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Taylor | 30 | sideblog for @thesoftdumbass where I read and reblog fics to keep them all in the same spot

[dearwalker]

When Johnny met you

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word Count: 15.9k

Description: Johnny Storm needs a change in his life. So when he goes looking for an apartment to move out of the Baxter Building and live a “normal life”, he ends up being your roommate. As you both struggle with the highs and lows of dating in New York, through shared takeout on the living room floor and dances under the refrigerator light, you may realize what you needed has always been right in front of you…or in the room next door.

This is a Part 1, loosely inspired by the movie When Harry met Sally. Set in the early 80’s of the Fantastic Four canon retro-futuristic world.

Tags/Warnings: romcom vibes, fluff, domestic moments, johnny loves women and johnny loves music, talks about sex, one smut-ish scene, cheeky easter eggs and cameos.

Note: When I tell you I’ve been wanting to write this since December!!! When @nexxen24 made me watch When Harry met Sally for the first time 🤍 This is by no means a retell of the film, but it’s inspired on the essence of it. I had so much fun writing this part, enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist

Johnny spent a lot of time feeling stuck.

Stuck at the Baxter Building, for starters. Living with his sister, brother in law, Ben and a droid as the world’s most renowned family, could be considered ‘fantastic’ most of the time, but it could also be…exhausting.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, of course he did. They were his team. His family. But lately, Johnny had started wanting something different. For once, not something shiny, or bigger or better. Quite the opposite really, just something…simpler. Something a little closer to normal.

Which was laughable, considering who he was. Johnny Storm had never had “normal” a day in his life, even before the powers. 

Maybe that’s why he craved it so bad. Or…maybe it was just a quarter life crisis. 

He didn’t exactly know when it started, but suddenly he wanted to know what it felt like to walk through a lobby where no one greeted him like he was the president. To buy laundry detergent and groceries and whatever people who don’t have a Herbert to do it for them, well, have to do. To have a mailbox in a locker with a little key, and no need to go through a dozen levels of security clearance just for some fan mail.

Maybe that’s why he found himself going through rental listings at two in the morning in the darkness of his room. Half laying on his round bed, one arm raised up in flames to illuminate the newspaper in front of him. 

This is ridiculous, he thought. He told himself he was just looking. Killing time. He wasn’t going to do it, he was just thinking about it. Swear to God he was not actually going to do it. But an ad caught his eye. 

Roommate Wanted

Apartment in Brooklyn, Park Slope. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Looking to split rent 50/50. 4th floor. Girls only, unless you’re famous, then we can talk. Call after 7pm if you’re interested. 

“Unless you’re famous,” Johnny chuckled, re-reading the ad, and the name attached to it. 

The ad was pretty vague, but Johnny recognized the location. Safe neighborhood, no rooftop pools in that area, and definitely no doorman. 

It was perfect. 

The next day he counted the hours until 7pm came. He wanted the full experience, so instead of using the fine piece of technology on his wrist to call the number he saw on the ad, he took some coins from Franklin’s piggy bank in exchange of a generous twenty dollar bill–you’re welcome buddy–and found himself a random telephone booth at Central Park, just in time. 

Big breath, here goes nothing. 

-

The landline phone hung on your kitchen wall rang exactly at 7:01pm. You cleaned your hands with a napkin, leaving a bowl of heated leftovers on the counter before picking up. 

“Hello?” You said, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. 

“Hey! I’m calling for the apartment ad, I’m very interested.” 

The voice on the other side of the line surprised you. So far only women have called you and unfortunately none of them had agreed with the rental fee. “Uh, sure…what’s your name?” 

“I’m Johnny Storm,” he said immediately.

Okay, pause. Is this guy being for real right now? 

“…Right,” you said after a moment, dragging your words and fiddling with the tangled cord. “And…you’re looking for an apartment?” 

The disbelief in your voice made Johnny sigh. Only when the words left his mouth he realized how ridiculous his name probably sounded. But what else was he supposed to say? He wasn’t planning on hiding who he was, even if it was just a call. That felt wrong.

“Yeah…listen I–uh…I know this may seem a little off, but I’m looking for a place for…personal reasons, and your ad caught my eye. I really like the area and I can definitely pay rent on time.”

He chose to leave out the fact that he could actually pay rent four years in advance. That seemed a little overkill. 

“I swear I don’t set couches on fire, not unless you ask,” he added with a nervous laugh, but his whole body relaxed when he heard the chuckle you left out. “And you said being famous was the exception so…can we talk about it?” 

You contemplated for a moment. To be honest? It seemed too good to be true. On the other hand, you had nothing to lose…and you wanted to go back to your dinner. So you just shrugged. 

“Alright,” you said, “I’ll tell you what, Johnny Storm. There’s a café a few blocks from the apartment, called “Geta’s”. Let's meet there, Saturday at noon. If you’re actually who you say you are, you’re paying for coffee. If you’re not, I’m calling the cops.”

“Geta’s” Johnny grinned. “Roger that. I’ll be there.”

You weren’t actually planning on calling the cops. Or well, you hoped you didn’t have to call them. 

Worst case scenario, some random guy was pretending to be Johnny Storm, and you’d have to ditch the clown and go back to answering calls. Best case? Well…you hadn’t really considered that one, because come on. Johnny Storm, Manhattan’s golden boy, Mr. Baxter Building himself, apartment hunting in Brooklyn?

Absolutely not. 

Still, you got to the café ten minutes early. Picked your favorite table by the window, with a good view of the street and a close exit in case things get weird. You ordered your usual drink, a side of mini croissants, and the wait began. 

You were mid sip when you heard the familiar ring of the bells above the cafe’s door. 

"Mr.Storm!" someone called from behind the counter, way too cheery to be greeting a conman. “Welcome to Geta’s!”

Your head snapped up, and…yup. There he was. 

Johnny Freaking Storm. Golden hair, golden everything. A pair of sunglasses perched on his head, paired with some designer jacket and perfectly fitted pants and that pearly white smile you’d only seen on billboards. 

He looked unfairly good in real life. 

He nodded to the barista, who was currently having a mini stroke behind the register, then turned his gaze toward the tables, looking for…you? 

Right, yeah. You. 

You raised your hand awkwardly, giving a tiny wave that said yep, that’s me, the girl who didn’t think you’d actually show up. He smiled wider at your stunned expression, and strutted straight to you, sliding onto the chair across from you.

“I didn’t actually think Johnny Storm was going to show up today,” you blurted out, making him chuckle. 

“I get that a lot,” he said, shrugging. 

“Do you…want a mini croissant?” 

“Only if they’re not poisoned,” he joked, narrowing his eyes playfully. 

“Right. You’re the Johnny Storm. You probably have someone test the croissants for you.”

“That would be Herbert, yes,” he nodded cockily, getting another chuckle out of you. 

This time you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to process the entire fever dream. He just tilted his head, matching your face expression in amusement. You shook your head and leaned back a little, crossing your arms. 

“Okay, I feel like I need to say this out loud so I know I’m not hallucinating. My apartment is not in Manhattan. It’s not a penthouse. I don’t live next to models or celebrities. Are you sure you replied to the right listing? Or is this just you…pulling a bit? Like a prank show? Because I really do need a roommate.”

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. 

“No cameras, I promise,” he reassured. “I know where the listing said it was. Park Slope. Two bedrooms. 4th floor. You said girls only unless you’re famous, which, considering…”

He leaned back with a shrug, gesturing at himself.

“Yeah but that was a joke. I mean you could, I don’t know, live anywhere. Somewhere crazier like…the moon or space in general,” you gesture vaguely, because him living in another galaxy sounds more realistic than him sharing a couch with you. 

He seems to find it funny, at least, but something in his face softens before he lets out a sigh. 

“Listen, I know this is weird but…I’m not joking. I don’t want a penthouse. I’m not looking for anything “crazy” or fancy or with zero gravity. I just…want something a little quieter. A little more normal, you know?”

You raised your eyebrows, still skeptical. “Well, Johnny, life in an apartment building is not necessarily “quieter”,” you chuckle. “Normal? For sure. But you’re telling me the big Human Torch, who flies over the stadium to see the Mets, wants normal?”

He shrugged, but there’s no cockiness to it anymore. 

“I know. Shocking, right? But I do," he said. “I mean, the tower’s great and all, but it’s…a lot. And it’s all I’ve known for most of my life. Cameras, tech, Reed in general, it just…never stops. It always feels like everything needs to be perfect, you know? I kind of want a door I can lock and a couch I don’t have to share with a 500 pound rock man. Maybe just with…a normal roommate."

You stared at him in silence. If there was anything you learned from Johnny Storm in that short interaction, it was that he had the bluest of eyes, and the way they were looking at you, like he needed to be understood by some random girl he just met, made something in your heart clench. 

Still, you had questions. You weren’t going to be swooned into giving away half your apartment.

“A normal roommate…” you drawled, still waiting for the punchline of this whole situation. “So, you don’t mind the fact that I have a regular job and I don’t throw superhero parties?”

That makes him grin again. “Well, I was kind of hoping you threw superhero parties. But that’s okay, I can tell spidey to meet me somewhere else.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. Okay…maybe you’re getting a little swooned. You looked down at your drink, trying to play it cool. 

“And you know I probably won’t scream when you come out of the shower shirtless or whatever?” 

Johnny grinned wider. 

“I mean, you can. You’d have shirtless privileges as long as you don’t go around selling pictures of me.”

That makes your smile grow. Damn him. 

You really tried to stay skeptical. Tried to keep a cool head and ask more serious questions. But shit, they weren’t lying about the Storm charm. 

And the sad truth was…you liked it. The way he made you laugh. The way he was looking at you. Not just in a flirty, over the top Johnny Storm way. He seemed genuine, not necessarily trying to impress. You could tell he was truly interested…maybe even hopeful. 

And I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You really needed a roommate like, yesterday. 

“Okay, Johnny Storm,” you shrugged. You had nothing to lose. “Wanna go see it?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to fly up the fire escape?” You tease, eyeing the four flights of stairs ahead of you as you walk into the building. 

“Please. I’m going for the full normal experience, remember?” He gives you a smug little smirk.

You snort, then pretend you don’t hear him panting by the third floor. But all the amusement goes away as you open your front door, totally not freaking out about the fact that Johnny Storm–your potential roommate–is about to come inside. 

Time for the house tour. 

The apartment is not that big, not like anything in New York is anyway, but the layout looks decent under the soft light coming through the windows. The ceilings are high, the wood floors shine when the sunlight hits them right and the open kitchen is small but cozy. 

Johnny walks in with an unreadable expression in his face. Still, you can’t help but look at it the way he must be seeing it now; the single couch in the living room with carefully picked mismatched throw pillows, the thrifted coffee table you sanded and painted yourself, the small black and white TV, the organized mess on every surface but…it’s home. It’s been home for a year now. 

He turns around in a slow circle, taking it all in, eyes landing on a small desk by the window with a typewriter on it and stacks of paper all around it. He wanders over there, leaning a hand on the window frame as he looks out over the rooftops. 

The view isn’t breathtaking, not at all like the one he’s used to back home, or the one he sees when he flies over the city, but it’s beautiful nevertheless. Lived in. Rows of shoulder to shoulder red brick facades, dozens of arched doors with molding and tall trees lining up the street. 

Standing here, he feels small. In a good way. 

“It’s actually very nice,” he says, turning to you with a smile. 

“Thanks…” you say. Relief washing your features. “Does it meet the great Johnny Storm’s expectations?”

He shrugs playfully, eyes darting across the floor like he’s looking for something. “I’m still expecting at least one cockroach cameo.”

You gasp in mock offense, but can’t fight the smile on your face. 

“Give it time.” 

You gesture for him to follow you into the mini hallway to access the rooms, separated by a bathroom in the middle. 

“This one’s my room,” you say, pointing to the one that faces the front street. “Yours would be the one on the left. It has good light in the morning.”

He hums, peeking inside the empty room. “I like that.”

“And then…there’s a smaller third one next to yours. I’m using it for storage, and I wasn’t planning to fill it but…I was actually going to talk with my new roommate about considering renting it too. But–” 

“How much more do you need to make it work?”

“What?”

“Well, if you’re gonna have to bring in a third roommate, then I assume the math doesn’t quite work yet. I can do more than 50/50,” he offers like it’s nothing. 

“Johnny…”

“60/40? 70/30? Just tell me what you need, I got it.”

“That’s not really the point,” you say softly, shaking your head. “Look–I just…I’ve loved this apartment for over a year now but rent went up and it’s been a bit tough finding someone who can help afford this place. The building is nice but people’ve been turning me down when hearing their part. So, I thought I might have to split it in three. But I’m not trying to take advantage of anyone, of you...it’s just a big deal for me, living here you know?” You shrug, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

“You’re not taking advantage of me if I want to help,” he says, just as softly. “Seriously. I like it here. This whole thing I’m trying is…kind of a big deal for me too.”

Your shoulders relax a bit, and a smile tugs at your lips. 

“So you really want to live here?”

Johnny looks at you like obviously, before that cocky grin sneaks into his face again. “I already committed to the stairs. I’m invested now.”

That gets a laugh out of you.

“Well,” you smile, stepping toward him, extending your hand, “then I guess we are roommates, Johnny Storm.”

“Roommates,” he nods, sliding his warm hand into yours. 

“Better than the moon, then?” You tease.

“Way better,” he smiles. And oh, that smile is trouble.

Four months later.

Living with a celebrity has been…surprisingly uneventful.

No paparazzi hiding behind the trees, no fans camping outside the lobby, no wild afterparties. In fact, it’s been almost too normal…if you ignore the fact that your roommate is technically flammable.

Johnny hasn't set anything on fire. Not on purpose, at least.

The kitchen had two close calls. Both were an attempted murder breakfast. He claimed the stove was not user friendly because “it has no lights like the one at home”, so you had no choice but to ban him from using it unsupervised. 

Still, he tries. On some nights when you come home dragging your feet from work, he’s already waiting by the TV with takeout bags in hand and his sweater sleeves pushed up as if he made the meal himself.

You’ve also noticed his little communicator/watch thingy beeps every Wednesday at 8 pm for family dinner back home. He flies off the fire escape, only to return a few hours later with something delicious like Ben’s lasagna or Herbert’s infamous cheesecake (you’ve learned he’s actually a droid and not a private chef.)

“Figured you could take some for lunch tomorrow,” he’d say casually, placing whatever he brought carefully in the fridge.

Oh, and the fridge! We have to talk about the refrigerator. A ridiculous piece of fine technology he barely managed to fit through the apartment door. It’s framed in shiny silver, with curved glass doors you didn’t even think was possible a fridge could have. He said he had a similar one at home, and figured your place could use something with the same aesthetic. 

His words. 

And you still remember the day he moved in like it was yesterday. He arrived with an obnoxiously big truck that had to return half full to the Baxter Building, because he overestimated the space he was moving into. 

The bed was the funniest, for sure. Or at least…the attempt to get it in. It took him forty whole minutes of directing two movers to realize his round, ridiculous, king sized bachelor bed would simply not fit through the apartment door, let alone his designated bedroom. Not by angle, not by disassembly, not even with your upstairs neighbor offering unsolicited advice from the stairwell.

Funny times. 

Your favorite part of that day, though? When Johnny took out a shiny, white sphere-shaped turntable out of a blue velvet lined case with more care than you've ever seen a man apply to anything in your life. 

He brought his entire record collection too. Countless boxes of them. He even had custom shelving made for the living room, right above the small tv stand. The wood midcentury curves contrasted perfectly against the brick wall, and were packed to the brim with all his colorful records. Johnny was very proud of it. Back then he’d even said they were for “shared enjoyment,” and you took that to heart. 

Johnny hadn’t noticed how many romantic records he owned until you started wearing them out. He doesn't mind at all, he’s caught himself smiling more than once when he hears you play one without asking for permission anymore. He even keeps your favorites on the shelf closest to the turntable. 

Cause that’s what roommates do. 

He admits it’s a little weird, sharing a space with someone who’s not family or you’re not romantically involved with, but he likes it so far. The simplicity. Sure there’s no cabinets that open with a clap of his hand or a rocketship parked in his backyard, but there’s walking out of his room for a midnight snack only to find you already there making some tea, humming in your pjs under the soft glow of the refrigerator light. That, until he lifts his hand and starts bragging about his flames heating your tea faster than a kettle. There’s watching you spend an entire Sunday hunched over your desk, giving the poor typewriter a run for its money while you play Sinatra in the background.

