope you’re doing well,” you wistfully tell to no one. “I miss you.”

After several more songs, you fall asleep with the tape resting on your abdomen as ‘Eyes Without A Face’ by Billy Idol plays.

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After taking up several jobs and earning enough money to book a two-way flight, you pack your bags and head to the airport for a flight to Iowa for your semestral break. After having seen news of an all-too-familiar face slowly making a name for himself in the world of motorsports, you hunted down any bit of information you can get on when, where, and how much it cost to see him race. You thought about visiting him, catching up again like the good ‘ol times so hearing about Leon in this way just solidified your decision. Besides, it would be great to snap a different scenery for a change and it would look good on your portfolio. Energized by the cheap airport coffee, you go through the bag checks and take off your shoes as you wait for the officers to finish their inspection. After several minutes of inspection and waiting at the holding area for your flight, sketching the interior of the airport to pass the time, your flight is finally called and you get up to head to boarding. You finally get to your seat, right next to the window where you can get a perfect view of the clouds below. Unable to sleep last night, you went on a deepdive for the mechanisms of how an airplane flies. It was fascinating, to say the least, but it did make you slightly anxious; the thought of all the air in the Earth blipping out into nothing and the plane falling down to the ground scared you, making you shudder, but you pushed those scary thoughts away and replaced them with Leon. Did he grow any taller? Is he still that same dorky boy you knew? Would he still be down to be friends with you?

Leon did one last check on his car, a dark blue Panoz Esperante GTR-1 with white accents and subtle orange details before driving back to his hotel and getting some sleep.

“C’mon, Leon, she’s in perfect condition.” Marvin says, one of the engineers he consults with in order to maintain the condition of his car. “I checked her over and over and her diagnostics are all good but I’ll get up an hour early to do one last check up before the race.”

Leon nods, giving him a gentle pat to the back before greeting him good night.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You tried to hold back your screaming, you really did, but when Leon crossed the black and white checkered finish line after several exhilarating laps you just couldn’t help but beam for him. You shot up and screamed at the top of your lungs, cupping your hands around your mouth as you chanted his name when he got out of his car and waved to the spectators. Now, you’re part of the crowd trying to get his autograph. You have your notebook and best pen in hand, trying to navigate the sea of people all flocking to him but you can’t blame them: he’s just naturally charismatic, something about his boyish awkwardness that’s endearing. You finally manage to squeeze yourself to the front, excitedly calling his name as you pointed your camera at him, adjusting the settings to make him the focal point– the focus as the world around him is a blur of colors.

“Leon!”

He’s in the middle of signing a teenage boy’s cap, making small chit chat with him as well. The photos are shaky, blurred, and sometimes obstructed by other people but you didn’t mind; you didn’t have to send these kinds of photos in, it’ll be kept near and dear to your heart though it’s imperfect and far from aesthetically pleasing. Your heart sort of squeezes at the sight, observing how his smile looks a little tired and feigned, overstimulated by the crowd hollering and pushing themselves at him but he still manages to be so nice and understanding. You decide to back off and wait until he finally sees you, not wanting to contribute to the added pressure of the moment. You laugh when he laughs, seeing some dads ask him for a photo and crack some corny dad jokes; you smile when you see him giving high-fives and fist bumps with little kids who were more than buzzing with energy to talk to him. Eventually, the sea of people around him thinned and you took the opportunity to try and talk to him again. You adjust your top and pat down your hair, doing your best to look fresh for when you get to see him for the first time in a long time. He’s just about to turn around and you skip ahead, patting the back of his shoulder. Woah, he’s a lot taller– his shoulders became broader now.

“Can I get a quick photo of you, Leon?” His body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He stares past the camera and into your eyes, taking in the sight of you all smiley and even more heavenly. You swear that his body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He lacks words and makes up for a hug, placing the notebook and pen down to the ground and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Buddy,” you softly say as you reciprocate the embrace. “I missed you too.”

You swear that you heard a small sniffle come from Leon, patting his back as he stays still and keeps his head in the crook of your neck. After quite some time he pulls off, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. He breathily says your name, a hand climbing up to cup your cheeks.

“How… How’ve you been?” he asks in a shaky voice. “Woah, you look– you’re even more pretty now. Um, awesome– you look great! You– you’re… um— I-”

He stutters, cheeks burning. His hands leave their perched positions and his right hand travels to rub at the back of his neck. You giggle at this, smiling at him. He’s still awkward and dorky as ever.

“You look great too,” you compliment. “I love your arms, they’re a little bigger compared to the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah… I’ve- uh… been working out, yeah. Part of the… uh– job.”

“Yeah? Or have you been working out for a girlfriend?”

“Me? Girlfriend? Oh, uh– no. I don’t… have one. It’s just been– well, nevermind.”

“Hm? Go on, just been…?”

“I’ll tell you over coffee! How’s that sound?” he says a little louder, clearly eager to tell you more of his life since he’s moved. “If you want. Only if you want to, of course! No pressure.”

“I’d love to, Leon. We can have as much coffee as we want for quite some time– I’m on my break from school.”

“Great! I mean– me too. We can go now, if you want! I’ll just– I’ll just clean up a bit and check with my team and we can go! Sounds great!”

“Sounds great, looking forward to it.”

You lean in close to him, a hand fisted around the collar of his fire retardant suit and drag him forward to be eye level with you. You press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger a little longer before pulling away.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He takes you to a quaint little café, offering to pay for both your drinks and pastries as you dine over a conversation between two friends catching up.

“So, yeah. It’s a little hard to juggle the police academy and racing right now but there's nothing I can’t do, right?”

“I thought about you sometimes, especially when I listened to our jam. I seriously thought about all the times we had to do a tense back and forth for borrowing calculators because I forgot.”

“I take it that you have a boyfriend?”

“No! I mean– no, I don’t. I’m free, single even. No dates or anything… so I’m up for more coffee dates.”

Leon smirks, reaches to you and wipes a flake of a pastry from the corner of your mouth.

“So, this is a coffee date for you?”

It’s your turn to be flustered and all flushed, setting down the scones you were happily enjoying with clotted cream.

“No! I mean– yes! Well, more like a reunion snack between two… um… best friends who haven’t seen each other in years!”

He reclines in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as an amused smile is on his face. He looks playful now, a lot less awkward than he was on the drive there.

“Two best friends don’t just kiss each other on the lips,” he retorts. “Would you like me to court you then?”

“Court… me?”

“Well yes,” he carefully broaches the topic. “I’ve been thinking about you over the years we were apart. I haven’t had any girlfriends, I can’t find it in me to be attracted to someone who isn’t you. I’d like to give us a try but only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You stare at him, cheeks slightly puffed out with your fingers frozen in grabby fingers from having previously intended to reach out for another pastry but his words just rendered you still in your seat.

“Um! Well, I’d… I’d love that!” You tell him. “Please, please do. I’ve been thinking about you too– no boyfriends for me, not a boyfriend who isn't you.”

He smiles, excited. He’s already coming up with ideas on how to woo you– he’ll do those birds’ attraction dances and flail his arms around if it means convincing you that he’s worth your time.

NOTE - first off, thank you to the anon who sent this!! I know you waited a long time so I hope this lived up to your expectations <3 !! next thing, fic drops will be a lot less frequent since i'm getting quite busy with things but dw since i'm getting close to completing all the requests in my inbox :) updates about how i'm doing umm... i've found out that I quite like collecting stickers, like random stickers. i found this out when i bought some stickers from business students selling them for a project. Anyway, that's it and thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!!! I <333333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy #biohazard #fluff #leon s kennedy fluff #resident evil 2 remake #re2 #re2 remake #resident evil 2 #re2r

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zweiginator · 2 days

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DESPERATELY NEED U TO ELBORATE ON THE PATRICK'S LITLLE SISTERS BABYSITTER OMFG

brrrrr patrick coming home from college and that's why you're home too. you just need some extra cash over break and the zweig's are so wealthy they're willing to pay you almost triple what you would usually get. so of course you'll watch their elementary-age daughter. she's sweet and easy to get along with and the zweigs give you extra money to go to movies or get takeout for dinner.

so you're sitting on the floor in the living room painting her nails when you almost have a heart attack because the door is flinging open and the zweigs aren't supposed to be back until morning.

you're ready to have her hide behind you when she starts beaming.

"patty!"

he sets his bags down and kneels down to hug her since her toes are freshly painted pink.

"who's this?" patrick smirks at you and you look up at him, still confused.

"my babysitter. mom and dad went out of town."

he reaches out to shake your hand. "hi babysitter. I'm patrick, the big brother."

and now it makes sense; you've heard the zweigs mention him every once in awhile. pictures of him when he was younger are scattered around the house but it's clear they haven't been updated in awhile because he looks different.

he's taller and more filled-out. stronger legs and arms and facial hair that peppers his jaw. in the family photos in the house he's much younger and much scrawnier with an awkward, sheepish smile.

but here, he towers above you and he's confident. he looks at you in a way his little sister wouldn't understand, but you can see his intentions clear as day.

"why are you here, patty?" his sister asks him.

he stares right at you. "just wanted to come back home for break."

"i thought you were going to visit artie at stanford?"

"nah. I'll see him soon enough."

the truth is, he shouldn't be home. he and his parents had had a falling out but he needs money and he knows they can't say no to their son's face. they're still pissed about him being caught with drugs in his college town. the charges were dropped but not without his father, a big attorney in town, talking them down. it wouldn't happen again.

and when you tuck his sister into bed, patrick is leaning against the door, watching you.

he asks if you want to hang out and being in the same house with him, you just opt to say yes.

so that's how you end up in the kitchen. you're sitting on the counter, and patrick reaches onto a top shelf to get some liquor out. his shirt rides up and you look away.

"wanna drink?" he unscrews the bottle.

"just one. i'm being paid to babysit, you know."

"as if my parents don't drink all fuckin' time. you're fine."

he pours you both a drink. makes you clink your glass with his.

the one drink turns into two and then you refuse another. patrick stops too. but the music he turned on is pretty and soft and he's just staring at you. you grip the edge of the counter hard because you're having an urge to do something bad. something you shouldn't do.

patrick steps closer, standing in between your legs. he sprawls his hand on the back of your head and you swallow, big eyes staring up at him. his thumb traces across your cheek and then presses against your bottom lip and you whimper.

and against your better judgment, you tug on the hem of his shirt. he's quick to pull it over his head.

his body is perfect and the vodka is warm in your system. it's making you sensitive to everything around you.

he pulls you into him, kissing you roughly, his hands snaking down your back to feel your ass and somehow your legs end up wrapped around him, your hand feeling his hardening cock through his jeans.

"i shouldn't do this." you unbuckle his belt.

"you shouldn't or you won't?" he hikes your dress up.

"i shouldn't."

"me neither."

he fucks you anyway.

#ask #patrick zweig smut

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pocoyo-yo · 2 years

Text

'𝟒𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'

SUMMARY: when toji anime concept art dropped millions of panties dropped around the globe

WARNINGS: smut, fem!bodied reader, slight daddy kink, praise kink, degradtion, breeding kink, slight breath play/slight choking, fingering, mating press (pos.), unprotected sex, creampie, slight lactation, mentions of preganacy, sorta.. kinda baby trapping, petnames (baby, ma, pretty girl, daddy) toji is a toxic, manipulitive baby daddy ngl

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who knows you can't live without him. who knows he's the only one who can keep you satisfied.

you complain about him and yet you let him in. everytime he uses the same excuse as to why he's there 'just wanna see the baby, nothing more'.

he finds himself playing with the one year old daughter you two shared, catching you giving him glances here or there. you may not have even known it yet, but he could tell you were needy. your breathing pattern, the fact you had your thighs pressed so tightly together, it was so obvious you wanted him to fuck another baby in to you.

"megumi 'nd tsumiki miss you," he tells you while playing patty-cake with his baby girl. it wasn't a lie either, the two did prefer you compared to toji's previous girlfriends (if you could call them that)— shit, tsumiki preferred you over her own mother. "they keep askin' about lyric.. they wanna spend time with their lil sister.."

you attempted to make a point, "they can see her when it's your days," you added. "but i do miss them too.. they're very sweet kids, nothin' like you."

toji scoffed, "yeah? but i still made megumi just like i made lyric.. they're somethin' like me, and besides,"

he held up lyric and placed her face next to his own.. a smug smirk on his scarred lips.

"doesn't she look just like daddy.."

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who sloppily makes-out with you on the couch after you put the baby for a nap. one hand squeezing your jaw and the other cupping your pussy while he thrusts two thick fingers inside of your weeping hole.

"talk to me, ma," his fingers curled, pressing firmly into that spongey spot within your walls while rubbing your clit with his thumb. "talk to me.." he huffed in between kisses.

your hips jumped as you rolled yourself on his fingers, trying to apply more pressure to that spot.

"feels s'good toj'.." you whimpered and dug your heels into his shoulder blades. he forced your face back from his, making sure you could lock eyes with him. those same emerald eyes your daughter had inherited.

"mhm i know, pretty girl," his strong hands squeezed your cheeks together, your lips were swollen from the kissing, and tears clung to your lashes. you were just too fuckin cute. "nobody can please this spoiled lil pussy like i can, yeah? .. not even you, ma.." he chuckled as your eyes flicked back in your head, his movements had become faster and his fingers pushed deeper than before.

your hips bucked erratically, trying to chase your approaching high. you babbled on moans as your arousal rolled down his knuckles. your pathetically wet pussy was all you could hear besides your own whimpers.

"nobody," you cried. "nobody but you daddy.."

you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to supress your moans and not wake the baby while you squirmed from the overwhelming pleasure.

"did ya miss me as much as i missed ya? fuck.. how bad was it─ not bein' able to make yourself cum like i do─ like daddy does?" he asked, groaning at the sight of your puffy pussy growing bruised from how hard he was fingering you.

"soo bad.. so so bad," you moaned, his grip on your face loosening. "you reach so fuckin' deep.. make me feel so good, toji.. missed you so much.."

your voice quivered, "toji.. i need it bad.."

"need what, ma?" he asked you.

"need," you sniffled. "need your dick, toj'.."

he scoffed, "i know but i gotta prep you," he chewed on his inner cheek as you slid your hand under your tanktop and began playing with your sensitive tits. "just cum on my fingers and i'll give it to you.. i know how needy you've been without me, ma. my poor baby's been sufferin without this dick, yeah?"

you whined, "that's it..?"

"that's it," he kissed your nose. "that's all daddy wants.."

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who has you so cock drunk that he had to cover your mouth 'cause at that point you didn't even consider the fact you'd wake the baby.

but he couldn't blame you.

it had been about five months since he fucked you and right now it seemed like, even with prep, he was splitting your lil cunt in two.

it was a sloppy mess down there, you had forgotten how many times you had creamed around his cock.. but it was enough that it made each thrust make a wet, gushy squech-like noise.

only he had you like this.. so pathetic and desperate for a man's dick.

but it wasn't just that alone, of course he was blessed with a big ass dick, but toji actually knew how to fuck. he knew where to touch, what to tease, how fast or how slow he should go to get the ideal reaction from you.