You also notice things about him. Cause that’s what roommates do. 

Johnny likes dancing. It’s not a rare occasion to find him swaying his hips to Marvin Gaye or Michael Jackson in the middle of the living room when you get home at night. He’s been trying to master the moonwalk, which you discovered one day you arrived early from work (he’s getting there.)

Johnny likes to be active. He gets very fiddly when he’s not saving the world, so he always has to be doing something. Whether it’s cleaning his custom golf clubs, doing push ups in the middle of the living room, or trying to figure out a rubik’s cube Franklin can solve in less than five minutes, but who’s counting?

(Not Johnny.) 

He has an unhealthy obsession with cereal, but we all have guilty pleasures, don’t we?

Johnny also pays the bills. All of them. You’ve tried to argue, even tried to pay some as soon as the receipt came, only to find out he’d already done it because it gets automatically drawn from his bank account. He even goes grocery shopping like you have a pantry the size of the entire apartment. 

“No Johnny, you can’t keep buying in bulk, we don’t have space for all that stuff!!”

And…he’s still The Human Torch. 

He disappears sometimes. You just hear the beep of his watch and he’s gone in a yellow blur. You’ve learned not to worry. Not because you’re not worried, but because he always comes back. 

It’s your new normal. It’s easy. Domestic in a way you didn’t expect after the last…person you lived with. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep deflecting the question that pounds your head every now and then. Is this–whatever this is–the best mistake you’ve ever made?

“What do you do for a living anyways?” Johnny asks, his attention going from the movie to your spot on the floor next to the couch.

It’s almost 9pm on a random Tuesday. You’re folding some laundry into baskets after Johnny convinced you into joining him watching “The Godfather.”

“You see me leave every day with a lanyard that says New York Times, Johnny,” you chuckle, still focused on the shirt you’re folding. 

“Yeah, but with the way you abuse that typewriter at night I’d think you’re running a secret gossip column about me or something.”

You finally look up, only to find him munching his popcorn in amusement. You reach for his bowl to steal some, he pretends to pull it away only for a second, only to extend it closer to you with a grin. 

“Sure Johnny, because I have nothing better to do than write fan fiction about you for the Flaming Heart’s club zines,” you snort, shaking your head, but his tilts in confusion.

“...What’s a fan fiction?” 

The question makes your wrist full of pop corn stop mid-air.

“Uhm…you’re better not knowing,” your voice comes out a little too high pitched, trying to brush it off.

“Right…” he says hesitantly, making a mental note to get the next Flaming heart’s club issue. 

“I write for the paper’s lifestyle section,” you say, trying to stir the conversation away from that topic. Fortunately, he seems to perk up at that. “But it wasn’t always like that, I actually started writing about sports.” 

“Sports?” He asks, lowering the tv’s volume and turning his body more towards you. “You never talk about that.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly passionate about it. They hired me for whatever they needed. And they needed someone to write about the Mets.”

“The Mets…so you’ve seen me there?” He wiggles his eyebrows, making you roll your eyes playfully. 

“I covered four seasons Johnny, four. I think I saw the human torch painting the game score on the sky a few times,” you chuckle, wiping your hands on your shorts to grab another piece to fold. “Don’t think I could watch another one, though.” 

“Do you hate them?”

“I don’t hate them specifically but…I can’t really stand being in a stadium anymore. My head hurts and it makes me feel sick. It’s so loud, and the games last so long. I had no idea they were that long.”

He tries to be serious, he really does because you’re opening up, but the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. 

“That’s what she said.”

You look at him stunned for a second, before you both burst into laughter. Of course. But you don’t get mad. If anything, it helps ease some tension off your shoulders.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he apologizes after a moment, clearing his throat when your laugh subsides. “So, lifestyle then?”

“They moved me last year. Which is better…I guess.”

It’s not just your hesitant tone that makes Johnny soften, but the way you start to fold a pair of socks like your life depends on it. His gaze goes to your desk by the window, still stacked with mountains of papers and the cup of tea you forgot to take to the sink last night. 

“That still doesn’t explain the aggressive typing at midnight,” he adds, prying a little more. “Unless you’re too passionate about throw pillows or vitamins or whatever a lifestyle column is about, but by the way you told me about it…I’m guessing that's not the dream, right?” 

You chuckle at his analysis, but there’s more sadness in it than amusement.       

“I want to write novels,” you admit quietly. “Romance, actually.”

That makes his eyebrows go up.

“Oh, now that makes sense,” he says with a teasing grin.

You whip your head toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh come on,” he laughs, leaning back on the couch to look at the ceiling, gesturing dramatically in the air. “The girl who listens to love songs repeatedly, wants to write romance novels? Not very surprising.”

You gasp, nudging his knee so he looks at you. 

“May I remind you those are your records I’m playing?”

“Oh, please. You put them on more than I do.”

You try not to smile, but with Johnny…you’ve learned that’s impossible. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you’ve got a softie’s taste in music,” you tease, going back to your stupid pile of clothes when he finally looks at you, feigning offense.

“I will not tolerate slander in my own home.”You both fall into soft laughter again, before he decides to turn the volume back up, not really caring about what he might’ve missed. Romance novels, huh. He’s definitely using that against you later.

It’s supposed to be another random Tuesday night. 

You’ve called it a day, and intend to sit back and relax and enjoy your evening. You’re about to walk out of your room to make some tea for bed, when you hear the familiar rustle of Johnny’s keys on the front door, but it’s not just his footsteps you hear. 

No, there’s a giggle. A girl giggle. 

“Oh my god, you weren’t kidding about the stairs!” She says, followed by a breathless little laugh. “Wait…this is it?”

You’re still in your room where you can't see them, but by the sound of the girl’s voice, she’s not exactly impressed about the place Johnny Storm brought her into. But he doesn’t seem to mind, instead, you can hear his footsteps going toward the turntable, probably rummaging through his “setting the mood” shelf. 

“Yep. This is where I live.”

There’s a brief pause, where you assume the girl is looking around trying to find a camera that would explain this is just a bad prank.

“…Really? I thought you lived in a penthouse,” she says, laughing nervously again. “I don’t know, something with a view, at least?”

“Nope,” Johnny says, and you can hear the unbothered smile on his face. “This is home.”

She doesn’t say anything back, but you’re guessing she’s probably trying to smile politely like her life depends on it. After all, she’s not stupid enough to waste the opportunity of spending the night with the human torch.

You don’t know what makes you step out of your room, maybe curiosity killed the cat, but you regret it the moment you see the girl Johnny brought home. The brunette looks like her face belongs in a billboard as much as he does. She’s still standing by the door, shifting awkwardly, and her eyes widen when she sees you walk out in pj’s. 

“Oh hey!” Johnny says quickly, gesturing between you with a little laugh before she spirals. “This is my roommate. And this is, um…Paige.”

You smile, just enough to be polite, crossing your arms over your chest to try to keep at bay whatever you’re feeling.

“Hi, Paige.” That’s all you can manage to say. Johnny pretends going back to choosing a record, but he watches you from the corner of his eye. 

Paige straightens on her spot, smiling way too cheerfully for the expression of bewilderment she had just seconds ago. “Hi! I love the place. It’s so…cozy.”

You nod, ignoring the way she looks up and down at you, and decide it’s wiser to forget about that tea.

“Nice meeting you. I’ll uh…leave you both to it…” you mutter, before doing the only thing a sane person would do. 

Retreat to your room, shut the door, and pretend you don’t exist. 

You decide to go back to your plans of enjoying the evening, and curl up with a good book in bed–thinking a glass of wine wouldn't be the worst idea–when you hear music coming from the living room. And it’s not just any song. Of course it’s not.

The opening sultry sequence is unmistakable, so instantly recognizable that your eyes go wide as your head snaps toward the door. 

“I’ve been really tryyyyyyin’, baby…”

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself.

“Tryin’ to hold back this feeling for so looooong…”

You rush to the door, pressing your ear to the wood to confirm you’re not hallucinating. Johnny really is shooting his shot with Marvin Gaye in the background. 

Way to set the fucking mood. Literally.

“Oh my God,” you slap a hand over your mouth to stop the disbelieving laughter bubbling out of your chest. “That’s his move?”

You can’t help it. You have to see this. You crack the door open just enough to take a peek of the living room. The record spins on the turntable, as Johnny stands in front of the couch Paige is sitting on. 

“Let’s get it on…”

And girl, Johnny’s getting it on. He has his arms up in front of him, elbows bent, fists and eyes closed, completely surrendering to the groove. He rolls his shoulders seductively, and his hips are doing a slow sway that makes your jaw drop to the floor. 

He’s performing, right in the middle of your apartment, and you’re not sure if you should be horrified or turned on. 

The girl on the couch is surely eating it up. She giggles, covering her mouth like this is the most charming thing she’s ever seen. Johnny throws in a little hip circle, that feels unnecessarily dramatic in your humble opinion, but she squeals louder, clapping as she melts under his mating spell.

“Let’s get it on…let’s love, baby…”

You can’t believe him, you can not believe him…and yet, your lips twitch at the way he’s completely unaware of how stupid he looks because he’s too busy having fun doing his weird seduction ritual. 

Of course this is how he flirts. Of course he dances like that. And of course people fall for it.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Paige laughs again, and Johnny grins wide, clearly proud of himself. He offers his arm to her with a wink, leaning forward, and she takes his hand with a delighted gasp that seems to seal the deal. 

That also means you’ve seen enough. 

You close the door softly, pressing your back against it as the music and the giggles muffle behind it. You tell yourself that you should be annoyed. You should be rolling your eyes. But god help you, there’s this weird tender feeling blooming on your chest, and you hate it. Because even when he’s being ridiculous, even when he’s dancing to Marvin Gaye for someone else…You still find him stupidly endearing.

-

Unfortunately, Johnny’s wasn’t the only performance of the night. 

Oh no, you wish you could go back to the stupid mating dance instead of…this. 

First you just heard the creak of a bed. His bed. Followed by a sound that could only be described as a high, breathy, and absolutely overdone…moan. A performative moan. The walls are thin, not paper thin, but still enough that every exaggerated sound from his guest bleeds through. 

“Oh my goood, Johnnyyy…”

You try covering your ears with your pillow, hoping it’ll help muffle the show Paige is putting on next to your room. But no, this girl is committed. She’s moaning as if she’s trying to convince someone. Anyone. Everyone. 

God, what if your neighbors think that’s you?

Your groan is muffled by the pillow. This is torture, absolute torture. You know Johnny must be good in bed. That’s not the problem. The problem is that she sounds like she’s aware she has an audience.

You lift yourself on your elbows to glance at the clock and sigh at the time. 1:07 a.m.

Who goes on a date on a Tuesday? 

Granted, if you were fucking Johnny you probably wouldn’t mind the day, or the hour–alright STOP right there. That’s not the point! 

You plop back down, exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easily. You just stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks you’ve never bothered to notice before, in an attempt to ignore Johnny’s muffled groans. 

You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re a grown adult who can handle the fact that her roommate has a sex life. There was never a rule against Johnny bringing someone home. He lives here. He pays for almost everything for God’s sake. He’s allowed to bring anyone wants. 

It's just…you were naive enough to think he wouldn't.

Girl, whatever.

Wednesday’s morning sun hits you like a slap in the face. 

You couldn’t sleep well, not with the symphony next door. So you forced yourself up from bed and got ready for work by a miracle. Now, yawning and barely keeping your eyes open, you drag your feet toward the kitchen to find some salvation in the form of caffeine, but you don’t make it two steps outside your bedroom before you collide directly into something solid. 

And wet. And warm. Too warm. 

Johnny. 

Who was just stepping out of the bathroom with water dripping down his golden skin. A white towel hangs low on his hips. Like low low. His clenched fist barely keeps it in place. Blonde hair sticking in strands to his forehead. 

You freeze in place. 

“Morning,” he says, smirking, “You okay? You look like you just saw a very handsome man.”

You don’t really hear him. And you absolutely do not stare at his chest, his abs, or the water trickling down his happy trail. But you do notice the hickeys adorning his glistening pecs. Bright and fresh and mocking you.

“It’s okay if you want to scream.” His teasing voice makes you roll your eyes as you shove past him. 

“Put on some damn clothes, Storm.”

Johnny lets out a chuckle, leaning over the bathroom’s door frame with his arm. 

“Why? You looked like you were enjoying the view,” he adds, and just to show off more, he steams the water off his body in a matter of seconds. “You know, you can just say I’m hot. I’d be flattered, really.”

He expects you to say some witty remark, or give into him with a laugh like you always do, but you give him the cold shoulder treatment. Then you distract yourself by stabbing the buttons on the espresso machine he brought in just last week. Johnny notices not only that, but your sudden aggression toward the cereal box and the bowl you set a little too harshly onto the counter. He frowns, stepping slowly into the kitchen. 

“Hey…wait, are you–“

“I’m not mad,” you say, still not looking at him.

“I didn’t say you were,” he shrugs, lifting one hand innocently before smirking again. “…but are you not though?” 

“I’m just tired, okay? Some of us had to sleep last night instead of entertaining their very loud…guest.”

“Ohhh,” he clicks his tongue, grin only growing bigger. “So this is about last night. That’s what you’re mad about.”

“I said I’m not mad!” You snap.

There’s a few seconds of silence where Johnny debates turning around and hiding in his room before you throw a knife at him or something, but since he apparently has no survival instinct, he leans closer, tilting his head inquisitively at you. 

“…Are you sure?” 

You set your palms on the counter with a sigh. But instead of going for the knife in the drawer to your right (very tempting) you step away from him. 

“Johnny–listen I’m not mad that you brought someone over,” you start explaining, a little hesitant because wow, this is awkward. “You live here too and you can bring whoever you want. It’s not about that.”

“Okay…” he drags the word, waiting for the but.

“It’s just…it was a weeknight, alright? I have work today and I could barely sleep.”

You see the shift in Johnny’s face when he takes in your exhausted features, your slumped shoulders and the lame work outfit you didn’t seem to care much about. His brows furrow in something that looks like concern as a mild pink paints his cheeks. That’s when you straighten up, shaking your head in an attempt to take it back as sudden embarrassment takes over you.

“Sorry, that probably sounded dumb. Swear I’m not trying to police your sex life–you’re an adult! You can…you can do whatever you want, whenever you want–” you fumble through your words, but this time Johnny is the one shaking his head as he steps closer to you, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his bare chest.

“Shit. I didn’t even think–you’re right,” he says, scratching the back of his head as he turns redder. “I’m sorry…I should’ve thought about that. I really didn’t mean to…make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, not in the way you think,” you reassure, lowering your eyes to the bowl on the counter with a little shrug. “Maybe I just didn’t need to hear…all of it. You know?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah yeah, totally, I get it. This uh–this roommate thing’s still new to me, but I’ll be more careful next time. Promise.”

Next time. Promise. You’re not sure why that didn’t make you feel better. Next time. Next time you’ll–

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling Johnny’s gaze fixed on you as you nod and turn away from him toward the coffee machine again. 

Johnny hums, and decides to retreat back to his room, bare feet dragging over the wood floor. The roommate thing is not necessarily new new to him, but living in a shared apartment with thin walls is. At least back at home no one complained about his night endeavours anymore after Reed installed a soundproofing system specifically for this purpose. 

He stops right outside his room, his hand resting on the doorknob when he turns to you with that charming smile he wears when he knows he’s done something wrong and he needs to fix it. 

“Lunch tomorrow?” He asks casually, almost laughing at the way your head snaps up toward him with wide eyes. “To make it up to you. It’s your day off.” 

The perplexed expression on your face doesn’t change. 

“You…know?” You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“You marked it on the calendar with a little face next to it.” He grins, shrugging cockily. 

“I didn’t–” Your eyes land on the calendar next to the landline phone on the wall, and sure there is a little smiley face next to your circle. “You drew that there!” you accuse with a small laugh he follows.

“Whatever. It’s still my treat, what do you say?”

“But…Paige won’t be mad?” you tease, and he bites back a chuckle as he shakes his head. 

“She was just a one time thing.” 