"so fuckin messy," he grinned, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as his heavy balls slapped repeatedly against your ass. toji found himself slipping out of you and he rubbed the tip of his cock over your clit. ".. so fuckin sensitive.."

you whined and bucked your hips against him til he finally pushed his cock back into the warmth of your gummy walls.

"you love this dick don't you, ma?" toji grunted, pulling his hand down so that you could speak.

his tip kissed your cervix and you gasped, "love it so much, toji!"

"ya can't live without this dick, can ya? just gotta fuckin' have it like a lil addict," toji chuckles, his thrusts grew harsher and more precise by the second. "what? you addicted to this dick, baby?"

you sobbed, "m─ mhm!"

"at that point then," his hand snaked around your throat. your thighs were now pressed firmly against your leaking breasts.. your pussy spread open and getting fucked 'til it was turning red. "might as well call this my fuckin cunt.. 'cause you can't please it properly without me.." toji huffed, squeezing your throat just a bit.

"it's," you whimpered. "it's your cunt, toji.. only yours!"

you could feel yourself coming to another orgasm.. your entire body was feeling it─ feeling him. that was his effect. every nerve, fiber, and ounce of your being could feel him when he fucked you. shit, even when he wasn't fucking you. lyric was an perfect example of the fact that toji was never going to be out of your life for good.

"missed you so much.. oh m'gonna cum! m'gonna cum again toji.." you warned him, clawing at his chest as your tits bounced with the newfound speed of his thrusts.

"fuck, just wait a sec, ma.." he rasped.

"can't," you whined. "gotta cum now.. please!"

he squeezed your throat tightly and groaned, "listen to me," you gasped for air as tears rolled down your hot cheeks. "do ya love me, baby?"

you blinked tears away as air filled your lungs once again..

"y.. yes, I love you too much toji.." you admitted.

"love ya too, ma," he smirked. "let me cum inside this pussy, yeah? let me make sure every man who looks at you knows i've been inside this pretty pussy.."

you let out one final gasp as you gushed around toji's cock for maybe the fourth time already, and in response to your cunt spasming around him he buried his cock deep inside you, shuddering as he let his jaw hang low and thick ropes of cum painted your inner walls.

toji kissed your calves while kneading your bare tits as you tried to collect your thoughts.

but only one echoed throughout your mind

everything hurts.

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who laid next to you in your bed, letting you rest on his chest. his lips pressed into your forehead while holding you close, softened cock nestled in your walls.

"toji.." you mumbled, voice hoarse.

"yeah, ma?"

"i'm not on bc.." you confessed shyly.

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who fucks you to sleep raw after hearing those words, making sure he claimed you on on every surface of your apartment before your daughter finally sturrs awake. he mumbles something about you resting.. and that he'll take care of her til you wake.

that familiar smug look on his face as he watches globs of his cum drip from your hole.

he knows good and well that he finally had you.. he finally caught you with your gaurd down..

now you were for sure stuck with him 'cause after all that, baby number two was definitely guaranteed.

────────────────────

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strang3lov3 · 5 months

Note

new ask game -

💞⭐⚡you have to say 100 different nice things about the person who sent this to you.⚡⭐💞 *none of them can be sarcastic

ok go!

Fine. I'll do it. But disclaimer, just because below this is 100 nice things about @noxturnalpascal it does not make her nice. I am going to expose her for some truly impish behavior.

now for the compliments, since you're twisting my arm.

You are an incredible cat mama.

You're one of the kindest people I've ever known.

I love your sense of humor. It's just like mine kind of but not as good bc I'm the funniest person I know.

Of all the swifties, you are the most tolerable and I have to hand it to you for that.

Every day that I'm your friend is a good day.

You have such a big and beautiful heart.

You're incredibly welcoming.

Your talent in writing is second to none.

With writing, I love your devotion to the craft. Haha, get it? Devotion

You're beyond helpful in helping me with my writing, personal stuff, helpful with others.

You're very generous. You gave me a billion dollars for some artwork and that was really nice.

You have beautiful hair.

You're a fantastic listener.

You give really good advice. When I need a perspective on something, I'll always go to you.

I love your smile.

You make me and others feel valued.

You make me feel motivated.

You're so easy to gang up on and I and others love that about you.

You're supportive.

You have a good attitude about everything.

You make writing look easy!

You're brave.

You're a good problem solver.

You have beautiful tattoos.

You're loving.

I love your creativity.

I think about your newest fic and how creative it became.

What a beautiful little world you made!

You have wonderful ideas in writing and especially smut.

I cannot wait to pick your brain for all that I'm going to write this summer.

You make me feel calm.

You're dependable, and I like knowing you're always there.

You inspire me.

On my worst days, you are one of the best parts.

You're trustworthy. There was that time I accidentally posted my apartment's exact coordinates in a server, and you didn't doxx me. So that was nice I guess.

You're enthusiastic.

You're super fucking smart.

Your have wonderful taste in artwork.

When I stay up too late, you're often there to keep me company.

You seem like someone who wouldn't make me go on a hike.

You're the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up.

You have a such way with words both in your writing and in the way you speak.

You're patient.

You're passionate.

You have a heart of gold. *yes this is different from having a big and beautiful heart.

You're inspiring.

You're a good storyteller.

You're resourceful.

You hook me up with some really good porn gifs for writing inspo.

You're very relatable.

You're always there when I need you.

Your perseverance is admirable.

You have a beautiful spirit.

You're nice to be around.

I love our phone calls where we just silently write together.

You're full of wisdom.

You're a ray of sunshine!

I think you're a blessing to everyone.

You make everyone feel included and worthwhile.

You're a true friend.

And our friendship means the world to me.

You have a nice speaking voice.

You're very genuine.

When I was mad about Pedro losing an Emmy to Kieran, you helped reel me in. Now I'm not so mad about it.

You're probably noticing that I'm repeating myself a bunch but you probably don't mind.

this

You're selfless.

You're beautiful inside and out.

You're a great chef.

You see the best in everyone.

You leave a positive impression on everyone you know.

That's the reason everyone wants to be your friend!

You're a treasure. Like me.

You're so incredibly giving with your time and energy.

You’re compassionate

You're caring.

You're very resilient.

The world is better with you in it.

If I could hug anyone in the world right now it'd be pedro you. i guess

Your spirit is truly beautiful.

You're so incredibly thoughtful.

You have good opinions on just about everything.

You tolerate all of my jokes that are so very bad.

You don't make fun of my green smoothies anymore.

Character development^

Your frankie x stripper reader fic is on my mind CONSTANTLY.

You're not judgmental and I feel safe with you.

You've made a positive difference in my life.

If I were to ever stop writing fic, I think you would still be my friend.

You're good at doing difficult things.

You're very warm, both in your energy and probably your temperature. You do live in *******

If we went to high school together, you would have walked the mile run with me instead of leaving me behind to go run like an asshole. god i hate running.

Back in November I was having a bad day and you knew somehow, and you reached out and made me feel better and that's when I knew I wanted you in my corner.

You say the nicest things about even my most dogshit fics.

Last night you told me you think the world of me and and my writing :')

You're a cat person.

That broccoli cheese soup you made that one time looked really good.

You know I am lactose intolerant and you do your best to stop me from eating cheese and ice cream (i will never). When I am in agony the next morning, you're always sympathetic and patient.

You offer really good feedback on my writing and I think you have helped me improve as a writer so much. And also as a person. I like who I've become since getting to know you.

I'm probably supposed to write something very profound and sappy for #100 but this list has sucked me dry. I just love you a lot.

#noxturnalpascal #patti #patti x bug #thumbs up patti #strang3lov3 #thumb #thumbs down patti

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blaxcunicorn · 8 months

Text

One-shot

Heeey! I just wrote something random as I felt a bit inspired after reading Just kids by Patti Smith. I have been busy with my exams which is why I've been gone for so long but we back!