His expression doesn't falter, but something about the quickness of his reply makes your heart do something stupid again. 

“Then…yeah, guess I’d like that,” you say softly. 

“Good. I’m picking the place,” he nods with a smile.

You definitely don’t stare at his back as he disappears into his room.

“I got sunshineeee, on a cloudy day…”

The music coming from the jukebox is lively, and matches the bright diner Johnny brought you to. He’d tried hailing a cab to get there, but you dragged him toward the subway, where he insisted on getting his own card to cover your fare at least.

He adored the subway, though! That poor innocent soul. 

You weren’t really sure where he was taking you, but you liked the place he chose. 

“Can I get you anything else, honey?” The waitress asks Johnny after scribbling down your order. A kind middle aged woman with bright red lipstick, who has apparently known Johnny since he was a kid. 

“That’s everything for now. Thank you, Glinda,” he smiles, sending a wink her way. 

She laughs, shaking her head, used to him doing that every other day. Then her gaze travels between you two with a smile you can’t quite decipher. 

“You two are cute,” she says suddenly.

“We’re not–”

“Thanks!” Johnny cuts you off, and before you can protest, he nudges your foot under the table until Glinda leaves. He chuckles when he sees you narrowing your eyes at him. “Let her believe it. We’ll get better service.”

“Huh. Did that work with Paige too?” You tease with a tilt of your head, and Johnny raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Wow. So we’re doing that today?”

You shrug, a laugh escaping your lips. “I’m just saying, if I’m gonna be one of your girls of the week, I should know if you’re using the same techniques.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll meet the rest of my harem later and you can ask them yourself,” Johnny plays along, making your grin widen. “But if it makes you feel better, you’re the first one I’ve ever brought here.”

Something about the comment makes something flutter in your stomach. You look around, and this is definitely not the place you imagine the girls Johnny dates hanging out. No wonder he hasn’t brought them here, after all,  this is just a casual “I fucked too loud the other day and I need you to forgive me” spot. 

“How do you know this place?” You ask. 

“Sue used to bring me here when I was little,” he explains, smiling softly as he recalls the memory. “Best burgers in the city. I didn’t want to eat anywhere else." 

You smile, and shake the bad thoughts away, grateful to be the first one he decided to share this space with besides his sister. 

Your food arrives eventually, and the conversation flows easily between you, just as if you were sitting on the floor of your living room. He always shares stories about his missions that seem too good to be true, and when you share stories from your job, the craziest thing you can tell him is the absurd HR drama of the week. 

“...I guess you'd say

What can make me feel this way?...” 

The music fills the restaurant, and the food is so good, you can’t help the delight on your face.  

“Oh my god, you weren’t lying about these,” you say, a little muffled, after the last glorious bite of your burger. 

Johnny chuckles, nodding like ‘I told you so’. You’re too busy tasting heaven to notice when he leans forward on his booth, and before you know it, his hand is reaching toward your cheek, wiping some leftover sauce with a napkin. 

“There you go,” he says softly. 

The gesture is so sudden that you freeze on your spot and stop chewing, but Johnny looks unbothered as ever, leaning back again with both arms resting on the edge of the booth like that was nothing. You stare at his relaxed position, and finish swallowing what was in your mouth, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his warm fingers grazing your skin. 

“Thank you,” you manage, clearing your throat. 

“Anytime,” he shrugs, flashing you another one of his pearly white smiles. 

“...My girl (my girl, my girl)

Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl)...”

-

“Well, I think that should cover the noise,” Johnny says, following behind as you enter the apartment after getting back from the diner. 

“Fine. Apology accepted, Storm.” You roll your eyes, but can’t help a smile as you go straight to the living room. 

You plop down onto the couch, and Johnny throws himself beside you. There’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds, one he couldn’t wait to ruin by opening his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, next time I’ll keep it down,” he says nonchalantly. “I can be considerate.”

Maybe he meant it as a joke, you tell yourself. Next time. It really shouldn’t bother you, but it’s the second time he says it like the idea of having another woman on his bed is as casual as eating a burger. 

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t–

“Well, hopefully the next one doesn’t fake it so loudly.” 

The words left your mouth before you could think about their impact. Johnny turns fully toward you, straightening up on the couch. 

“I’m sorry, what? Did you just say Paige was faking it?” 

You consider getting up and ignoring the conversation altogether, but that would make you look worse than you already do. 

“I didn’t say any names,” you try to brush it off. 

“You absolutely meant Paige,” he retorts. “And she wasn’t faking it.”

“…Okay,” is all you say, pursing your lips together. Johnny narrows his eyes. 

“You don’t believe me,” he says defensively, and it’s a little hard not to laugh at Johnny's genuine offense.

“Well, did you believe her?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

He looks at you like you’ve gone mad. “Yes, of course I did! I’m very attentive with those things. I would know.”

“Okay then,” you shrug, leaning forward to take the tv remote from the coffee table, but he beats you to it, and hides it behind him. “Johnny!”

“No! Don’t patronize me,” he points at you with his finger, “I pay attention, okay? I’m not saying I’m Casanova–”

“You kind of are.”

“Well not the point,” he glares at you, but you just bite back a smile and wave your hand for him to continue. “What I mean is, women don’t fake it with me.”

He says it with such conviction, that all you can do is bite the inside of your cheek to not burst out laughing. I mean, of course certified hot stuff™ Johnny Storm would believe that. 

“Okay–”

“Stop saying okay!” He groans dramatically, running his hands through his hair like this is physically wearing him out, and then holds them in front of you. “You wanna hear the details? Fine. She said she came ten times.”

“Ten times?”

“Yeah.”

“Johnny.”

“What?”

“Ten??”

“Yes. Ten,” he says proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Did you also come ten times?” 

He goes quiet for a moment, his mouth opening and closing in offense. You raise your eyebrows and nod with your head, prompting him to talk. 

“No that’s…that’s impossible,” he huffs. All you have to do is give him a look. See? “Okay–stop. It’s different for women.”

“Yeah, I know it is. That’s why you don’t understand,” you sigh, trying to sound nicer now because despite everything, you’re not trying to humiliate him. “Listen, I’m sure you’re good in bed, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen for us. And sometimes girls don’t want to stop everything and explain that in the middle of it, so they fake it to be…polite.” 

He looks flabbergasted to say the least. 

“Polite? So you’re saying faking orgasms is what, being generous with us?”

“I think she was very generous, making you believe it was twelve times.”

“I said ten,” he snaps.

“Right, ten. God forbid I say an unrealistic number.”

Johnny narrows his eyes at you, but your amused smile doesn’t falter. That’s the moment when the devil on his shoulder whispers something to him, and a glint appears in his eye. 

“Well, what about you, then?” He asks casually.

“What about me?” You narrow your eyes. 

“Do you have to fake it a lot with the guys you are with?”

“Johnny…” you laugh, rolling your eyes at how he turned it around.

“I’m just saying,” he smirks. “You seem to know a lot about it. Did you have to do it a lot?” He’s teasing, you know it, but there's a bit of genuine curiosity under all that. 

“Like I said, sometimes it just doesn’t happen for us,” you shrug, chuckling again but it doesn’t reach your eyes this time, “my last partner was…attentive. So I didn’t have to. At least…not at first.”

“Your last partner?"

You hesitate for a second, then nod.

“We were together for five years.” 

“Five years?” Johnny straightens up, unconsciously sliding himself closer to you on the couch. “You were with someone for five years?”

“Yeah. I actually thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with him,” you smile sadly. “His name is James.”

Johnny hates James. 

He’s not sure what to say besides that. You’ve never told him this before, and God, that look on your face…makes him watch you more carefully now. No more teasing, no smirk. 

“Did it end badly?” He asks softly. You shake your head.

“It wasn’t ugly per se, just…sad. We didn’t want the same things anymore,” you sigh, he just listens. “We had dreams, you know? Big ones. Penthouse in Manhattan, fancy dinners, skiing holidays. He wanted to go into politics, make it to congress, I wanted to become a New York Times best seller. So, we’d agreed we didn’t want kids or the whole marriage thing. Just success,” you chuckle, because it sounds so foreign to you now. “But after so many years together I changed my mind. I wanted a family. I wanted…more. I wanted to live the love I was writing about.”

“And he didn’t,” Johnny adds quietly. 

“No. He didn't. Didn't think we could have both.” You meet his gaze, and you see true concern there, so you smile. “It’s been about a year since we called it off. I’ve healed a lot since then. Found this place and made it home.” you say, as if he’s the one who needs reassurance. 

Johnny’s heart burns under his chest. He’d never stopped to think about the life you had before him. There was a whole imagined future that someone destroyed, and he had no idea.

“I heard he made it to congress last month,” you add, toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess that leaves me here, still writing in my pjs thinking I can make it big one day,” you chuckle, but Johnny doesn't find it so amusing. 

“Hey. Don’t say it like that,” he says softly, shaking his head. “You’re doing it. You’re writing, maybe not in some fancy tower office or bestselling list yet, but you’re on your way. I’ve seen you type for hours on that thing,” he points at the typewriter by the window. “And you’re going to find someone who wishes the same things as you. You deserve someone who wants to give you all that, and more.”

“Yeah…maybe,” you nod. He huffs, nudging your leg playfully with his support.

“Definitely.”

This time you let yourself smile genuinely. You’re not sure why you let yourself share all of that with Johnny. Surely, he’s never had to worry about success, and there’s a line of girls who would gladly marry him anyday. But the way he’d looked at you, so…earnest. You deserve someone who wants to give you all that, and more. His words echo in your head, but maybe you shouldn't dwell on it. He was just being nice–

“It’s a little quiet in here, isn’t it?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and when you turn to look at him, he’s got his devilish smile back on.

You narrow your eyes, but he just raises from the couch and walks toward the turntable. 

“I say, we need some music to lighten up,” he half turns to you without stopping, winking. 

You snort, shifting on the couch to peek at what vinyl he wants to play, but he purposefully covers it with his body. You don’t have to guess for long, because a familiar groove fills the apartment when he drops the needle.

“Johnny, you can’t be serious right now,” you chuckle when you recognize the tune. 

He turns away from the turntable, and he already has that mischievous glint in his eye, making a “come here” motion with two fingers. His hips start moving to the rhythm as he walks toward you, and you have to bite back a smile. 

“Come on, I already heard your sad story. Let’s dance now.” 

“My sad story?” You gasp in exaggerated offense. “Oh you're dead, Storm.”

“Yeah?” He grins, stopping right in front of you but never halting his moves. “Why don’t you stand up and show me you can move, then?”

“I won’t–” 

“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man no time to talk…” he cuts you off, singing and pointing at himself. His voice comes out so high it matches the record, and you cover your mouth to hide your smile. He keeps dancing to the groove, “And now it's all right, it's okay. And you may look the other way…” you do just that, but Johnny slides to stay in your line of sight. 

“…Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive…”

You cover your face, peeking through your fingers. He keeps moving so easily, so unashamed, and for a moment it feels too familiar. It’s just like the other night, except today, you are the girl he’s dancing to. 

“Ah ah ah ah, staying alive…” Johnny channels his inner Travolta, and busts out the signature disco move: left hand on his hip, the other moving up and down in the air as the chorus hits. You can’t hide the delight on your face anymore. A giggle escapes out, and he just smiles brighter, stopping his move only to offer his hand. “Come on, dance with me.”

You want to say no.

“Scared of a little fun?” He teases.

It’s a trap. It’s a trap. But he’s standing right there with his hand outstretched, hips swaying to the beat, and those impossible blue eyes daring you to stop thinking about fake orgasms and failed relationships and just join the moment. He looks so ridiculous, yet you’re rising up from the couch before you can really think about it. 

Johnny cheers approvingly, stepping back to give you space, and you let yourself go. Your own moves are looser, less practiced than his, but still good enough to raise to the challenge. You shake your hair playfully, spinning around so Johnny is standing behind you as you join the rhythm. You sway from side to side in opposite directions, catching brief glances of each other’s faces. He lets out a low whistle.

“Ohhhh she dances,” he praises, eyes shamelessly trailing your movements.

“Shut it,” you shoot back. 

And you both dance. 

“…Well now, I get low and I get high

And if I can't get either, I really try…”

The apartment fills with music and laughter, and you get lost in your own Saturday Night Fever extravaganza. At some point he reaches for your hand again and twirls you, making you stumble into him, and you collide chest to chest. The song keeps playing, but it fades out when his bright blue eyes set on you. 

You’re breathless, and you try to play it cool, but it’s impossible when he’s right there.

“You’re smiling,” he says teasingly, but you don’t try to hide this time. 

“Only because you’re ridiculous,” you manage. 

Johnny shrugs smugly, making you yelp when he steps back and spins you around faster than before, then prompting you to dance again. “Then be ridiculous with me.”

As you both laugh and surrender to the rhythm, you come to the realization that you could learn to love this.

The dancing. 

It’s Friday night, and you decide to give dating a chance again. It’s about time after all.

You smooth down your outfit, fix your hair one last time, and give yourself a final look in the mirror of your room. It’s been a while since you actually dressed up for something that wasn’t work, and god, it feels good to remember you still have it in you.

You step out of your room hoping to leave without making too much of a fuss, when you come across a shirtless Johnny leaning on the breakfast counter, wearing his human torch pj pants– way too low to be considered PG– and eating from the cereal box in his hand. Only the glow from the refrigerator bathes the kitchen in a pale golden hue. 

Not an unfamiliar sight at all, yet…you always find yourself staring longer than you should. For Johnny, however, watching you come out of your room looking like that as you leave a trail of expensive perfume he’s sure you’ve never worn before, is unfamiliar. 

“Wow,” he says, straightening up against the counter, a teasing smile on his face. “She actually cleans up nicely.”

You snort, looking around for your coat and pretending you don’t feel Johnny’s burning gaze on you when you put it on. 

“Date night?” he asks. His voice definitely didn’t come out higher than normal.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, fixing the collar of your coat. “Guy from work. He’s um…we’re going dancing.”

“Dancing? People still do that?” He teases. Hypocrite.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny Storm,” you retort, walking to the door to grab your keys on the little hook next to it. “Please don’t burn the place while I’m out.” 

“I can’t promise anything,” he shrugs unapologetically, rounding the counter as if to walk toward the couch in the living room, but he really just wants to get a better look at you before you leave. “You look very beautiful.” 

His words make your hand freeze over the doorknob. There’s something about the softness in his voice that knocks the breath out of your chest. You turn around to look at him with a small smile.

“Thank you, Johnny,” you say, but before you can reach the knob again he perks up.

“Wait–he’s not coming up to get you?”

“No…he said he’d be outside at 8,” you shrug, but Johnny doesn't seem to take it as lightly as you do. If anything, you’d say he looks scandalized to say the least. 

“Yeah–no. That’s not happening,” he shakes his head, dropping the cereal box on the counter as he walks towards you. 

“Johnny–”

“No way I’m letting you wait outside alone in the cold while some guy honks his car like he’s doing you a favor,” he says, walking ahead to open the door. “I’ll wait with you.”

“...You’re only wearing pants.”

“Yeah, and they’re my favorite pair,” he deadpans. “Let’s go.”

“Okay…” you shrug, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips as he guides you outside the apartment. “Thank you,” you whisper, when he offers his arm to help you down the multiple flights of stairs. 

Date night hasn’t even started and you’re already flustering. 

Once you’re in the lobby, Johnny doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s standing shirtless and barefoot next to the glass doors. If anything, he’s more interested in seeing who this mystery man is, if he even has the decency of at least walking inside to get you. For a moment he just stares at you from the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to send another compliment your way. 

The clock ticks, minutes go by, and you’re still smiling but the slight waver of your stance doesn’t go unnoticed by Johnny. 

He glances at you, then at his watch. 8:15. Shit.

"Are you sure he said eight?" Johnny asks carefully. 

“Yeah. Eight. Michael called me yesterday to confirm it,” you nod, eyes still glued to the street outside. 

Johnny hates Michael. He hates him so much and he doesn’t even know him. But he forces a reassuring smile for you.

“Maybe traffic?”

“Yeah,” you agree too quickly. “You know how it is on a Friday.”

He just nods, and turns back to the street. He doesn’t feel the bite of the cold, but he notices the way you wrap your arms around you. He silently steps closer to you, increasing his body temperature so can share some with you. You don’t say anything, or even move, but time does. 

8:25.

You shift your weight from side to side, trying to come up with something to at least make the silence a little less awkward, but nothing comes out. 

8:30.

Johnny’s gaze turns to you again, and you fear he sees the moment of cruel acceptance in your face. Why did he have to wait with you? This would be less embarrassing if he’d just stayed upstairs so you had time to come up with an excuse less pathetic than “I was stood up.” 

At 8:40 you decide it’s been enough of this humiliation, so you exhale, turning back to the stairs while avoiding Johnny’s eyes. 

“Well, he probably got caught up in something,” you shrug, trying to sound casual. A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “Maybe an emergency. Or maybe he just didn’t want to come...”

“I don’t think–”

“I’m gonna go back,” you cut him off, clearing your throat. “I’ll just change and order something. It’s no big deal.”

Johnny doesn't have time to offer his arm this time, because you’re already halfway up the stairs ahead of him. So he follows behind, no questions asked.

The hurt is not even about the guy who didn’t show up, because you haven’t known him long enough for this to be a proper “heartbreak”, but you hate that you got all dressed up and hopeful. How you let yourself believe someone might want to see you that badly. Oh he’s gonna hear it from you on Monday. 

And now you’re walking back upstairs with your roommate in the front row of the whole shitshow.

Your roommate who held the door open and helped you down the stairs.The one who hasn't made a single joke about the situation even when you’re sure he’s never had to worry about being stood up in his entire life. The one who said you looked beautiful with such softness in his voice that your stomach still flips thinking about it. 

Your roommate who also happens to be Johnny Storm. 

And the worst part? 

Part of you wishes he was the one who stood you up. Because at least then, it would’ve meant he wanted to take you out in the first place.

God, you’re being ridiculous. 

You don’t really want to talk when you approach the apartment. Johnny closes the door behind you with a soft click, and you don’t even bother turning the lights back on since the idea of ordering something doesn’t seem that appealing anymore, instead, you bend down to take your shoes off. Your night ended before it could even begin anyways. 

“Goodnight, Johnny.” 

You don’t wait for a reply as you straighten up and make a beeline for your bedroom, but you stop when you feel his warm fingers wrap gently around your wrist, the same one holding your shoes.

“Wait,” he says softly. “Just…wait.”

He lets go almost as quickly, his brief touch a mere ghost feeling on your wrist as you watch him walk with determination toward the turntable in the living room, flipping through the basket of records on rotation you keep next to it. You’re about to open your mouth to tell him you’re really not in the mood for this, but he beats you to it. 

“Ah ha!” He celebrates when he finds the one he was looking for, but from your spot it’s hard to recognize the cover in the darkness. He places the record on the player, and turns to you a little bit shyer. “This isn’t, you know…a fancy dance floor. But I figured you deserved your dance anyway.” 

His dashing smile is soft and lopsided and even a little sheepish as he waits for your response. Your heart thumps so loud and quickly you struggle to process everything you feel in that moment, and the sting in your eyes doesn't help either. 

You stay speechless, but Johnny doesn't mind, he only turns again to drop the needle on the vinyl before walking to your spot.

You expect the melody to come out of the turntable to be lively, something ridiculously sexy or extravagant like the other day, but when you recognize the soft chords of a guitar, you have to stop yourself from gasping. 

“I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me…”

Frank Sinatra's voice dances across the apartment, just as Johnny stops in front of you and extends his hand with a soft smile. 

“What do you say? Wanna dance under the glow of our ridiculous fridge?”

A chuckle escapes your lips. To think that you would’ve expected him to mock you for what happened, but no, he’s offering you a dance instead. Again. Words are foreign to you still, but you drop your shoes to the floor and take his hand.

“And if we go some place to dance I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me…”

His hand finds your waist, and yours land over his bare shoulders almost instinctively. You start to sway to the melody, glassy eyes meeting his piercing blue ones. His face is washed by the faint glow coming from the kitchen, enough to look ethereal as he guides your hips from side to side. His body is hot beneath your touch, and you find it hard to coordinate your moves with the unsteadiness of your breathing. 

“And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two…”

The record choice doesn’t help your state either. That song. That damn song. The one you’ve been playing every Sunday morning. The one you sing along to in the middle of typing as you try to recreate that love with your words. The one you reach for when the apartment’s too quiet and you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts. 

This is not like the other day. This…this is everything. 

“And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”

Johnny breaks eye contact to spin you around softly, almost letting out a tiny huff when your chests collide back together. That’s familiar. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and your fingers find their way to play with his hair. 

You don’t want the moment to end. And neither does he. So you keep going, careful not to let your face bury into his bare chest, as you sway barefoot under the refrigerator light. 

“The time is right, your perfume fills my head

The stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue…”

Maybe getting stood up wasn't so bad.

“And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”

Maybe this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

The next time you decide to try dating, it’s with a better man. A totally normal, grounded, emotionally available man who shows up at your doorstep when he says he will.

Joseph has brown eyes and brown hair. A warm voice with an accent that had you internally giggling and kicking your feet when you were introduced at a work event. He’s sweet and listens and laughs at your jokes and doesn't have a superhero suit in his closet. 

Nope, he just works in finance. 

That’s good. That’s smart. Joseph’s normal. He doesn’t light on fire at will. And he's oh, so handsome. Which is why, after many successful dates, you knew you wanted more with him. 

Johnny hasn't been home on a Saturday night since he moved in. You don’t know exactly where he goes; missions, friends, clubs, space? Who cares, Saturday is his disappearing act, so you were counting on having the apartment to yourself.

So when Joseph said I’d love to come inside after kissing you against the front door, you said sure with a little grin and the warmth of two glasses of wine running through your veins. You fumbled with your keys a little, giggling when Joseph’s hands roamed down your waist when you opened the door…only to find him on the couch. 

Johnny.

Wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a 4 logo. Bowl of popcorn in his lap and a movie glowing on the screen. His head whips in your direction when he hears your little messy entrance, and smiles a little too wide for someone who just ruined your plans entirely.

“Heeey,” he beams, leaning back on the couch as his eyes narrow at the man standing behind you.

“Hi,” you say, clearly taken aback. “...You’re home.” 

“Yep.”

Ugh. Can’t a girl get laid in peace? 

“Everything alright?” Joseph asks hesitantly, clearly not expecting to find Johnny Storm on your couch.

“Yeah–yeah, sorry. Come in,” you step aside, gesturing awkwardly between them. “This is uh–Johnny. My roommate.”

“That’d be me,” Johnny throws a salute in his direction. “And you are?”

“Joseph,” he flashes a confident grin, tightening his grip around your waist. “Nice to meet you, torch.”

Johnny nods at him, eyes traveling to his hand placement, and you swear you catch his posture faltering for a second, the thousand alarms going off behind that perfect smile. So she doesn’t like blonds…

“Don’t you uh…have somewhere to be?” You ask, gesturing with your eyes toward the door in a silent plea, but he just shakes his head, smiling wider and leaning back onto the couch. He even has the audacity to laugh when you glare at him.

“Oh please, don’t mind me here! I’ll just finish my movie.”

Your eye twitches. So he wants to stay? Fine. You’re not leaving either. 

“Well!” you say a little too enthusiastically, one hand reaching for Joseph’s to pull him toward your bedroom.  “Don’t mind us either, then.”

He shrugs, pretending to turn to the TV again but you feel him watching as you walk away. 

“Don’t forget the walls are thin!”

You don’t turn around or answer to him, just tug Joseph inside your room and shut the door. You twist the lock and try the knob a few times, just in case. 

It doesn’t take long before Joseph is all over you. You’d already been worked up on the way there and the drinks fogging your mind helped you ease the nerves. This is what you wanted after all, a normal night with a normal man. A very sexy one at that. 

His roaming hands are warm and his mouth finds places that have you leaning on the wall behind you so you don’t fall apart completely. 

You really try to be quiet. Respectful. Because unlike him, you’re not trying to put on a show. Seriously, what was he thinking? He’s gone every single Saturday and today he chooses to “watch a movie”. I swear to God, he can be a pain in the ass when he wants to–

Okay, maybe let’s not think about Johnny Storm when another man is on top of you. 

But your bed creaks, just like his that night. You tell yourself to relax, to let go, yet you bite your lip and keep your sounds low. Careful little breaths barely muffled by Joseph’s neck. That is, until it starts to feel too good, and the moans slipping out stop being something you can control. 

Outside, the movie is still playing. Johnny, however, doesn’t even know what’s going on in that screen anymore. He turns the volume up and tells himself that whatever is happening inside your room is none of his business. 

You brought a guy home, big deal. 

It explains why you’ve been giggling on the phone late at night and disappearing every now and then all dolled up. Not that he has noticed, really. You have every right to do whatever you want, with whoever you want. Really. He’s even glad this guy didn’t stand you up like the last one. You deserve to be happy.

Even if he’s not happy right now. Because he really shouldn’t be listening to you like that. 

She’s faking, he thinks immediately, when the sounds start to slip past the walls of your room. You have to. There’s no way that guy is that good. 

Something in his stomach twists when the sounds you’re letting out just prove your theory from the other day: he’s an idiot who can’t tell. 

But he would know with you, he would–no. 

He stands up so abruptly the plastic bowl of popcorn goes flying from his lap, making a mess all over the woodfloors. Whatever, he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he has to leave, or he’s gonna die in this house. And in a whoosh of raging fire, he’s gone.

Weeks went by, and Johnny never brought up that night. Just like you never brought up finding the TV still on and the popcorn all over the floor next morning. 

You both went back to normal. You kept seeing Joseph and Johnny went back to disappearing on Saturdays. You even had a feeling Johnny was seeing someone too, and confirmed it the day you found a pink bra peeking out of his laundry pile. 

So you were both dating…other people. Big deal. 

Despite that, things didn’t really change between you. Because at night? You still came home to each other. You still ate takeout together on the floor, still watched movies, still bickered over who jammed the garbage disposal. 

Normal, normal, normal. Just like tonight.

“So, when are you moving in with your boyfriend?” Johnny asks playfully, setting down an empty noodles box on the coffee table. 

For a second you choke on your last bite of noodles, and cover it up with a cough that has him looking at you amusingly. 

“It’s a little early for that,” you shrug casually, fiddling with your chopsticks on the empty box.

He nods, serious for only a second before he sighs dramatically, putting one hand over his heart and the other over his eyes. “And here I was, thinking it was because you liked living with me too much.”

This time you snort, shaking your head. The worst part is that he might not be wrong about that, but don’t tell him that I said that!

“Don’t flatter yourself, Storm,” you scoff instead. 

“Oh, come on,” he whines, pushing your thigh with his foot. “I’m great to live with. I know you’d miss me if I left.”

I might wither and die.

“I would not,” you say firmly. “What is there to miss, the burnt toast and the bra’s in the laundry?” You tease. 

“Those aren’t mine,” he says seriously. 

“Well thank you for clarifying that, Johnny. I was really having doubts if you were a C cup or not,” you shake your head, and this time you can’t fight the laughter that flows so easily between you. “And for the record, if there’s anything I’d miss, it's the refrigerator, or your vinyls.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, standing up to take the empty box from you and walk toward the kitchen to throw it away. You can’t help but glance in his direction, and heat warms your cheeks when he turns around and catches you staring. But the teasing never comes, no, only a sweet smile, softly illuminated by the fridge in question. 

You look away before you say something you're not supposed to. 

Wow, look at that! Another Saturday Johnny didn’t disappear. Why? Because this morning Johnny decided to casually announce that the Fantastic Fucking Four were dying to see your shared apartment and finally meet you, the roommate, tonight.  

So yeah, he had you running like a headless chicken all day from store to store–dragging him along, of course–to have everything decent for them. He even bought a dining table with express delivery and ever faster assembly service, since your thrifted coffee table wasn’t gonna fit his fantastic family. 

Perfectly normal Saturday. 

“Johnny, does your sister have a preference for napkins?” You ask, holding up as many brands as you can, the fancy ones, but when you turn to him, he’s in deep conversation with that watch thingy he has.

“No, it’s a family thing…” he says to the person on the call. “...I know, baby. But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, alright?...Come on, don’t be like that…” 

You move farther away when you realize who he’s talking to, but when you watch him from the corner of your eye, he looks like he’s trying to bargain something with a toddler. A few minutes later, he sighs and hangs up, and you pretend to read the back of two napkin brands like your life depends on it. A casual whistle was the only thing missing.

“So…” he says nonchalantly when he reaches you, or at least that’s how he thinks he’s coming off like, “…Vicky is coming tonight too.” 

He smiles, even if he’s ready for you to snap at him since it was just supposed to be his family. But you just purse your lips together. 

Of course she’s gonna come. The bra girl. 

“Great!” you say, maybe a little too fast, then clear your throat because you have bigger things to focus on. “Now help me with the napkins, I don’t want your family to silently judge us for having the wrong ones.”

Johnny’s shoulders sag in relief and amusement. “My family doesn't have a preference, it’s just napkins,” he says, but then he eyes the multiple brands on your hands and feels as lost as you are. “You know what, let me ask Herbert to be sure.”

You should get extra points for not passing out when he introduced you to his family. Especially when Sue Storm hugged you like you’d known each other your whole lives. Johnny had then decided to give them a full tour of the small place, and you’d made yourself scarce with the excuse of putting away the dessert Ben brought. The truth is, you just needed a moment to process the fact that four superheroes were in your apartment right now. 

You tried not to think about how crammed it looked right now, since the sitting area had been reduced due to the space the new table took. If they noticed, it never showed in their kind faces. 

Just as expected, his family was as golden as him. 

You’re sliding the dessert tray into the fridge when you hear the soft click of heels behind you. Turning around, you find Sue standing there with crossed arms and a curious smile. She’s dressed in cashmere and a pair of boots that probably cost more than your rent. You look over where Johnny is, proudly showing them the view, completely unaware that his sister had left the audience. 

“So, this is the girl my brother hasn’t stopped talking about,” she says, drawing your attention back from Johnny. 

“Oh…me?” You ask a little confused, closing the fridge and wiping your hands on your legs. 

“Unless there’s another roommate with a fondness for love songs and typewriters, I think I’ve got the right one,” she says teasingly, and you notice she has the same spark in her eye Johnny does. 

Wait, she…she knows those things? 

You resist the urge to glance at Johnny again, and nod. “Oh yeah, I just..thought maybe you meant Vicky,” you chuckle nervously.

“Vicky…?” She tilts her head with a frown, trying to place the name, but then she shakes her head. “No, he’s only ever mentioned one girl. His roommate…and that’s you. He says he likes the–” she cuts herself off, finding the right word. “...Balance, this place gives him.”

“He said that?” This time you can’t keep from looking at him, demonstrating to Reed how comfy our worn couch is. Our. Sue nods. 

“He didn’t really have that growing up, you know. The world’s always been loud for Johnny, and it felt like he was always chasing something. But now…” she looks around the apartment with a big sister smile, “he’s still chasing things, but he has somewhere stable to come back to. And I’m glad it’s here.”

You let the words sink it for a moment, as you swallow the lump in your throat. Sue’s eyes soften, and she reaches to squeeze your hand reassuringly. The brief moment breaks when the bell rings, making you both jump and then laugh at each other’s reactions. You clear your throat, and walk toward the little intercom by the wall. 

“Yes?” you ask.

“Hi! It’s Vicky!” a bright voice rings louder than the bell itself.

“Come on up,” is all you say, pushing the button to open the lobby door. 

A good glass of wine doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now. 

Sue lifts a brow curiously from her spot when she sees you pour yourself a cup and then one for her, but you just flash a smile and excuse yourself, smoothing your clothes and fixing your hair before opening the door. 

And there she is…Vicky. Golden hair, golden everything. Just like Johnny. Just like…his world. 

“Hi! Oh my god, the stairs always get me,” she exhales with a little giggle, and yet not a single bead of sweat on her forehead or a piece of hair out of place. “I brought appetizers!” she beams, holding up a tray.

“That’s so nice of you,” you smile politely, but narrow your eyes when you realize they look a little suspicious. “Are those–”

“Oh, shrimp bites! They’re to die for.”

You barely manage to keep your polite expression in place, ready to explain that Johnny hates shrimp and would rather die than be in the presence of it, but the king of Rome itself materializes next to you before you can. 