Content: fem!reader, NSFW warning, Rockstar Eren before fame, friends to lovers, poverty

You hissed as you cut your pinky finger on a thorn while making a flower bouquet for a customer. You sucked it up and gave the sweet lady her bouquet with a smile. “It’s perfect, thank you. My daughter is going to love it.” She smiled. Her smile warmed your heart. Being a florist wasn’t the most fulfilling job, but making people like her smile motivates you. Well, that and putting food on the table. You grew up in the city's poorer side, so there weren’t many opportunities for you after high school. The florist job was the best thing you could find, it isn’t all bad, the owner has been nothing but kind to you. You heard the doorbell ring as Mrs Johnson came walking into the shop with bags that smelled like heaven. She and her husband owned the bakery next to the shop, and they would always bring you the leftovers of the day. “Here, my love, it’s not that much, but hopefully, it is enough for a day.” She smiled gently. You opened the bag; it was a sandwich, a croissant, and a whole loaf of bread. “This is more than enough, thank you.” You said gratefully, setting the store ready for closure.

You walked into your tired apartment building, greeting the tired landlord who was seated at his usual desk spot. He gave you a sad smile as you stood outside your brown door with an eviction note taped on it. They were increasing the rent, and you were already struggling to meet the current increase of the last one. You had to sell your bed in order to afford last month’s payment. You opened the door to your small yellow-walled studio. You put the bakery bag on the counter, grab the sandwich, and cut it in half, leaving the other piece on the plate. As you sat down with your sandwich, you noticed a pair of pants with holes on the left knee on the table. You shook your head and pulled out your sewing equipment. As you almost finished stitching the pants, you heard the familiar sound of the heavy steps of construction boots.

Eren entered the room, greeting you with a warm grin. “Man, I’m exhausted, Gold, but how was your day?” He asked, putting his yellow helmet on the counter. He has called you Gold since childhood, which you never entirely understood. You and Eren grew up as neighbours in the very same building. You lived in another apartment with your grandmother, and Eren lived with his parents. Life dealt the two of you shitty cards, and Eren’s mother was killed in a robbery gone wrong when you were only five years old. His father passed away from a heart attack when he was fifteen, and he had to drop out of school to find a job. Your grandmother didn’t have the financial means to help him, but she would cook him meals as often as possible. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long, as she passed away when you were sixteen. Eren offered you to move in with him so that you didn’t have to drop out like him. Mrs Johnson, who was your grandmother’s friend, helped you get a part-time job as a florist. You managed to finish high school, and well here you are.

“Hello, Gold. Are you okay?” He asked, looking concerned. You jump a little as you had zoned out, I mean, how could you not? The construction job had made Eren quite built, he literally looked like a Greek God. “I’m fine, sorry. Just a little tired, that’s all.” You smiled while finishing the pants throwing it at Eren. “Thanks, you’re the best!” He grinned, caught it, and grabbed the other half of the sandwich. His smile disappeared the moment he came closer. He held your hand and stroked your finger with his thumb. “Don’t worry, I just cut myself a bit at work”, you smile, trying to ease the tension. Eren doesn't respond, his eyes are focused on the scar. “I will provide you a life where you don't have to take jobs that will leave you scars” he muttered. “Huh?” You said, looking confused. “Nothing..Hey, I brought a surprise!” He grinned, pulling out two bottles of cheap white wine. “What are we celebrating?” You smile, folding his pants. “The guys and I finished fixing the van! We are leaving for LA by the end of next week!” He said excitedly, pulling out two plastic cups. You swallowed hard but tried to put on a smile for him, although your eyes were stinging.

Eren learned how to play guitar from Armin’s grandfather at the age of fifteen. He owned an instrument shop and noticed that a couple of kids were interested in the instruments. It was first Connie who came in looking at the drums. Armin’s grandfather sat the bold boy down and taught him how to play the instrument. The second time Connie came, he brought his friend Jean. Jean was mesmerised by the beautiful black and white bass. Which after a few weeks, it became his best friend (after Connie, ofc!).

Lastly, we have Eren, he was on his way home from work when he saw Armin’s grandfather struggle with some boxes. He offered to help, which the elderly man accepted. One of the boxes contained a black electric guitar. Armin’s grandfather offered Eren to try it out as he saw his green eyes glow at the sight of it. Weeks later, he introduced the three boys to his grandson Armin who could play both keyboard and guitar. The boys quickly became friends and started playing together in the evenings. Armin’s grandfather believed that it was better for the boys to be distracted from the crimes in the city, and what better distraction than music? The elderly man passed away four years later. From there on, the boys knew that they wanted to start a band and make it out of the city. They found an abandoned van that they spent a year fixing with the help of Jean’s mechanic background. The plan was to use the van to drive to LA and sleep in it if they couldn't afford a Motel. Now it being done meant that Eren would soon leave to follow his dreams.

You took the cup, he offered you, “Cheers to you for making it in LA!” You said, smiling. “Cheers for the two of us making it in LA!” The Chestnut-haired man said, correcting you. “Us? As in..”

“Would you think that I would leave you behind in this shitty city?” Eren asked, looking at you like you had stated something silly like the moon was made out of cheese. “Yeah, I mean…ehm”, you played with your fingers. The guys always referred to you as their fifth member. You weren't a direct member of the band, but you had sewed them a few pieces to wear when they’d do free bar performances. “I could never leave you behind, it’s you and me against the world. Like it always has been.” He grins, toasting his wine before downing it in one go. It warmed your heart to know that Eren would never forget about you. After finishing the bottles, the two of you are pretty drunk. “Eren, could you please play something for me?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

You look so damn cute drunk. How could he say no? “Sure, what song?.” He says, picking up his guitar. “This Charming Man!” You say excitedly. You danced to Eren’s angelic voice, “Ah, a jumped-up pantry boy who never knew his place!” You shout, and Eren gets up and dances with you. One day, I will write you a song that will make you dance like that, he thought to himself. The two of you danced like you had no care in the world, as putting food on the table was not an issue, as you weren’t surrounded by crime and death.

The two of you lie in bed, dizzy and out of breath but happy. You turn your bodies to face each other. “Eren, did you mean it when you said that it was the two of us against the world?” You ask for reinsurance. “Of course I did, I can’t imagine any other woman by my side but you.” The alcohol in his system was exposing him. You smiled while massage his ear lobe. “Is that so?” You whispered, dying of happiness on the inside. He doesn’t respond but looks at you like a lovesick crackhead. Your cheek burned, and you turned your head to face the cracking roof in embarrassment.

Eren cupped your cheeks, forcing you to face him again. You leaned into the warmth of his rough hands. “What am I to you, Eren?” Your lips were almost touching, and the smell of wine filled your nose. He leans in and kisses you passionately. His lips were a big contrast to his hands. You felt a needy heat growing between your legs, it seemed like Eren was reading your mind as he slid his two fingers under your dress. “Already wet for me?” He whispered. “Yes,” you whined.

Eren removed your dress and underwear, and you hissed in the chilly air. Eren doesn’t break eye contact with your as he spreads your legs and gives your cunt a long lick from the bottom of your vulgar, covering his tongue with your sweet juices. “God, Gold…you…taste…so…good”, he whispered, diving into your cunt. “Ah, Eren” you moan. You were confident that your neighbour Eric on the other side of the wall heard you.

All Eren cared about right now was to make you cum, to release you from all the stress from your everyday life. "'I’m gonna cum," you whimpered, realising all over his mouth. “Good girl”, he whispered, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. “Eren, can you please fuck me?” you asked pathetically. He flipped you on your stomach. He leaned over and growled in your ear, “You don’t have to ask me twice. Get on all fours,” and kissed your back. You did what he demanded, feeling shivers all over your body.