“V!” His voice comes out way more affectionate than it did at the store earlier, as he approaches her. “You made it, baby.”

You step aside just in time to witness him plant a loud smooch to Vicky’s cheek, and that’s the perfect moment to take a big sip of your drink. Or maybe not, because the second you get distracted, Johnny reaches for the tray.

“Well, don’t mind me,” Johnny says, popping one of the little shrimp abominations into his mouth before you even bring your glass down. But you look just in time to see the exact moment his eyes go wide when he chews, and his entire soul leaves his body. 

Vicky, absolutely oblivious to the horrors Johnny is going through, has already set her gaze on something behind you. 

“Oh J, this must be your sister!” she squeals. She barely gives you time to balance your glass as you catch the tray she tosses to you, shouldering past you to wrap Sue in a big hug.

Johnny has never been more grateful to throw his sister under the bus, using the distraction to discreetly spit the whole bite into a napkin, wiping his tongue dramatically and trying very hard not to gag. You bite back your amusement as you walk up to him, placing the tray gently on his hands. He immediately scowls at it, looking up at you in betrayal.

“Here you go,” you grin, taking a sip of your wine as you walk away toward the couch where the rest of his family is.

Sue looks past Vicky, who keeps yapping away about how much she’s heard about Johnny’s big sister and can’t believe they haven’t met yet so she had to come tonight, and finds Johnny looking in the direction you took off. 

Interesting.

–

After brushing his teeth twice, Johnny had survived the shrimp fiasco, and everything was going well so far. Vicky had sat on his lap as you all got to know each other, chatting away in the living room. Honestly, he’d actually planned this to be just his family and…you. But then things happened, and well, seems like he wasn’t the only one with surprise guests. 

His gaze followed you as you excused yourself from the conversation, to open the door to Joseph (🙄) with a bright smile on your face. Of course. It’s only fair you invited him too. Not that Johnny cares anyways. 

Joseph walks in wearing a loose black suit, with his stupid wavy brown curls tousled by the stairs trials, and holding a stupid bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

“Hi, darling,” he says with a warm smile, meant only for you. “You look beautiful.”

Your soft laugh dances through the room as he steals a kiss from you. Johnny turns back to the conversation. He doesn't notice how he sits up straighter on the couch or how he sets his drink down a little too hard on the coffee table. He doesn't even notice when Vicky leaves his lap to go to the bathroom. But what he definitely notices is the moment your smile turns from genuine to polite, when you get handed flowers he knows you don’t like.

He knows that, because you scowl at them every time you pass them by the supermarket, so why doesn’t your boyfriend know?

Joseph leans in to kiss your cheek now as he steps inside, and you lead him toward the kitchen. Johnny notices how you set the flowers down on the breakfast counter instead of looking for a vase to display them. 

“So…” Ben, who’s sitting to his right, nudges his arm. “Are we not gonna talk about it?” He mumbles.

“About what?” Johnny whispers back, still looking at you.

“About how her boyfriend looks exactly like you.”

“What?” Johnny’s head jerks toward him, looking baffled as Ben just shrugs with a knowing smile.

“Just saying, man. It’s like seeing you with brown hair…and lawyer shoes.”

“No it’s not. We do not look alike.” Johnny scoffs.

“You do.”

“We don’t.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

Ben leans back with a grin. He enjoys rage baiting Johnny whenever he can, but there’s truth in his words. Johnny looks back to his alleged doppelgänger and shakes his head. 

“Seriously?” He says. Ben chuckles, and shrugs. Johnny rolls his eyes, and leans toward the armchair his sister is sitting at, “Hey Sue, psst.”

Sue looks away from her conversation with Reed, and lifts her eyebrow at Johnny. 

“C’mere,” Johnny says, patting the spot on his left side. Luckily, she excuses herself from her husband and takes the spot. Ben and Johnny turn to her expectantly, whispering, “Okay, do not say yes just to annoy me, but…do you think I look like him?”

“Who?” 

“Joseph,” Johnny deadpans. “Do I look like Joseph?”

Sue tilts her head, pretending to be analyzing the British man making you laugh in the kitchen, but there’s a knowing smile creeping on her face. 

“Oh…a little,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. 

“A little??”

“Well, yeah. He’s like you, if you had brown eyes…and less of a tan…or a cute accent…” she says, watching her brother grow more scandalized by the second. 

“A cute accent?” Johnny mocks. “Please. He sounds like a knockoff Beatle.”

Sue and Ben share an amused look. 

“I don’t think he’d be a singer. He has more…actor vibes,” Sue taunts, adding fuel to the fire inside Johnny’s veins. 

He almost choked in offense. 

“Okay, so he’s an actor now? He doesn’t even have that kind of face,” Johnny huffs, reaching for his drink again because what kind of fuckery is this. 

“So you’re saying you don’t have that kind of face either,” Ben adds, this time Sue snorts, shaking her head. 

“I do have that kind of face. The face. He doesn't because we don't look alike.” 

“Sure, Johnny.”

Sue stands up before he can protest like a toddler again. “I’m gonna help her with the food,” she announces, winking mischievously at them and walking away. 

“Oh I love these napkins!” 

He hears her say when she reaches the new shiny table setup. 

That makes you perk up from the kitchen. Right in that moment, your gaze moves from Joseph to Johnny, and you smile proudly at him like “told you so.” Johnny smiles back, but before he can get up and say anything about how much influence he actually had on the napkin choice, a pair of long legs trap him on his seat. 

“What did I miss, babyboy?” Vicky asks as she plops down on his lap again, wrapping her arms around his neck to play with his hair. 

Reed and Ben pretend to look everywhere else. Johnny just smiles, taking another sip from his drink. 

–

Vicky had left earlier than anticipated, claiming a friend called her to get her out of a shitty date, or something like that. Johnny didn’t really ask. 

He has to admit he was a little nervous about this whole get together. Afraid that they would be too much. But he wanted nothing more but to brag about his apartment and his roommate, and the little life he’d managed to build for himself. Even if their world had always been filled with big things. This could’ve gone wrong in many ways, but all things considered, he finds himself smiling when his eyes land on you. 

He's standing close to the front door, and seeing you confidently showing Sue, whose kitchen had been designed by Reed–the king of gadgets himself–the tiny spice rack you installed last week, made something inside him flutter. 

“Hey, man. Have you been to a lot of Mets games?” A familiar British accent startles him. 

The fluttering dies immediately. 

Joseph has stepped beside him, glass in hand and that stupid smile plastered on his face. He forces himself to look away from you. You’re close to them, but not enough to hear the conversation. 

“I mean, yeah. It’s kind of hard not to, I can fly,” Johnny replies drily, but Joseph just laughs easily. 

“Right, right, of course,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, mirroring the way Johnny was just looking at you seconds ago. “Sometimes I forget she lives with a superhero...” 

Johnny chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly (he’s actually trying very hard not to puff his chest right now.) “Why do you ask?” 

“Ehh…just wanted to know if you got any recommendations for seats? I’m still new to the city, but I’ve been told not to miss the games,” he shrugs. “I’d like somewhere not too close to the cameras, if possible. I’m not…really into all that.”

“The cameras?” Johnny frowns. 

“Yeah, the whole crowd cams, people watching you all the time, that whole thing.”

Johnny listens and tries not to judge. But see? This guy could never be an actor. Or a Beatle. Johnny could, shame there’s not a blonde Beatle. Ohhh, but there’s always wigs though! He’s sure he could rock one, with his bone structure and all–

“Mate?” 

Johnny snaps back to reality, and just flashes a golden smile. 

“There’s cameras everywhere, mate,” Johnny replies, “but I can hook you up with the good tickets, if you’d like. How many do you need?”

“Oh wow that–that’d be perfect, yeah, thank you,” he says, not really expecting that. “Just two, man.”

“…Are you going with a friend?” Johnny narrows his eyes, but Joseph chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I’m taking her,” he says, gesturing at you with his glass. 

Fuck. 

“You…are taking her to a game?” 

“Yeah. It’ll be fun on her day off.”

Johnny knows when your next day off is. He painted another happy face next to your mark on the calendar just to make you smile. He also knows that you like to spend those free days curled up at home, certainly not at a freaking stadium. 

He knows because it mattered to you when you told him. He remembers because you matter to him. 

“Did you…ask her if she likes baseball?” Johnny pries carefully. 

“Not really. I mean, I figured she’d be fine,” he says, a little defensively. 

There’s a few seconds of silence where Johnny debates to keep quiet, but that has never been one of his strengths, so he ends up blurting, “She doesn’t like going to the stadium.”

“Really?” Joseph frowns, eyeing him. 

“She told me once that all the noise makes her sick. And I get it…it’s not the most comfortable place to be,” Johnny chuckles, trying his best to sound casual about it. 

“Oh,” Joseph says. For a moment it looks like he’s contemplating, but after thinking about it for exactly three seconds, he shrugs. “Well… she can bring earplugs or something. It’s just one game.”

Johnny’s not sure if his eye twitching was only a product of his imagination, but given the lack of acknowledgement on Joseph’s face, he figures he managed to keep his emotions at bay. This is not what you deserve. This is not what he wants for you.

Don’t flame on right now. Do not flame on right now. Do not–

“You know what? I can get you access to the VIP suite, so you two can be more comfortable,” he offers instead, plastering on his best plastic Ken smile. 

He’ll get you the best suite, with shade, AC and all the unlimited appetizers you could ever need. If that makes the experience a little more bearable for you. 

“Yeah I guess that would work, thanks, mate!” Joseph says, patting Johnny’s shoulder, but regretting it immediately. He retracts his hand with a hiss, switching the glass to that one to help cool it as he laughs nervously. “Jeez. You’re burning up, man.”

He’s boiling up, actually. But he manages to tone down his temperature, patting Joseph’s cold shoulder firmly before walking toward the kitchen where you’re laughing at something Sue just said.

 Just the sight of you manages his temperature to calm down. 

“Everything alright?” You ask curiously when he steps beside you with a suspicious smile, noticing the way Joseph kept opening and closing his hand as he headed toward the bathroom. 

“Peachy,” Johnny smiles innocently.

“Mhm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him. Even his sister eyes him suspiciously, but Johnny ignores her. 

“Is there anything I can help you here with?” He asks casually, gesturing to the pots simmering on the stove. 

“Nope! But maybe you can pour some more wine for our guests," you say quickly, stirring him away from the stove for everyone’s safety. Sue bites her lip. 

“Roger that,” he says, diligently opening a new bottle on the breakfast counter.

Johnny notices Sue leans in to whisper something in your ear that makes you throw your head back and laugh, before whispering something back to her. 

He can’t fight the smile on his face when he realizes you’re talking about him, but it dies down when his eyes land on the flowers Joseph brought you on the counter. The conversation with him is still making fire run through his veins, and this just added more to it. 

Safe to say, Johnny now hates Joseph too. 

To be continued…

Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated 💗

Dividers by @viviansturns

[justreadingthings]

Johnny, you’re kind of an idiot. And I’m super in love with you. 🫶🥺

[riddlersoupwrites]

HEYYYYY, i'm back with another teacake thought!

i've seen a lot of fics that are just straight to the action and mind blowing sex with travis butttt, what do you think his first time with reader (aka us) would be like?

i personally think he'd be a bit clumsy but very eager, but i'm curious as to what you think!

(yes i'm providing you with another meme, consider it a gift for making these amazing pieces of writing)

Thank you for the meme I have added it to my collection🫶

Also thank you for the Travis thoughts please send me all your Travis thoughts I love him so bad, I loved this one, he's just a silly goofy guy

Travis Teacake Meacham x Fem!Reader

18+, p in v, reader on bc, think that's it

wc- 1.7k

Masterlist.

I haven't proofread because it's late and I wanna go to sleep lol

The date had gone well. You weren't one to usually meet someone online, but Travis looked cute in his photos, and his texts were funny once you'd swiped right. You'd been nervous, naturally, but you'd dressed somewhat nicer than usual, it was just a drink in the local bar, nothing fancy, so just a couple of extra jewellery pieces, and nicer shoes than normal.

He was just as funny in person, he liked to talk a lot, which worked for you. You were happy to listen. But he still asked you questions, about your family, your work, your friends, your hobbies. And you'd ended up playing pool, he was bad, you were worse. But you were laughing, that counted for something.

He was cute too, even cuter in person than he had been in his photos. Tall, strong but soft, big hands that dwarfed yours when he helped you set up one of the shots on the pool table. Big hazel eyes that stayed on yours as you talked, nodding along like your every word was gospel.

The second bar hadn't been planned, but neither of you wanted to end the night after the first. After a few more drinks, and glares from other patrons when you'd laughed too loud, he offered to walk you home.

You hadn't meant to invite him in.

He hadn't meant to agree.

Travis liked you. Which didn't happen very often. You listened when he talked, you didn't tune out, or tell him to stop. You didn't make him feel like he was too much, which is why he kissed you. He hadn't expected it to go further than that, if anything, he'd expected you to pull away, not pull him closer.

That was how he ended up on top of you on your couch, too big for the furniture, but making it work as his tongue slid against yours, your hands curled in his shirt. His hand slipped underneath your shirt, spanning across your waist, his thumb pressing into your hip. He shifted his hips once, like a test. A movement that he could blame on his foot slipping if you weren't into it. But you were.

He repeated the movement, a little more sure this time, and your leg hooked up over his hip. His hand moved to your jaw, fingers holding onto the back of your neck as he pulled away, like he was trying to tell you he was coming back.

“You got a piece of furniture that I fit on? I mean, I'm happy to stay here but I might get a cramp.” He said, letting out a soft amused exhale.

You laughed softly, “the bedroom's on the left.” You said, catching your lip between your teeth, his eyes flicked down to your mouth.

“You keep doin' that and I won't make it to the fuckin’ bedroom.” He said, pushing upright and offering you his hands to pull you up. They were rough, but warm, and wrapped around yours like they were meant to.

He fit on the bed better, comfortably between your thighs, his hand back on your waist as he kissed you again, his other buried in your hair, holding the back of your head in his palm. His hand on your waist moved, his fingers tracing the skin just underneath the waistband of your pants. His fingers brushed the button, and when you didn't stop him, he sat up, pulling away from you to pull off your jeans.

He ended up wrestling them off when the hem got caught around your ankle, and you giggled

“Y’think that's an omen? Should I just go now?” He jokes, his fingers tracing up the outside of your thigh.

“Yeah. It was nice to meet you though.” You teased back as he shifted off the bed, kneeling between your thighs, his nose pressed against the skin above your knee as he placed a soft kiss there.

He let out an amused exhale that sent goosebumps prickling up your thigh when his breath hit your skin. “Yeah, fair enough.” He said, pressing another kiss before lifting his head, and looking up at you. “You are joking right? Like you do actually want to?” He said.

“Yes I'm joking.” You rolled your eyes and he grinned again, dipping his head to continue kissing up your thigh. His tongue flicked out as he reached your underwear, his hands keeping your thighs apart as he kissed over the fabric.

Your head dropped back with a soft moan as your hips rolled instinctively against his mouth. He hummed against you as he reached up to pull your underwear down off your legs before moving back in to trace two fingers down through your folds before dipping them inside. “That okay?” He asked, his eyes flicking back up to your face, which looked almost ethereal in the soft glow of the orange lamp, your head tilted back and lips parted around soft moans.

“Fuck.” He breathed, leaning back in to flick his tongue at your clit. He groaned when one of your hands moved into his hair, tugging slightly. His cock twitched in his pants at the feeling, your nails on his scalp, the taste of you on his tongue, the feeling of you squeezing his fingers when he curled them up.

He leaned back, bringing his fingers out of you carefully and stood, throwing off his shirt before his hands moved to his pants, shoving them down his thighs as you shifted back on the bed, taking off your shirt.

He tripped over his pants when he tried to take a step closer, almost going down but catching himself and standing still for a moment like he was letting the embarrassment settle. “Fuck me.” He muttered, kicking at the offending jeans and looking back at you, where you were giggling from where you were sitting.

“Y’know when dudes are like, I tripped and fell into her babe sorry, when they cheat on their girls? Yeah that's what they're talkin’ about.” He said, pausing as he rested one knee on the bed, bringing his finger up like he'd just registered what he said. “Not that I have a girl and I'm cheatin’... Just.. fuck me, should I actually just go?”

“No, you're fine.” You laughed, reaching out your hand towards him.

“You actually still wanna fuck me after seein' that shit?” He scoffed, crawling over you and settling between your thighs as your hands slid over his shoulders. “Might just be the one.” He grinned, before leaning down to kiss the laugh off your face. He pulled your thighs up around his hips, laying you back onto the bed with a bounce.

Your fingers twisted in his hair as his cock pressed against you, his hand sliding underneath your bra to palm at your chest. His hips rolled when you moaned softly, and he dropped to one elbow, his other hand moving down to line himself up, before his eyes flicked back up to you.

“You're um, you're good right? Or do I need to- I don't think I have any on me, wasn't expecting to be here until at least date number three.” He said.

“Yeah, I'm good, I take the pill.” You nodded and smiled as he practically slumped with relief.

“Great, yeah, that's good. Alright I'm just gonna-”

“What do you want a countdown or something?”

He paused, giving you an unimpressed look before finally moving his hips, his forehead dropping to yours as you both inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Holy-... fuck you feel good.” He moaned, his head dropping into your neck as his hips moved, finding a rhythm that wasn't too slow, but wasn't too much.

Your nails left angry red marks over his shoulders as he thrusted into you, your back arched, pressing your chest against his. He slid one arm underneath the space between your back and the mattress, holding you against him as his pace quickened.

“Is- fuck- is that okay?” He asked, his eyes locked onto your face, watching the way your eyes had shut, your eyebrows creased with pleasure as you moaned, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Yeah, s’good. Fuck it's good.” You moaned, your nails dragging across his back.

His pace didn't falter, he kept his hips moving against yours, his hand spanning your lower back, holding you against him as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“God you're pretty, you're so fuckin' pretty.” He rasped, his lips grazing your neck as your fingers tightened against his skin. His lips caught yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he moaned before he pulled back.

“How do I make you come?” He asked, his hips still moving. “Like what do you like, what can I do?”

The question caught you off guard, partly because he hadn't stopped fucking you, but mainly because no one had ever asked you that before.

“Uh, just keep going, I'll-” you reached your hand between your bodies to find your clit with your fingers.

“Get outta here-” he batted your hand away, “I'll do it.” He said, the rough pads of his fingers circling your clit with just as much pressure as you like, like he already knew.

“Fuck, Travis.” You moaned, your head pressing back against the pillows as your stomach tightened.

“Fuck y- don't say my name like that.” He whined, his hips and fingers still keeping their pace as he felt your pussy tightening around his cock. “Fuck, fuck, god-” he moaned, his fingers speeding up as they circled your clit.

You cried out in pleasure as you came, your nails digging into his skin across his shoulders, his own orgasm hitting him as you squeezed him, his moan harmonising with yours.

He hovered over you for a long moment, his hair dangling in his eyes, hands planted either side of your head. You opened your eyes to find him already looking at you, his cheeks flushed and a satisfied grin on his face.

“Maybe less fallin’ over next time.” He breathed, reluctantly pulling away from you to lay next to you on the bed.

“Oh there's a next time is there?” You asked, rolling to face him.

“Oh yeah. There's a next time.” He grinned, his eyes flicking between yours, his grin softening into a smaller smile. “In case you didn't pick up on the hint, I like you.”

You laughed softly, resting your head on your hand. “I like you too.” You said, leaning down to kiss him again, his hand finding your jaw automatically, his thumb grazing your cheek.

[justreadingthings]

I’m absolutely dead after this!!! It’s so fuckin good ❤️‍🔥

[frootybb]

Ribbed for Her Pleasure

Travis "Teacake" Meacham x Reader

Summary: It’s almost midnight, the CVS is dead, and your boyfriend is in the condom aisle holding up boxes like he’s filming a product review.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, p/v sex, fluff & domestic bliss, established relationship, teasing & playful banter

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The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour CVS buzzed overhead, casting that familiar sterile glow over rows of snacks, cold medicine, and the discreet personal care aisle tucked near the back. It was pushing midnight on a quiet Wednesday, and the store was almost empty just the faint hum of the freezers and a lone cashier scrolling through her phone at the front.

You lingered by the energy drinks, pretending to compare labels while your boyfriend. Travis stood a few feet away with zero self-consciousness, studying the condom boxes like they were a particularly tricky crossword puzzle.

“Baby,” he called softly, not quite whispering but keeping his voice down enough that it didn’t echo, “they got the standard ones, the ultra-thins that say ‘feels like nothing,’ and these ribbed ones that promise ‘heightened sensation.’ I’m thinkin’ heightened is the move tonight, but I also don’t wanna be that guy who picks wrong and then we’re both disappointed.”

You walked over, cheeks already warming, and bumped his hip with yours. “Travis, you don’t have to give a full TED Talk about it. Just grab a box.”

He turned, flashing that crooked, boyish smile that always made your stomach flip. His gray hoodie was half-zipped over a faded black tee, jeans slung low on his hips, and he had that post-shift looseness, shoulders relaxed, but still carrying a bit of the restless energy from hours of walking the storage facility floors. “What? I’m being thoughtful. Responsible boyfriend shit. We’ve been together eight months now feels like we should have this down to a science, but variety keeps it fun, right?”

You snatched the ultra-thin box from his hand and swapped it for the ribbed one he seemed to be leaning toward. “These. And stop narrating before the cashier hears and I melt into the floor.”

Travis chuckled, low and warm, the sound rumbling through his chest as he dropped the box into the red plastic basket you were holding. He added a small bottle of lube without missing a beat. “For comfort. And science. I read the back: non-sticky formula. We’re basically doing research here.”

You swatted his arm, biting back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously prepared,” he corrected, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close as you wandered toward the snacks. He smelled like his usual cheap cedarwood spray mixed with the faint coffee he’d grabbed from the break room earlier. “After that time we had to improvise with the emergency kit in my truck… never again. Lesson learned. Teacake learns from his mistakes.”

You grabbed a bag of sour gummies and tossed them in the basket, shaking your head. Travis had that way of turning even the most mundane errand into something light and shared. He talked a lot, chatty in that endearing, stream of consciousness way. Whether he was recounting a weird customer at the storage facility (someone trying to store a collection of garden gnomes) or teasing you about how cute you looked when you got flustered. Eight months in, and he still made ordinary nights feel special. He’d left behind some old trouble, worked the night shift to keep things steady, and treated your relationship like the best decision he’d ever made.

At the counter, the cashier scanned everything with the enthusiasm of someone who’d seen it all: condoms, lube, gummies, and a pack of mint gum Travis added last-second. She didn’t blink. Travis paid in cash, peeling off a twenty with a polite “Thanks, have a good night,” delivered with that genuine, slightly awkward warmth that made strangers soften instantly.

Outside, the parking lot was quiet under the yellow streetlights. Travis’s beat-up truck waited, the one with the slightly crooked bumper from an old fender bender he blamed on “bad luck and worse reflexes.” He opened the passenger door for you out of habit, then slid into the driver’s seat, the plastic bag crinkling between you.

He didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he turned toward you, one hand resting on the wheel, the other reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His hazel eyes caught the dashboard light, soft and earnest now that the teasing had dialed back.

“You really get embarrassed about this stuff?” he asked, voice gentler. “I know I get carried away sometimes. Don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

You laced your fingers with his, feeling the calluses from years of odd jobs and the steady warmth of his palm. “It’s not bad embarrassed. It’s just… intimate. Doing normal couple things together, you know?”

Travis’s smile softened into something warmer. He leaned across the console and kissed you, slow at first, then deeper, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. He tasted like the mint gum he’d started chewing in the store, and there was that familiar spark: playful but grounded, chaotic energy wrapped around real affection. When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he murmured, “That’s ‘cause we are in it. All the little things. The boring errands, the late-night runs, the way you laugh at my dumb jokes even when they’re bad. I’m all in with you.”

Your heart did its usual melt. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the light stubble on his jaw. “I’m all in too, Teacake. Even when you turn the condom aisle into a comedy routine.”

He grinned, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before starting the truck. “Good. ‘Cause I got more routines where that came from.”

The drive back to your shared apartment was easy, windows cracked to let in the cool night air, radio playing low. Travis kept one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles as he rambled about his shift: the guy who showed up at 10 p.m. to retrieve a single box of old vinyl records, the flickering light in unit 47 that he swore was haunted (but was probably just wiring), and how he’d spent half the night thinking about getting home to you.

You told him about your day, the annoying meeting that ran long, and he listened like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all week, chiming in with sarcastic commentary that had you laughing until your sides hurt.

Inside the apartment, Travis kicked off his shoes by the door and immediately wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. The bag landed on the kitchen counter with a soft thud.

“Shower first?” he suggested, lips brushing your neck. “I still smell like industrial cleaner and stale coffee.”

“Together?” you asked, already smiling.

“Obviously. Water conservation. I’m a responsible citizen now.”

The shower was warm and steamy, filled with wandering hands and quiet laughter. Travis washed your back with surprising gentleness, fingers tracing your skin while he told a half-whispered story about nearly tripping over a rogue shopping cart in the parking lot earlier. You soaped his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the way his breath hitched when your touch lingered.

By the time you reached the bedroom, towels abandoned on the floor, the condom box was open on the nightstand. Travis hovered over you on the bed, propped on his elbows, messy hair falling into his eyes. The bedside lamp painted soft shadows across his face highlighting the faint freckles across his nose and the way his expression shifted from playful to focused and tender.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he said quietly, like he needed to say it out loud. “Still can’t believe you put up with my rambling ass every day.”

You pulled him down, legs wrapping around his waist. “I like your rambling. Keeps things interesting.”

He kissed you deeply, hands roaming with that mix of urgency and care. When he reached for the condom, he tore the wrapper with his teeth still a touch theatrical eyes locked on yours the whole time. Rolling it on was quick and practiced, but he took his time after, easing into you with a low groan that vibrated through both of you.

“Fuck… always so good, baby.”

The pace started slow and deep, building as you moved together, his hips rolling in that steady rhythm he knew drove you crazy, your nails pressing into his shoulders. Travis murmured against your skin the whole time: half-teasing praises, half-breathless curses, checking in with soft “You okay?” and “Tell me if it’s too much.” He was chatty even here, but it only made everything feel more connected, more real.

When you came, it rolled through you in warm waves, your moan muffled against his neck. He followed soon after, hips stuttering as he held you close, whispering your name like it anchored him.

Afterward, tangled in the sheets with the room quiet except for your slowing breaths, Travis pulled you against his chest, arm draped heavy over your waist. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your hip.

“Best midnight CVS run in history,” he said, voice sleepy and content. “Love doin’ normal shit with you. Makes everything better.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Love you too, Teacake. Even when you narrate the condom selection like a game show host.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Hey, somebody’s gotta keep things entertaining. Can’t have us turning into one of those boring couples who just buy the same brand every time and never talk about it.”

You swatted his side lightly, both of you settling into comfortable silence. Outside, the city hummed faintly. Inside, it was just the two of you warm, safe, and perfectly ordinary in the best way. Travis’s breathing evened out first, but his hold on you never loosened.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson

[justreadingthings]

Domestic bliss and then carnal bliss…literally what could be better??

[comfycosygirl]

To Build A Home

Fresh out of prison, Travis finds himself in need of a place to live. You find yourself in need of a new roommate. After responding to your ad, he finds that living with you is actually one of the better decisions he ever made and you learn that you just needed the right person to truly get you.

(part 2 coming soon)

Travis Meacham x fem!reader, roommates to lovers, reader with anxiety, two yearning idiots, Travis is a golden retriever and you are a ray of sunshine.

warnings: nsfw mdni, swearing, mentions of anxiety and self-doubt, trashy ex-friends, making out, dry-humping

***

The dappled sunlight shone through the cab window, hitting Travis’ face as he made his way downtown. The radio up front was playing a heavy bass song, which seemed to pair well with how much his mind was racing at the moment. As he wrung his hands nervously in his lap, his gaze drifted out the window as everything blurred into one.

It had been just two weeks ago that he had been released from prison and still nothing felt quite real to him. His parole officer has instilled in him the need to find a job as one of his probation conditions, so the last few days had been spent dealing with rejection after rejection, until finally he’d managed to get hired by the local storage company. Now his next priority was finding a place to live, there was only so long he could take living in the boxy student rental he’d been temporarily put up in.

It had felt like fate when he’d seen your ad in the shop window. Female, twenties, seeking new roommate. Clean and tidy applicants preferred. Rent negotiated on meeting. The photo provided showed a gorgeous and spacious two-bed apartment with a balcony view over the park. Despite his current situation, Travis couldn’t shake the feeling that this ad had been put there for him to find. Maybe it was stupid of him to believe in fate after everything he’d been through but he tried to remain optimistic that you would like him. Hence the nerve-stricken cab ride he was currently on.

“This is you.” The cab driver told him, jolting him back to reality as the car slowed to a stop. “Nice neighbourhood here.” He glanced at Travis in the rear-view mirror, not being subtle with the look he gave him. Travis suddenly felt very self-conscious, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Thanks, man.” He threw down the little money he had on him, which included an acceptable tip in an attempt to show that he meant well. “Have a great day.”

He climbed out the cab and checked the directions he’d scribbled down on a piece of paper. Having only spoken to you briefly on the phone to arrange a meeting, you’d given him very specific directions which had warmed his heart a little, clearly you were a conscientious person and it only made him want even more for this to go well. After some searching, he located the building and made his way up, butterflies fluttering around his stomach.

Travis knocked on the door five times and immediately cringed at himself. Was three times too many, was it too insistent? Were you going to think badly of him already? Damn it, he should have stuck with three, that was always a safe bet. His inner monologue was spiralling when you opened the door, beaming out at him with a smile that for some reason made his insides turn to jelly. He straightened up, trying to look presentable.

“Hey.” You held out a hand for him to shake, which he accepted graciously. “You must be Teacake?” You questioned, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled when he said it.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” He nodded. “That’s me. I hope I’m not late, I had to take a cab over here and there was a shit-ton of traffic, and then I had to find the place. That actually didn’t take too long, not with the directions you gave me, they were awesome, I found it right away. This is a great building by the way.” He stopped himself when he saw you nodding along, obviously waiting for a break in conversation. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You waved him off. “I’m glad you appreciated the directions, I’ve been told before that sometimes I worry too much. But you’re here now, so why don’t you come in and we can hash out the details.”

Travis followed you inside, taking in the place. It was so much nicer in person and it was obvious you cared about making the place homely. You led him into the living room and signalled for him to sit on the couch, taking the armchair across from him. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together as you rifled through the application he’d submitted.

“So, you work at Atchinson?” You queried. “You must meet some interesting people there. You know, my uncle has a storage unit over there, maybe you know him?”

Travis ran another hand through his hair. “Yeah, I actually only just started working there. But I’ll get my first pay-check soon, so I’ll be able to cover whatever my half of the rent is. You know, if you offer me the room, that is.”

“What were you doing beforehand?” You asked, not to be nosy but just out of pure curiosity. Travis felt like a bug under a microscope.. He knew at some point he’d have to tell you and he knew once he did, he could most likely kiss the apartment goodbye. He cleared his throat nervously.

“You know, I was sort of between jobs.” He stared down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, the way he hadn’t quite made it through the door, like he was getting ready to leave at any minute. He was visibly stressed and you could tell there was more to him than he was letting on. “So, uh, Teacake? Is that your real name?”

“Uh, it’s a nickname. Long story.” He told you.

“Right, it’s just I’ll need your name to add to the tenancy if you’re accepted.”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that. Uh, it’s Travis. Everyone calls me Teacake, though.”

“Alright, Travis.” You nodded, and the way you used his real name made him feel a sense of contentment, the first sense of belonging he’d felt since going to prison. You looked over his application one more time before putting it down and sitting forward, meeting his gaze. “Listen, you seem like a great applicant but I can’t help but feel there’s something you’re not telling me here.”

He sighed, knowing that he’d been caught out. There was no way to side-step this one. “OK, yeah. The truth is, I was just released from prison.”

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise.

“I’m on probation at the moment, I was put up in temporary housing at first but the truth is I wanted someplace new to start over. I saw your ad and it seemed kind of perfect.” He was rambling again. “I know I probably should have said something sooner, but the truth is I’m just tryin’ to make a new start. I swear, no bad intentions. I just want to put the whole thing behind me.”