Eren collected cum from your vagina and smeared it all over his veiny cock. He gripped tight around your hips and hissed as he was entering you. Eren pumped slowly back and forth, the air was filled with your moans as your pussy was getting used to Eren’s colossal size. “Fuck”, he moaned as he started speeding up, digging his finger further into your flesh. “Gold, fuck me back. Fuck your cock back, it’s all yours”, he growled. Being the obedient woman you were, you threw your ass back. “Harder” he demanded, spanking you. “Ah, fuck Eren”, you moaned as your arms gave up on you and collapsed on the bed. That didn’t stop Eren as he lifted your hips and placed his cock inside of you. “Fuck, your pussy feels good. Keeping this from me for six years,” he groaned, continuing fucking you. Your face was on the pillow, which was a good thing as you were a moaning mess.

Your eyes teared up as you felt your second climax blossoming. Eren could tell as you clenched around him, “Give it to me, give it to me.” He growled, feeling you squirt all over him. “Gold, I’m not finished. Take this cock.” He demanded, filling the air with your whimpers and the sound of your skin slapping. You used the last energy to get on all fours again, fucking him back “Ah, fuck! You want me to get all out, too, all this fucking frustration. Fuck it all into you.” He groaned. “Yes”, you moaned, throwing your ass back. His thrusts became rigid and slow as he was filling you up.

Eren collapsed on the bed next to you while catching his breath. He kissed your forehead before you went to the toilet to pee. You walked out to see Eren comfy in bed. You lay down beside him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Eren, you never answered my question, " you said, turning to face him. I’m in love with you, silly. Always has been, and always will be.” He said, yawing.

#eren jeager x reader #eren jeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren yeager smut #eren jeager smut #snk x y/n #snk smut #attack on titan eren #attack on titan x reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot eren #aot x you #eren smut #snk x reader

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makeyoumine69 · 25 days

Note

Possessive hurt-comfort sex with Patrick, please? HEAR ME OUT!😥🤤🤤💖💖

Heal Me

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x fem!Reader; CW: SMUT, unprotected sex, fingering, soft dirty talky, hurt/comfort, angst, sensual foreplay and something more, hehe. Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: Lady Gaga—Heal Me; A/N: It's been a while since I've written any prompts, I'll try to catch up with them since I have a lot of requests to finish. I hope you like this one and thank you so much for sending it in, I love possessive Patty!

It wasn't uncommon for you to be overwhelmed by life's problems because living in a busy city like New York wasn't easy, especially if you weren't from a rich family. But even in the darkest of days, you never gave up, even though it was hard not to when everything around you was pressing down on you. You struggled until one day you met a man who changed your life and even though there was something strange about him, he became your salvation and in some twisted way you hoped to repay him. However, you never really knew what he really needed. He was a total mess, but maybe you were too? But did you ever think that you would find comfort in the arms of a man who probably broke a million hearts and ruined just as many lives?

You asked yourself this question every time you crossed the threshold of the luxury apartment on the 11th floor of the American Gardens Building. But the answer to that question always got lost in the spiral of emotions that overtook you the moment Patrick touched you. The same scenario, the same place, but the specter of sensation he made you feel was limitless, you got addicted to it—you got addicted to him.

The softness of the perfectly white sheets met your naked skin with a familiar feeling, the silky touch of his hands sliding down your body was heavenly, leaving you craving for more, burning with anticipation. This man, he knew everything about you, while you seemed to know nothing about him. It was confusing, perplexing, but intriguing. Patrick Bateman was an enigma, a puzzle you desperately wanted to unravel.

"What's on your mind?" Patrick suddenly murmured above your ear, noticing your thoughtfulness. "You seem to be somewhere else, but not here..."

You huffed and pressed your palm against his soft cheek. "Nothing... nothing serious," you replied, leaning up to kiss him, but he stopped you, holding you down with both hands. "Hey! It's really nothing...I just had a fight with my family."

"Your family?"

"Yeah," you gave him a serious look, considering how cheeky he was grinning. "Sometimes people have fights with their family members. Can you believe that?"

Still smiling, Patrick straightened up a bit to unbutton his blue shirt with the white collar. "Honestly... no," he said nonchalantly. "Such things are too mundane for me. But I'll tell you this," the man unbuckled his belt and then pulled down his Armani pants. "When you're with me... I don't want you to think about anything or anyone else. Do you understand?"

Without waiting for your answer, which wouldn't really change anything, Bateman moved closer to your face to peck at your temple, his hands working to get rid of your remaining clothes. Slightly embarrassed, you let him position himself between your legs, his warm lips locking with yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. Patrick savored your every reaction, from your shaky gasps to the way you writhed beneath him. His possession over you was bordering on obsession and he could never get enough of you. If he had to fuck you senseless to make your mind go blank, he would do it—neither of you had any doubts.

"Patrick... I need you..." you murmured against his swollen lips. "I need you s-so much."

Wrapping his hand around your neck, he pulled you closer. "You won't think about it anymore," he whispered, trailing his hand down your stomach right under the lace of your panties, playing with it to tease you. "Promise?" Bateman's thumb pressed against your clit, making you whimper. "Talk to me, doll."

You wanted to answer, you really did, but this man was nothing more than a torturer, reveling in the power he had over you—your desperation was like water to a thirsty man.

"I...I promise," you finally managed to answer, shaking from the friction Bateman caused as he pulled on your underwear, letting it rub agonizingly against your swollen pussy. "You're the only one...I can think about...a-ah!"

You arched your back as his long fingers pushed inside you effortlessly, your slick juices making a wet, lewd noise every time Patrick moved his digits, stimulating you right where you needed it.

"Fuck, you sound so sweet like that," he curled his fingers, scissoring your soaking cunt with masterful precision. "Life is too short to waste it on unnecessary emotions," Patrick crooned, sliding his free hand along your soft breast, playing with its hard peak. "But this..." he grinned when he heard your high-pitched moan. "This is worth living for."

This man was blessed with the ability to sweet talk, you could bet on that. "You...you devil," your voice wavered from the pleasure his fingers were giving you, each thrust inside you and pull on your nipple bringing you closer to the brink of ecstasy. "God...I have so many problems..."

Suddenly, your eyes shimmered with unwanted tears—such an abrupt change in your mood forced him to stop. Slightly confused, Bateman looked at you from under the brown, messy curls. For a moment, the two of you just stared into each other's eyes, as if trying to imprint this moment into your memories. Things wouldn't be the same for you, not anymore.

"Listen to me," his velvety baritone broke the silence, his fingers remaining deep inside you while his other hand found yours to intertwine your fingers. "Right now you just need to focus on me...on us," Patrick cooed to you before kissing away a single tear that ran down your cheek. "Forget the problems, I will take care of them."

"You don't have to."

"Shhh, sweetheart," he leaned closer to you, letting your noses brush against each other. "Remember your promise, leave the other things to me."

For once in your life, you decided to do what he asked and just follow your instincts and let them take over.

The air around you was so hot, electric with sexual tension and desire. When Patrick withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty, you couldn't help but wail in frustration, but it was only an introduction to the real act. Flustered and utterly aroused, Bateman sat on his knees before taking you with him, making you circle your legs around his waist as he whispered sweet praises in your ear. It was only when you felt his hard cock slip between your pussy lips that you realized you were completely lost in the blaze of passion and the uncontrollable willingness to give him all of you. With a slow but determined move, Patrick sheathed himself inside of you, hugging you tighter as he stood on his knees and pounded into you in deep and calculated strokes.

"A-awww," you mewled, clinging to his broad shoulders and hiding your face in the crook of his neck—the mixture of his expensive cologne and his natural scent making you nearly explode with overwhelming emotions. "Feels s-so good...you make me feel so good," you couldn't help but nip at his neck, leaving a red mark and causing him to fuck you harder. "Deeper...mmhm-please!"

Bateman made a guttural sound in response. "You think you can handle it?" You nodded your head so eagerly that you could see stars in front of your eyes. "God, you are such an insatiable little slut."

Without further ado, he changed your position so that you were now standing on your knees facing the white wall above his bed, where a statue stood in the ledge. That thing probably cost a fortune, it would be such a shame if it got broken in the middle of your ravenous lust, but Patrick seemed indifferent to that as he moved it a bit to the side and placed your hands on the edge of the ledge so you had something to grab onto.

"Hold on tight, baby." He sneered devilishly as he snuggled up to you from behind, showering your neck with little kisses. "No safe words since you asked for it."

Your breath hitched at the tight grip on your throat, the thrill of danger mixing with excitement in a wicked cocktail of pure madness. Being so strong, Bateman was able to wreck you like a doll, drawing you onto his thick cock with ease, forcing you to arch your back even more so that its tip could reach your most sensitive spot. You felt so helpless and small in his hands, the way his firm hips slammed into yours, practically fucking you into the wall, left you no choice but to surrender to this raw pleasure.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

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sphireath-wisp · 2 years

Text

#Lover, Lover!

Sypnosis: Calling them by a pet name for the first time? Make sure you get a good look at their reactions!

Warnings: I'm very rusty so the writing is probably terrible, not proofread, messy tenses, and the reader is perhaps implied to be more on the feminine side, Sanji's part is kinda shorter than the others

Featuring: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji x GN! reader

Luffy

You step out of the kitchen, wiping the sweat off of your forehead as you take a breath of fresh air. The aromatics of sweet desserts and mountains of meat filled the air, specially prepared and cooked to perfection by Sanji.

Normally, Luffy would already be in the kitchen, vacuuming all of the food on the table into his stomach before anyone else could arrive. This time though, he happened to be out and off exploring the island with Robin and Ussop keeping him in check. You could've gone with him - since he did insist and whine so much. However, Franky needed an extra hand or two, so you volunteered.

"Do you like Franky more than me? :(("

"Hey, hey Nami! When is Lu supposed to be back?" Nami smirked at the nickname, her suspicions of your budding relationship growing.

"The captain should be back around now actually," She flips through the newspaper in her hand, brown eyes scanning through it. "Sanji's already finished cooking, right? I practically smell the food from here, so Luffy and that extreme hunger of his should be able to as well."

You laugh and thank her, strolling over to the side of the Sunny. As if right on cue, you hear the loud stomps of sandals against the sand.

"Luffy!" You smile, waving your hands at him, joy bursting in you, "Sweetheart, food's ready!"

His smile grows even bigger whilst you immediately cover your mouth to process what you just said - it just slipped out of your mouth. Shades of pink adorn his cheeks, and his already racing heart moving around beats faster. Luffy wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it felt weirdly warm in his body whenever he saw you.

He doesn't know exactly why, but it just felt right to return the favor, "(Name)! Babe!"

You feel rubbery arms wrap around your hip, throwing you off of your feet. Instinctively, your grip tightens on the railing, reeling Luffy up instead of pulling you off of the Sunny. The impact of Luffy's landing causes the both of you to tumble off of your feet, slipping and landing right onto the grass patch on the Sunny.

"Luffy..." One hand holds the side of your head, the other is used to lightly elbow him, "I'm not calling you 'sweetheart' anytime soon."

Zoro

"All I wanted was just a burger..." You sighed as you punched the marine in front of you away, who knew being a pirate would be this troublesome? Though, who could blame you for being a pirate on a whim - that captain of yours made such a tempting offer! Treasure? Free food? Adventures? It sounded great.

Kicking away another marine, you began reminiscing the times you bit into that juicy meat patty - just the thought made your stomach grumble. Oh, just imagine, the meat melting in your mouth, the creamy cheese paired with it. Plus the lettuce adds that extra crunch.

You ducked under the marine and got rid of the last one. Crouching down and holding your stomach, you groan.

"Yo, you okay?" You snap out of your trance, staring up at Zoro who had just placed his swords back into their respective sheaths. The concerned purse of his lips and furrow of his eyebrows told you that he thought you had gotten hurt.

You nod, "I'm just hungry and I've been craving a burger ever since the last island we visited." You chuckle to yourself. A hand reaches out to you and he helps you up on both of your feet.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat? I'll pay." He didn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing your knuckles. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, making sure you didn't get hurt anywhere else.

You grin at his offer, wiping off a small trail of blood on his face with your finger and cupping his cheek in the process, "Thanks, babe. Let's go then!" You proceed to drag him by the wrist to find some food.

Zoro doesn't even realize the pet name he's been assigned, but boy, back on the Sunny as he thinks about the time he spent with you, you can expect the crew to tell you about how Zoro suddenly turned bright red out of nowhere. Chopper even asked if he had a fever.

He honestly doesn't mind, it's just that - hearing you call him by a pet name for the first time is... new. Sooner or later, expect him to call you babe back though.

Sanji

Oh man, he already calls you darling, sweetheart, the love of my life, etc. all on a daily basis. Just imagine the heart attack he would have if you actually did call him by a pet name!

Or so Robin mused. For a second, Chopper was wondering if the both of you were planning on Sanji's death with this plan of yours.

He'll be fine, right? It's not as if your breathtaking looks and entrancing voice would kill him! It's not as if he could fall in love with you a million times without getting tired of staring at your face. It's not as if Sanji adores you to heaven (and probably the depths of hell) and beyond!

"(Name)-swan, the forever love of my life! (Robin)-chan~!" He dramatically twirls in your direction delicately placing your refreshments on the table, "Please tell me if you need anything else." He smiles specifically at you.

You glance at Robin. She approves and nods.

You place your hand on him, gazing in his direction. The ends of your lips curve upwards naturally without you thinking. "Thank you, love. You're such a sweetheart."

Sanji eyes form into hearts. Blood rushes to his nose. It's almost astounding to see the fountain of red covering the lower half of his face - in fact, it's concerning.

He feels his heart pound like a drum in his chest, so loud that he could hear it. "(Name)-swan," He claps your hands between both of his with a grip so soft - it felt like he was treating your skin like porcelain, "I'm so lucky to be able to experience this moment, to be called so lovingly by such an irresistible person-"

Sanji continues to ramble, but you can't seem to decide whether to focus on the puddle of blood under you or his words that capture your heart.

You glance over to Robin who was supposed to be sitting across from you, but she's gone. You hope she went to call Chopper because Sanji MIGHT actually lose too much for his own good (or perhaps you're just too pretty for your own good).

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twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

Text

Tutor: Lunchtime

Words: 3.4k+ Type: Fluff with a hint of angst Summary: Something isn't right with the girls. Warnings: Female!Reader. The girls are becoming mean girls (ignoring, side-eyeing, gossiping). Lack of communication between them. Rafe and Y/N are very unaware of what is going on. Filler chapter for what will be happening in the next chapters (a shitshow). Making out.

Tutor Masterlist (for context, you should REALLY read the smuts <3)

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

“What time until you have class?”

You lift your eyes off your phone as soon as Rafe asks the question. You squint at nothing for a while, shamelessly forgetting what time you start school today. Unfortunately, you do also remember that Mondays are always your heavier days. The ones with more classes and less time after school.