“Hmm.” You took in everything he was saying. “OK, that’s a lot to process.”

“I’m sorry for wastin’ your time.” Travis said. “I can let myself out.” He made to get up but you held a hand out, stopping him.

“Travis, hang on a second.” You told him. “Look, the truth is I’m kind of eager to rent out that room as soon as possible, not a lot of great memories attached to it.” There was something underlying there but Travis could unpack all of that later. “To be honest, I’ve had a lot of crazy applicants reach out to me and you’re easily the best one.”

He blinked a few times, trying to catch up. “What are you saying?”

“I’m assuming you’re not some kind of dangerous felon.” You joked. “The room’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh, seriously?” He was practically buzzing as he stood up, face beaming. “That’s…wow, that’s amazing, thank you.”

“I will need you to fill out some paperwork first, but why don’t I show you the room, just in case you change your mind.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” He assured you as you got up. “Is it weird if I hug you, this is just the best news I’ve had all week.”

“A hug might break the ice, who knows.” You said, just as he surged forward and swept you up, spinning you around the room. You laughed as he put you down gently, scratching the back of his head.

“Sorry, got a little over-excited.”

“Don’t be sorry, ice well and truly broken.” You told him. “Alright, roomie. Let’s show you this room.

***

The next morning Travis crept into the apartment after having finished a night shift at work, only to find you already awake and bustling about in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and pancakes drifted through, making his stomach growl. There was only so much surviving he could do on a bag of chips during his shift. As he came into the kitchen, you smiled at him and handed him a mug.

“Here you go. I made you some coffee, thought you could probably use one.”

“Thank you.” Travis took it from you, reeling a little at the simple gesture. No one ever really did acts of service for him, but to you it seemed like second nature.

“You’ll have to tell me how you like it made best for future.” You informed him. “I know how important morning coffee is. How was your shift at work?”

“It was long and boring.” Travis responded, taking a sip of coffee and sitting at the kitchen table. “Not too much excitement happening at a self-storage unit, you’d be surprised to hear.”

“You gotta start finding things to do to liven it up.” You told him as you rifled through the cupboards, trying to find the maple syrup for the pancakes. “You know, podcasts, make a playlist. Something like that.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Never really been much for making things. By the way, I found a box under the bed last night labelled Emily. Should I do something about that?”

“Oh, yeah. That was my old roommate. You can just leave that there.” You didn’t elaborate any further and Travis figured it was best not to push it. Instead he watched as you continued your struggle to reach the top shelf. He stood up and made his way over to you, stopping when he was just behind you. You didn’t hear him at first until you took a step back and collided into him. He instinctively reached out and steadied you with both of his hands.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. Can I help you, looks like you’re struggling a little.”

“Yeah, I just…” You stood up on your tiptoes, trying to reach the back of the cabinet. “I can’t reach the syrup.”

Travis could swear that his heart grew three sizes watching you, but he decided to put you out of your misery as he reached up with ease and grabbed the syrup, handing it down to you. Your feet sunk back to the floor, sighing as you took if from him.

“I totally could have gotten it if you’d given me another second.”

“Oh, sure you could.” He teased you a little.

“Are you doubting me?” You asked him.

“I wouldn’t ever dream of it.” Travis held his hands up in surrender. You gave him a fake glare before relenting. “Does this mean I’ve lost out on pancakes?”

You grinned. “I would never do that to you. Unless you’re still too tired from work, don’t feel like you have to eat with me if you don’t want to.”

“Are you kidding? After all that time eating the prison food, I need my fill of pancakes.” He spun around the kitchen. “Where are the plates, let me help by laying the table.”

For a moment, you felt light as air as you took him in, watching as he set the table for breakfast. Recent events had led to doubts bouncing in your brain, that your acts of service were overbearing and you were too much. However, Travis seemed genuinely touched that you’d made him coffee and was excited to eat breakfast with you. You had to remind yourself that it was only day one and the honeymoon period would likely wear off soon. Still, as he sat at the table, rambling about one of the customers he’d met last night, you couldn’t help but feel optimistic.

That you’d struck gold in the roommate department.

***

You were absolutely right. It had been a few weeks now since Travis had moved in and so far everything was going fantastically. Despite the fact that you worked opposing shifts most of the time, you were still able to sit down at least once a day and catch up on each other’s lives, whether it was in the mornings before you darted off to work, or when you were making dinner and boxing some up for Travis to eat on his shifts. The two of you just seemed to fit like two jigsaw pieces. And it wasn’t just the daily catchups. It was the little things as well.

Travis would write silly notes on the mirror after he got out the shower for you to read when you went in after him, knowing it would make you smile and set you up for the day. You would leave your favourite books on the coffee table for him to find after he told you reading was one of his favourite hobbies. The pair of you learnt the others favourite snacks and alternated between doing snack runs. Travis began to seep into every crack and crevice of your life, something that you found you actually quite liked it. You weren't just existing in the same apartment, you were living together.

It didn’t take long for you to realise that you were falling for him.

Which was bad on so many levels. Travis was the best roommate, you couldn’t mess that up by involving mixed up feelings. The two of you had become such good friends and it was best it stayed that way.

Although he did make it exceptionally hard at times.

“Hey, you want a movie night tonight?” He asked as he strolled into the living room, eating a bowl of cereal. Apparently that was his go-to meal no matter how much you tried to get him to eat a real dinner. It was one of the rare evenings that you both had off and had to do something to make the most of it.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded. “That sounds like fun.”

“Great,” he responded cheerfully. "What are you thinkin'? Action movie?"

"I could go for horror." You said. "Unless you're going to spend the whole time hiding behind a cushion again?"

"I don't do that." His face wrinkled in the most endearing way. "Last time I was just keeping the cushion close in case you needed it."

"Mmm, sure." You nodded, completely unconvinced.

"I totally wasn't scared." He insisted. “Want me to make the popcorn?”

“Oh, fuck.” You cursed loudly.

“I mean, I don’t have to if it’s that bad.” He joked, to which you rolled your eyes with a grin.

“No it’s not that, idiot. I forgot to run to the store yesterday, we don’t have any.”

Travis held a hand to his chest. “What? No popcorn? Who even are you anymore?”

“Shut up.” You chucked a cushion at him, which only made him laugh more. “I guess I can run out quickly now and grab some.”

“Hey, why don’t I come with you?” He offered. “Late night grocery runs are always more fun with company.”

“Is that scientifically proven?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah. Can’t believe you didn’t know that.” He shook his head at you. “I’m actually pretty sure there is some genuine science-y shit that could back that up if you really looked into it. Nothing beats company, trust me. Especially yours.” He finished with a devilish grin.

“Alright, Teacake. You got me.” You stood up. “Let me just grab my jacket and we can get out of here.”

Twenty minutes later the two of you were wandering around the grocery store, searching for movie night supplies. Travis had insisted upon pushing the cart, which had worked for you as it meant you were able to fill it up.

“Alright.” You said as you reached the popcorn aisle. “Sweet or salted?”

“Sweet, obviously.” Travis responded, leaning against the cart.

“Obviously?”

“Come on.” He argued. “You’re telling me that you’d rather have salted over sweet, there’s no way.”

“I can’t believe this is even up for debate.” You shot back. “Salted is the classic choice for movie night, why are we even discussing this?”

“Wow.” Travis shook his head at you. “Can’t believe you could be so wrong about something so crucial. You know how awesome I think you are, but this might just be a dealbreaker for me.”

“Oh.” Now it was your turn to hold a hand to your chest, pretending to be offended. “Are you saying our roommate bond is at risk over popcorn.”

“I’m sensin’ some sarcasm coming from you right now and I need to tell you, it is not a good colour on you.” Travis told you. You rolled your eyes.

“Alright, compromise.” You grabbed both packets. “We’ll get them both, that way we’re both happy.”

“I like your thinkin’.” He pointed at you. “You really are the best.”

“Shut up.” You told him.

“I’m serious.” He said.

“Teacake?” A voice interrupted your conversation and you both spun around, seeing a young guy walking towards you, smile on his face that was directed at Travis. He seemed to reciprocate as he straightened up and held a hand out, shaking with this other guy.

“Hey, Pete.” He said brightly. “Man, how long’s it been?”

“Couple of months, right?” Pete mused. “When did you get out?”

“Bout’ a month ago.” Travis answered. “Been strange.”

“Right? No one prepares you for that, huh? What it’s like after you get released. Did you get a good set-up?”

Travis nodded. “Yeah, man. Got some work at the self-storage company, managed to get back on my feet.” It was then he glanced over at you and immediately beamed. “Sorry, this is my roommate.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Pete shook your hand. “How’d you guys meet, then?”

“Oh, total coincidence actually.” You replied. “I needed a roommate, Travis needed a place to live. It was sort of like fate.”

“Yeah, it kinda was.” Travis smiled at you.

Pete glanced between the two of you with a grin. “Wow, man. Looks like you really landed on your feet here. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, man. Hey, it was great seeing you.”

“You too. If you’re ever free we should definitely catch up sometime.” Pete told him.

“Yeah, maybe.” Travis nodded.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” Pete waved to you both before wandering away, leaving you to continue your shopping.

“He seems nice.” You said to Travis.

“Oh yeah, Pete was great. He was one of my only friends when I was in the slammer. Got out just a few months before I did.”

“You gonna go out with him? Might be nice to catch up with him?”

“Ah, no.” He waved the idea off. “I don’t think I should.”

“How come?” You asked, hoping you weren’t being too pushy by asking.

“I just…I don’t want to fall back into that mess again. Pete’s great but he knows a lot of shady guys and it’s a slippery slope, you know.” He shrugged. “Don’t want to mess up what I got now. I got my job, I got a roof over my head. I got you.” He added, tilting his head towards you and giving you that smile that made your stomach flip. “I got all I need.”

You nodded on understanding. “I hope you don’t mind me asking about it.” You said.

“Are you kidding? Feels like you know me better now, it’s kinda nice.” He said. “Now, back to the popcorn?”

“Back to the popcorn.”

***

A few days later you were in the apartment alone, waiting for Travis to get back from work when there was a knock on the door. Checking your phone, you frowned as you realised it couldn’t be him, it was still too early. Making your way to the front door, you opened it to find the last person you wanted to see. Or rather, people.

“Emily. Josh. What a nice surprise.” You plastered on a fake smile.

Your former roommate rolled her eyes as her boyfriend leaned against the door-frame, looking bored by you already. “We really don’t have time for small talk. I just came by to grab the rest of my stuff. Do you have it?”

“You know where it is. Be my guest.” You stepped aside. “I’m not getting it for you.”

“Wow? You’re not bending over backwards and invading my privacy? You’re really mixing things up, huh?”

“I thought you didn’t have time for small talk?”

Emily sighed and waltzed into the apartment, making her way into her old room to grab the box of belongings she’d left behind. You turned back to Josh, who was looking you up and down with judgement. “So, are you finally going to find the nerve to say it to my face?”

“Say what?”

“You know what? The crazy lies you were spreading about me, trying to turn Emily against me.” He leaned in slightly. “It was never going to work, you know?”

You refused to be intimidated by him. “I didn’t tell any lies. You know exactly what you did and so do I. Maybe Emily doesn’t see it, but I do.”

He smirked at you. “Don’t waste your time. She already chose me, let’s not embarrass ourselves further, yeah?”

“Go to hell, Josh.”

“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that.” Emily warned you as stepped back out with the box. “I see you already replaced me?”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “In fact I did. And let me tell you, he’s a hell of a lot  more pleasant than you are.”

“Oh, ‘he’?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s his name?”

It was at that exact moment that Travis decided to make an appearance, stepping into the door frame and taking Josh and Emily in. As he glanced at you and saw the disdainful look you were giving them both, his hackles immediately went up. Whoever these strangers were, he was pretty sure he had grounds to hate them.

“Is this him?” Emily asked. “Hey, pretty boy. What’s your name?”

“Uh, hey? I’m Travis.” He didn’t offer a hand to shake, feeling the sudden urge not to be friendly which wasn’t like him at all. “Who are you?”

“I’m Emily.” She told him and when she was met with a blank stare, she scoffed. “Oh, so she hasn’t told you about me. Nice.”

Travis’ face suddenly registered recognition. “Oh, Emily? You’re the one who had my room before me, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Her voice was dripping with malice. “Was honestly such a shame when I had to move out.” She flashed a sarcastic grin your way, making you squirm a little. What was it about her that made you feel so bad? You hated it.

Travis folded his arms and came to stand beside you, a silent signal of loyalty. “I’m not sure what you mean, moving in here was the best decision I ever made.”

Emily giggled. “Give it some time.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He shot back.

Emily glared at him, just as Josh’s gaze flickered down to the tattoo on Travis’ arm and devious grin crept across his face. “Nice ink, man. Where’d you get it?”

You suddenly felt defensive. It was bad enough that they’d barged in here on your morning off, but now they were interrogating Travis and that didn’t sit right with you. “Alright, I think it’s time for you both to leave.” You began to usher them both out the door. “Always a pleasure, though.”

“Right, of course. Throwing us out so you can make coffee for your new roommate, right?” Emily turned around and leaned in, voice low so only you could hear her. “You know, it’s only a matter of time before he decides you’re too much.”

“It was great seeing you, Emily.” With that you shut the door on her face, blocking out her harsh words. Though they were already swirling around in your head. Too much. Too much. Too much.

“Well they seemed like a god-damn delight.” Travis weighed in sarcastically from behind you. “What the hell did I just walk into?”

“It’s nothing.” You brushed him off. “I didn’t even know they were coming round, otherwise I would have just left the box outside the door. I don’t love talking to her.” You turned your back to him, making sure he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face. There was the familiar sinking feeling in your stomach and you couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Are you OK?” Travis asked, immediately noticing that you were a little off. “Did she say somethin’ to you?”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it.” You told him, not wanting to burden him with your innermost worries. He surely didn’t care that much anyway. “You must be tired from work, you probably want to go to take a nap, right?”

Travis shook his head. “Actually, what I really wanna do is go shower and grab some coffee. You want to join me?”

You sighed. “Travis, come on. You don’t need to try and cheer me up right now.”

The look of sadness on your face told him otherwise. It wasn’t often thus far that he’d seen you upset but on the rare occasion that he did, Travis wanted to do everything he could to take that feeling away. He’d learnt pretty quickly that going for coffee and a walk was the perfect remedy and despite your protests, he knew how much you needed this. Plus, it meant he got to hang out with you and that was always a bonus to him.

“Too late. I’m already dreamin’ about espresso. We have to go.”

Slowly but surely, a smile crept across your face. “Fine. But only if we can get cookies too.”

“Oh, like you even have to ask.” He said. “Give me ten minutes to wash the storage place off me.”

You grinned after him as he dashed towards the bathroom, wondering what you did to deserve him. Even though he was being so sweet, it still wasn’t quite enough to shake off what Emily had said to you. Sometimes you felt like you were too much, and your biggest fear was that Travis would start to think so as well. The doubt had planted itself in your brain and it was hard to get rid of it.

He wouldn’t think so, right?

***

The thing about Travis was that he was the human equivalent of a golden retriever. The next couple of days, you’d been wrestling with your own self-doubt and he instantly picked up on it, only wanting to try and cheer you up. No matter how much you insisted you were fine, he still went out of his way for you. He brought flowers home, offered to cook you dinner and even surprised you by cleaning the apartment. After a few days, you felt that doubt start to lift like magic. Travis had done that for you and you loved him for it.

It was doing nothing for the feelings you were catching.

That evening, you were searching your freshly cleaned apartment for your house keys, having been called into work for a late shift. Most of the time your keys were thrown on the side in the kitchen but he’d obviously tidied them away somewhere without thinking. You made your way to his bedroom, knocking gently.

“Hey, Travis?” You called through the door.

“Hey, come in.” You heard him shout from the other side. Immediately opening the door, you casually wandered in. “Do you know where-?” You stopped suddenly as you took him in. He was standing in front of the mirror with just a towel around him, having just come out of the shower. His blonde hair was hanging loosely around his face, still a little damp and you could totally appreciate his form. You’d always known he was in good shape but damn, now you could really see it.