You answer Rafe as he parks the car, less than 20 minutes until class, and you look out of the window. You’re not too far from school, but not too close either. Just enough for you to jump out of the car and walk over a few feet to make the girls think you decided to skip a car ride and have a morning walk.

Your phone, with time, has a black screen, and you’re too lost in your thoughts to realize that Rafe has his eyes on you.

The blind date was just 3 days ago, and you haven’t spoken much with the girls. You’ve talked a few times on the group chat, but you didn’t really pay much attention to it since you practically spent the entire weekend with Rafe in your room.

You had sent them a text as soon as you and Rafe got to your bedroom, and they all answered almost immediately, appearing to be disappointed with the date not working out. Kristy made sure to apologize, saying that she really thought it would work with Alex.

As the weekend passed by, you didn’t get a lot more messages from them, which didn’t faze you. It happens, at times, when they just go silent. Usually, when it happens, the Mondays that follow always have a lot of conversation at lunchtime. Therefore, there is truly nothing to worry about.

You snap awake from your thoughts and look back at Rafe, realizing that you must have been looking out of the window for a while now. Finding his eyes on you doesn’t surprise you at all. His hand is resting on the back of your seat, and you lean your head against it playfully. As a small tilt of a smile appears on his lips, his thumb moves and caresses your temple softly.

“I don’t want to go.” You whisper into the silence of the car.

The small grin on Rafe’s face grows as he finds your self-pitying amusing. You put your phone down and bring your hands up to rest them on Rafe’s shoulders. He automatically knows what you’re doing, so he simply leans back on his seat and lets you crawl over the console to get to his lap.

When sitting, you lean onto him and rest your cheek on his shoulder, seeking his warmth.

“I don’t want to go.” You repeat, still in a whisper, but with your eyes closed.

Rafe lays his hand over your thigh, and he whispers back, “Then don’t.”

“I need to.” You answer, lifting your head to eye him as you speak, “Test is next week. I can’t miss class.”

Rafe is amused yet again, eyeing your distressed face from your eyes to your lips. Noticing his stare, you peck his lips once and lay your head back down. You have to be in class in 15 minutes, and, even though you hate to be late, you might sacrifice it today. And yes, it has to do with the fact that you don’t want to leave this car since you’ll probably only see Rafe again tomorrow or the day after, when you need to tutor Wheezie.

You sit in silence for some time, Rafe looks out of the window while you rest on his lap, lost in your thoughts as his, now both, hands smooth over your thighs, warming them with his familiar touch.

“Did you also get a text from Patty?” You ask, lifting your head to look at him once more.

“About what?”

“The party on Friday.”

Rafe pulls you closer to him, not letting you hide your face on his shoulder again. You rest your hands over his shirt, playing with the thicker fabric between your fingers. He's wearing a long-sleeve shirt today due to the abnormal cold outside. It looks good on him.

“Topper told me something about a party.” Rafe remembers briefly the conversation he had. “But it’s a pool party.”

“A big party or…” You wait for him to tell you, bringing your hands over to the sides of his neck, your thumbs brushing over his jawline.

“A bit, yeah.” Rafe notices how your face falls a little bit, “We can still go if you want.”

“Don’t you think we’d be risking it a bit too much?” You ask him sincerely since you really want to go to a party organized by Patty - especially one she's been telling you all about via text.

“Do your friends go to these parties?” You shake your head, “So…?”

“But their other friends might. And they can always tell them what they see.”

Rafe stays silent for a bit, looking at your face as if to take his time enjoying it, and you eye him back, trying to list more pros than cons in your head, so you can win your internal argument. Rafe’s hand caresses the skin of your thigh, and he speaks.

“It’s your call.” He reminds you, “We only go if you want to go.”

You lean back on his lap a bit, your hands not over his neck anymore. You rest them over his arms now. Rafe's hands have disappeared under the fabric of your skirt, and you play with the ends of his shirt while deep in thought, sometimes moving the shirt aside to touch his skin as well.

The sound of a car speeding past you snaps you out of your internal discussion, and you look out of the window, quickly noticing how today is gloomier than most days. It might even rain.

You grab your phone to check the time and let out a groan almost instantly. You’re going to be late. And unless you run your way to the school building in a few, which you won’t, you will be severely late.

“Need to go?” Rafe asks.

You don’t answer, you simply lay your phone back down on your seat and lean closer to him. A ghost of a smile stays over his lips, and you quickly close the space between the two of you by giving him a kiss. Rafe isn’t sure of the meaning behind it, but he obliges to your wishes.

The kiss is simple at first, a peck, but when your lips move to evolve the kiss, it is slow and loving. Your hands move up. One of them stays over Rafe’s shoulder, while the other goes to his face, pulling him closer, if possible, and sliding to the back of his head. Your fingers work through the soft strands of his hair, and it isn’t long until Rafe is the one with control. And when he leans his head to deepen the kiss, you forget everything else around you.

You forget about class. You forget the possibility of receiving panicked texts from your friends about your lateness. And you absolutely conclude in the midst of the kiss that you should go to that damned party. There are no doubts when around Rafe, no fears - even when they are still very much needed.

The kiss only gets more and more heated with time, and Rafe’s hands have begun grabbing at your skin in a way that he wasn’t doing before. The touch is rougher, almost as if he was grabbing you to make sure you don't move away. It’s possessive. His hands are able to slide and get a good grip on your hips, moving them over his like he wishes them to move, and making you sit exactly where he wants you to sit.

The gasp you let out in the kiss is just yet another opportunity for Rafe to deepen the kiss, making it more heated and, naturally, rougher. Your fingers close around the strands of hair, and you pull at them slightly, getting a small groan from the man under you.

His fingers play with the fabric of your panties over your hips, and you unconsciously grind down into his lap, wanting to feel some sort of friction by doing so. Rafe doesn’t react to your movement audibly, but his hands do since they grab at you again and redo your actions, in a repetitive and continuous movement.

By minutes, the two of you are practically panting at each other’s mouths in between kisses, completely lost to the world and definitely not caring about it. You swear that even the sound is muffled in times like these.

No sound of a text message or anyone outside is what snaps you back awake. You’re proud to say that it is you and your brain alone that remembered what class you happen to have. You remember how bitchy the teacher is and how she usually is with tardiness. If you're too late, detention might be just what she gives you in return.

You disconnect from the kiss, as hard as that may be, and Rafe looks at you in confusion, forgetting where he was for a second or two. You grab your phone again and frown. Rafe’s hold on you is still tight and far from letting go. You will absolutely have to run to the school building if you don’t want to be more than 5 minutes late.

“I need to go.” You say, disappointing Rafe, who simply stares back at you. “I really do, I’m sorry.”

Rafe tells you to not apologize, and his grip on your skin lessens. You put your phone back down, and your hands come to cradle his face. You give him a few pecks on his lips before giving his cheeks equal love so that your farewell is much filled with love, as it should be.

“Don’t need me to pick you up?” He asks when your mouth is just a bit over his.

You kiss him again before answering, “No. The girls will probably drive me home.”

You pull back to go grab your bag from the passenger’s seat, and Rafe helps you move around in his lap. When the door is open and the rush of wind touches your skin, it takes great courage to not pull back and lean in closer to the warm man beside you.

When your feet are on the ground, you turn back to Rafe to say goodbye.

“Text me.” He reminds you before you begin to walk off.

“I will.” You tell him with a smile.

(...)

Good news, you did not get detention. Bad news, the look you got from your teacher when you walked into the classroom out of breath was enough to make you sit perfectly silent and with perfect posture for the whole rest of the class. Only one of the girls has the class with you, but you swear that you didn’t even try to say hello to her when you came in due to how panicked you felt by the woman teaching the class.

You took your notes, and before you knew it, the class was over.

On your way to the next class, like every other Monday, you didn’t exactly have time to talk in the hallways, so you didn’t even look for people to do so. And that is how classes went by.

You may or may not have broken your perfect behavior in class to answer one text or another from the man you abandoned in a car just a few hours before. And, with time, lunchtime with the girls finally came.

You walk happily over to the cafeteria with your food in your hands, and you look around as soon as you walk through the wide-open doors. Multiple people are occupying table after table, so it’s fair to say that it takes you quite a bit of time to find the table the girls are sitting at. They’re all talking when you get to them, but as soon as Kristy’s eyes lift to you, her voice goes silent.

“Hi.” You say with your usual sweet smile.

“Hi” They all answer at different times and tones, some of them appear to be happier to see you than others, which makes you frown in response.

“Everything alright?” You ask, your grin faltering in question to the difference in mood.

“Of course,” Kristy says with a convincing tone. “Where were you?”

“I couldn’t find your table.” You justify your slight lateness to lunch.

“No,” Kristy says with a small smile, admiring your worried tone as you explain, “Before classes. We waited at the door, and we didn’t see you come in.”

The lie had been prepared to be said hours before you needed to use it.

“Oh, I walked to school today.” You say innocently, “But I forgot some stuff at home, so I had to turn around and run home to get them really quickly. I was just 5 minutes late, give or take.”

“What did you forget?” A voice from one of the girls makes you look at them.

“My lunch, for a start.” You say with a smile, which forces Kristy to look away from you, but you don’t notice, “And then I saw on the kitchen counter that I had left my notebook behind as well.”

The girls nod, appearing to have been convinced, and you finally make your way to your seat to have lunch. You sit just 2 seats away from Kristy, which makes her thankful for the girls who chose to sit with her.

Kristy isn’t sure what is so wrong with you now. She knows that you’re acting just like you did before, but... Maybe it’s exactly that. Maybe it's the fact that you’re acting like nothing is wrong, and your life has always been like this. As if you aren't carrying a lie bigger than yourself. A lie that you know would make everyone at the table react negatively. Or, even, make everyone in this cafeteria look at you differently.

Everyone knows Rafe Cameron. Everyone has been to parties or has heard of the parties he frequents. It is fair to believe people would, really, look at you differently. Maybe it even is an understatement.

As a conversation began at your table, Kristy did dare to look at you at times, forcing herself to do so. She knows she's just being stubborn with herself by refusing to communicate for too long with you. Lie or not; wanting to protect you or not, you still were acting like before, so she must do the same.

Yet, naturally, the girls never seem to encourage your involvement in a conversation during lunch. You’ve never been one to enter a conversation and insert yourself or your opinion carelessly, so, they do notice that you choose to simply sit quietly as the lunch continues.

The girls don’t ask or look at you when talking about the things you like or are very argumentative about. They don’t include you when looking around the group and whispering about the new gossip, and they don’t do the usual look around and smile when looking at you. Those warm smiles that were so constant, so them, never come. Not even the regular checking on you and your activities for the day. Not in a bad and controlling way, just in a friendly way. In a comfortable and warm way.

By the time your lunch was half eaten and theirs was fully eaten, Kristy and another one of the girls noticed how you fetched your phone from your pocket and simply entertained yourself with it for the rest of the meal. Maybe their looks were of judgment, they weren’t sure, but they also knew they couldn’t blame you for this, especially when they’re selfishly not including you on purpose.

It hadn’t been Kristy’s idea to give you this treatment. If anything, by Sunday, she wanted to speak to you and get everything out of her chest, but the girls didn’t want to. The girls wanted to see with their own eyes how far something like this could go. They wanted justifications for something they knew nothing about.

Kristy remembers how they had said that, maybe, your relationship with Rafe Cameron had been recent, and if it were, you would indeed start acting differently, so they had to make sure you looked okay on Monday. They secretly hoped that they would see differences in your looks or actions, but none were found throughout today’s classes. You smiled and talked to them like before. No guilt, no fear, just warm smiles, and adoring words. They hated it.

Because of this, there is no plan now. The girls didn’t talk of the possibility of this being a long-time lie, so whatever way they’re acting now is their own choice. The judgment is evident as time goes on in some of their faces, but Kristy can’t even bring herself to snap them out of that attitude, not when she knows who you’re texting.

By the time your sandwich is done, you look back up from your phone, noticing how most of the girls are already looking at you, even when they’re mid-conversation about something else.

A small smile appears on your face, but none of them welcome you to their shared words, they simply look away when you do so. Everyone except Kristy, who has just noticed how your screen has lit up once more. Your smile falters, and you bring your eyes back down. Kristy tries to look away too, but she can't do it. Guilt has begun to eat up at her.

Usually, by this time, most of you have finished lunch and are left to talk for as long as your heart desires. The time is usually used for the most breathtaking gossip and the more exciting conversations overall, ones that make you hate to go to class after. But as soon as you notice that the girls make no action to include you in the conversation, you decide to do something for yourself. There are still 15ish minutes left of your lunchtime, so you get up from the table. The girls immediately shut up and look at you, expecting a justification.

“I’ll uh…” You didn’t plan what to say before doing this, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I can go with you,” Kristy speaks.

“No, no, it’s fine.” You tell her, even though hearing those simple words did calm your aching heart ever so slightly, “I think I’m going to the classroom a little earlier… I have some homework to catch up on.”

That is probably one of the worst lies you could’ve ever told, but you still said it, knowing that they aren’t deserving of a better one. You walk away with your things in your hands, and their eyes shamelessly follow you without sharing a single word between themselves. No one stops you from leaving either.

You drop your food in the trash and, not noticing the girls are still looking, accept the call that has just begun to make your phone vibrate. You don’t even hide the way your shoulders relax at the sound of his voice, the voice of the man who wasn’t annoyed to have his lunchtime at home interrupted, especially when you texted him about your friends' behavior.

You smile slightly when leaving the cafeteria as Rafe entertains you with the idea of coming to get you right now, not caring about the classes you will miss if you do so. And that is how Rafe makes sure you have company until you walk back inside a classroom.

Because of him, your heart is now calmer and less achy, but dreading to go home.

When taking your seat, minutes later, you ignore Kristy’s eyes on you as she also made sure to get to the classroom early, earlier than you, to probably hear you say your goodbyes on the phone.

Kristy looks at you and says nothing, following the steps the girls had spoken of when you had just walked off. Act normally and don’t apologize for what just happened. It might have been dumb, but they will do better at continuing to act neutral when around you.

You don’t say anything to her either, you simply grab your notebook and begin writing the date with your colored pen. The rest of the girls eventually get to class, but they don’t speak either. You have your phone on your desk, screen down, appearing to not be receiving any texts.

When the teacher walks into the room, so do the rest of the students. Kristy looks over at you, just a simple meter away from her, and you’re reading a text on your screen. She dares herself to read the contact's name, yet when she does, it’s an unknown name. Patty. Kristy, due to her distance, is not able to read what you text back, but she does notice how a small grin appears on your lips as you type.

“Y/N, please put your phone down, we’ll be beginning class shortly.”

You do as told without hesitation, but your easy smile stays. Kristy is the only one to see it, and, therefore, only she feels the uneasiness boil inside her.

I know this isn't much, but I will start working on the next part today. I am planning to have it posted on the day after the season comes out (just like I did with Sunburnt, last season). Hopefully, that will bring more people to this whole shitshow of a story :)

Hope you're liking this story! Feel free to send me your thoughts, theories, or rants about it in my ask box (that includes about the show too).

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #obx #obx 3 #rafe cameron obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks imagine #drew starkey #rafe obx

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