You didn’t realise you were staring until he tilted his head, a smirk on his face. “You alright?”

“What?” Your brain was completely crashing out and you needed to recover quickly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” What had you come in for again?

“You sure, you’re blushin’ a little.” His voice was cocky. “See somethin’ you like?”

There was absolutely no way you could let him know this was having such an effect on you. Even if your mind was currently drifting elsewhere, wondering what he was hiding under the towel, what might happen if he came a little closer. Your heart was starting to beat faster. Shaking your head quickly, you cleared your throat. “Have you seen my keys?”

“Oh, yeah, They’re in the bowl by the door.”

“Right, thank you.” You tore your gaze away from him. He frowned suddenly.

“You goin’ out?”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “I got called into a late shift at work. I’ll be home later, I’ll try not to wake you up when I come back in.

Travis’ heart sank a little, one of the rare nights he didn’t have to work and you weren’t going to be in? “That kinda sucks, we can’t hang out tonight.”

You smiled. “You can still have a good night off. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I always miss you when you’re gone.” He muttered softly and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he said it. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Was it ever possible to think he might feel the same. It felt scary to cling onto any hope.

“Anyway, I have to shoot off. Have a good night.” You him as you walked out of his bedroom. “Don’t wait up for me.”

As you went off to work, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get the image of Travis out of your head, particularly the one where he was half-dressed with a sad puppy-dog look on his face because you were leaving him.

“Screw you, Travis.” You said to yourself as you walked out the door. Why did he have to be so perfect?

***

The shift at work seemed to drag on for an eternity until eventually you were climbing the stairs back up to the apartment and sneaking back in through the door. The place was quiet and you assumed Travis had turned in for the night, so you tiptoed into the living room to take off your shoes.

And almost jumped out of your skin when you saw him lying on the floor, head resting against the couch with his headphones in, eyes shut as he gently nodded his head along to whatever he was listening to. As soon as the initial shock had worn off, you couldn’t help but grin at how adorable he looked right now, slightly sleepy and a little disheveled. You slowly made your way over to him and crouched down, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Travis.” You spoke softly.

His eyes drifted open and when he saw you next to him, his entire face lit up. “Hey, you’re home.”

“Yeah, I told you not to wait up for me, what are you doing in here?” You weren’t mad, if anything you were really happy to see him.

“Well I had to make sure you got home safe.” He told you, sitting up. “Besides, I was listening to this new playlist I made for work. Remember you told me to do that? I actually read that it was a good way to boost motivation when you’re working so I figured it was worth a shot.” He shrugged.

“Alright, I like it. What are you listening to?” You reached out and took one of the headphones out his ear, placing it in your own. “NSync?” You smirked.

“What, they’re classic?” Travis defended himself.

“I had no idea you were so cheesy.” You picked his phone up, scrolling through the rest of the playlist. You stopped on one particular song. “Hanson?”

“Yeah, I love this song.”

“Of course you do.” You chuckled, pressing play. “I actually don’t hate it either, weirdly enough.”

You settled down next to him, resting your head on the couch cushions and staring up at the ceiling as the music washed over you. You felt Travis relax next to you, shifting slightly so his arm was pressed up against yours, fingers brushing gently, Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you realised how close the two of you were all of a sudden. After a while, the initial shock wore off and you unclenched, tiredness suddenly hitting you after your long shift. Your eyes started to droop a little and without even really thinking, you moved in and let your head rest on Travis’ shoulder, a contended sigh escaping you.

You felt Travis laugh softly. “Someone’s sleepy.” His own voice had dropped now from fatigue, a little husky. You groaned in indignation.

“I am not.” You lightly hit his arm which only made him laugh more. He reached out and stroked a hand through your hair and your breath hitched in your throat. Eyes fluttering open, you looked up and saw him gazing down at you with pure adoration. You smiled back at him, eyes subconsciously dropping down to his lips.

And then it happened.

Travis’ hand came to rest on your jaw and before you knew it, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Your brain completely scrambled as his thumb stroked your jaw softly and you felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. Without hesitation, you granted him access and he groaned into your mouth, sitting up and pulling you gently into his lap. The kiss quickly turned into something more as you instantly rocked your hips into him, a moan escaping the both of you as he gripped your hips, encouraging you to move against him again.

“Fuck.” You heard him mutter against your lips, and you felt like you were on fire as his hardness pressed against you.

“Travis.” You breathed softly, reaching down to pull up the shirt he was wearing.

He pulled away from you suddenly, eyes searching yours and suddenly that familiar sinking feeling snuck up on you again. The moment was quickly shattered as you worst fears overtook you again. Maybe he didn’t really want you after all

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You stuttered. “If you don’t want to-“

“No, it’s not that.” Travis assured you, but you didn’t wait to hear more. You were going to give him an easy out.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. We live together, maybe this was a mistake.”

His face fell at your words. “Is that how you feel?”

Of course it wasn’t. But it was easier to pull back now rather than get your heart completely broken. “Let’s just forget it, yeah?” You jumped up and hurried towards your bedroom, leaving Travis sitting there completely alone. He felt your absence immediately.

Looking at his phone, he quickly opened up the other playlist he’d been working on, the one full of songs that reminded him of you. He’d been planning to show it to you tonight, hoping it might make you smile.

But maybe you didn’t need him as much as he hoped you did.

[justreadingthings]

I’m heavy breathing over this! Shared rent, an awesome roommate, and feelings involved? I’m sold!!! If you have a tag list for part 2 I’d love to be added please. This is just so so good 💛

[emmiewritesz]

JKCU Melting Into a Kiss

Masterlist

Includes: Steve, Gator, Kurt, Keys, Teacake/Travis

Tiktok trend: seeing if they melt into the kiss

“Steve, can you stand like this?”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He blinks. “Like… this?”

“Yeah. Just copy me.”

He does it immediately, a little unsure, arms going up like he’s trying not to mess it up. You step closer while he’s still adjusting.

“Hold still.”

He laughs under his breath. “You’re being weird right now.”

“Just trust me.”

That makes him stop talking. You’re close enough now that he forgets what his arms are supposed to be doing.

“Okay,” he says softer.

And when you lean in and kiss him, he doesn’t hold the pose for more than a second.

His arms drop almost instantly, like his body gave up pretending that was ever the point. When you pull back, he is smiling like he is trying to act normal again.

“Gator, can you stand like this?”

He looks at you like he’s deciding whether this is worth humoring. “…Why.”

“Just do it.” A beat. Then he does. Not awkwardly. Not playfully. Like he is committing to it properly, even if he thinks it is dumb.

Arms up. Still. Controlled.

“This better have a point,” he mutters.

You step closer. His jaw tightens immediately. He notices the shift before anything even happens, and that’s where the attitude starts to slip.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move away. You don’t answer. That’s what gets him. He steps in first.

The kiss is immediate, not hesitant, not soft at the edges, but decisive, like he do rather take control of the moment than sit in it and think about it too long.

His arms drop as soon as it happens, like the pose was never part of the real situation.

When you pull back, he’s still close. Still watching you like he is annoyed that it worked… and more annoyed that he didn’t stop it.

“Kurt, can you stand like this?”

He looks at you. Immediately suspicious. “…Why?”

“Just do it.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He copies you, but slower, like he is testing whether this is going to embarrass him.

“This is weird,” he mutters.

“You’re still doing it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He keeps his arms up… for a while. But it starts getting awkward. He shifts his weight. Adjusts his hands. Doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. “So what now?” he asks.

But you’re already closer. And that’s where he stops talking. The kiss happens and he goes still for half a second like his system lagged.

When you pull away, his arms are still kind of up there. Then he drops them too fast like he just remembered he has a body. “…Okay,” he says quietly, like he is trying to recover.

But he doesn’t say anything more about it. Just looks at you with that awkward grin on his face.

“Keys, can you stand like this?”

He pauses. “…Is this a test?”

“No.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He nods once. Then mirrors you exactly. Precise. Correct. No improvisation. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” He stays like that. Completely committed to it. Even when you step closer. Even when the distance stops making sense. His expression shifts slightly, but his arms stay where they are.

“This feels… intentional,” he says quietly.

“It is.”

That earns the smallest reaction from him. But he doesn’t move. You kiss him. He freezes for half a second. Then responds, carefully at first, like he is still technically following instructions.

And even after, when you pull away, his arms are still up. Like he is waiting for the next step. “…Do I lower them now?” he asks.

“Teacake, can you stand like this?”

He is already smiling before you finish the sentence. “Like… a test? Because I feel like I’m going to fail this in a really embarrassing way.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He mirrors you instantly.

“Oh, this is easy,” he says. “Okay, I thought it was going to be something complicated like emotional vulnerability or trust falls or..”

You cut him off “Just stay like that.”

“Right, right, I am staying like this.”

He drops his arms almost immediately without realizing it, because he is already too focused on you stepping closer. “Wait, am I supposed to keep my arms up? I feel like I was supposed to keep my arms up.”

“You were.”

“That feels like important information you should have led with.” You’re closer now. He notices mid-sentence.

And still doesn’t stop talking. “Okay, I think I understand what this is now, I think this is one of those...”

You kiss him.

He pauses for half a second against your mouth. Then, very softly, like he forgot he was supposed to stop:

“Oh okay, yeah, that makes sense actually.” His words blur into the kiss instead of stopping it. Not quiet. Just distracted.

Like he is still trying to finish a thought he already abandoned. When you pull back, he’s smiling immediately.

“Oh wow,” he says, still too close, still clearly not done talking. “I was not emotionally prepared for that, but also I think I might’ve been slightly right about what was happening there.” He laughs under his breath.

Then adds, like it’s unrelated but definitely isn’t: “Your timing is kind of insane, by the way.” And he is already leaning in again while he’s still talking.

[justreadingthings]

Girl now I’m melting!

[dearwalker]

Enchanted to meet you

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word Count: 3.8k

Description: When Johnny is sent to investigate suspicious steam coming out of a sewer, he doesn’t expect a woman from another dimension to climb out of it. You look at him like he’s your knight in shining armor, and he realizes very soon you possess the ability to completely derail his life.

Inspired on the movie Enchanted ✨

Tags/Warnings: whimsy!reader, fluff, humor, cheeky references to other characters and universes, yearner!johnny being down bad for women out of this world.

Notes: I’ve been feeling whimsy lately and it’s all thanks to my dear @vividxpages, so this one is dedicated to her 🤍 I’ve also missed writing our dramatic prince Johnny, and ended up giggling a lot while writing this. Enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist

Johnny had just walked out of the shower when his Fantastic Watch™ beeped. Wrapped in only a towel from the waist down, he steamed the remaining water off his body as he reached for it. 

‘Steam rising from a sewer system detected in Midtown, please go check it out – Reed.’ 

He chuckled. The situation seemed a little bit dramatic to call a whole superhero, but Johnny Storm never missed a public appearance if the opportunity arose. He quickly got dressed in his blue suit, making sure his hair was fully dry before smiling to his reflection, and stepping out into the living room. 

Ben, who was reading a book on one of the large couches, watched Johnny stroll to the kitchen island to snatch a fresh Maisie’s cookie from the batch H.E.R.B.I.E was putting on a tray, giving him a little pet in the process. 

“Hey, J,” Ben called, just as Johnny reached the balcony and burst into flames. “If you find anything weird down there, try not to flirt with it,” he teased without looking up, and a robotic giggle was heard from the kitchen.  

Traitor, Johnny thought, narrowing his eyes at Herbert. 

Ben thought he was so smug ever since the whole Herald fiasco. But Johnny, ever the sweet summer boy, just gave him a pearly white condescending smile before finally taking off into the night. 

A few minutes later, Johnny lands in the middle of a street in Times Square, where traffic has stopped and a crowd has gathered around a rattling sewer lid. There’s indeed thick white clouds coming out of it, and Johnny can feel the high temperature as he lands next to them.

People gasp when they see him, then cheer and whistle because salvation has arrived. 

‘Human torch!’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I told the mayor he needed to check on the system ages ago!’

“Alright everyone, back up,” he puts on a smile, shooing people away with his arms. “I got it covered–”

A loud metal sound makes him turn around, and the manhole cover blasts upward landing on top of a car nearby with a loud crash. People scream and scatter away, and Johnny flames on instantly, absorbing all the heat that pours out of it.

The white steam subsides, replaced by some lilac, glittering particles that make Johnny cough a few times, swatting at it with his gloved hands. Once Johnny can see clearly again–or maybe not–he notices there’s something peeking out. 

Is that…a hand? 

A hand comes out to grab the edge of the sewer, but he sees no claws or scales or weirdly colored skin, no…it’s a woman’s hand wrapped in delicate lace gloves. Then the other hand comes out, clearly trying to prop themselves up. 

Johnny’s fire dies when he sees no imminent danger, and he frowns at the small coughs coming from inside, stepping closer to see when something finally emerges from the sewer. 

You emerge. 

“Oof,” you say, using all your strength to climb out of…whatever you were in. 

The puffy white gown you’re wearing spreads around you as your heels finally touch the ground, layers upon layers of sparkling fabric drag through the glittery pavement when you straighten yourself up. You brush away dust from your giant skirt, too lost in your own world to notice that the crowd around you has gone dead silent, and Johnny looks flat out bewildered. 

That is, until a car blasts its horn, making you jump so hard you almost fall back into the sewer.  

Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist, catching you immediately. You yelp, clinging to your savior, and that’s when your eyes finally meet. Your breath hitches, but all you needed was one look to that perfect blonde hair and those bright blue eyes to exhale in relief. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” you say giddily, “Is this the Barbie Kingdom?”

Johnny doesn’t answer because quite frankly, what the fuck? 

You don’t seem to mind, your melodic voice keeps spilling out excitedly. “My bad, Ken. I know it’s not a kingdom anymore! That democracy thing you have going on is spectacular, I really admire–” your enthusiasm dies out a little when your eyes dart around, realizing there’s zero pink in this place, only strangers,  a bunch of weird colored lights, and the guy you’re holding onto for dear life is looking at you like you’re insane. “But this…doesn’t look like Barbieland,” you add with a nervous laugh. “Are you…a prince?” 

Barbieland. A prince? 

(I mean, he’ll take the compliment, but ????) 

Johnny’s confused gaze darts all over your face, then down to your dress. A wedding dress. There are actual sparkles woven into it, and he’s sure your skirt alone weighs more than him. The white fabric is pristine and you smell like flowers, not like you just crawled out of a sewer. 

And you just called him Ken. Thank God Ben is not here. 

“Umm, kind sir?” You snap him out of his trance, still gripping his forearms. “Can you please tell me what kingdom is this?” 

He looks at you, then at the crowd that’s just as confused as him, before replying hesitantly. 

“...Manhattan?” He says, and it does very little to calm you down. He clears his throat, finally releasing you from his grip so you feel more comfortable. “You can call me Johnny, by the way,” he says, giving you his best trademark smile. 

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Well, Johnny of Manhattan,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to avoid making eye contact with the people whispering around you, and the noise of those weird metal boxes with wheels. “Do you know Andalasia?” 

Even with all the extensive space knowledge Johnny possesses, he can’t really point out a place in the universe named like that. 

“Is that your planet?” He asks, making you chuckle softly. Johnny delights in the sound, he feels like any moment now birds will wake up to surround you and start chirping. 

“It’s my world,” you say, your voice turning more nostalgic now. “I was meant to marry The Bat Prince Edward today, my Eddie, and now I’ve fallen into this terrible place...” 

“…Right.”

Johnny tries to consider all options.

Maybe you hit your head? Or you were some junkie? A very dedicated theater kid? Method actor? Or maybe, crazy idea, you were telling the truth. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because your laced gloved hand suddenly reaches for his.

“Please, can you help me go back?” You ask desperately. 

Johnny looks where your hands meet, and decides to ignore the creeping blush on his face and the intrusive thoughts. She’s engaged. She’s probably crazy. But she’s so beautiful–no! Stop it, Johnny. 

The last time he had a crush on a woman that showed up unannounced on his planet, things had not ended well. 

“I know someone who might,” is all he says, avoiding your eyes. Since when does Johnny Storm get shy? 

You squeal immediately, practically leaping into his chest to give him a hug he certainly wasn’t expecting. Johnny laughs surprised, trying not to get lost in your sweet perfume. A white flash suddenly blinds you, and your eyes widen in panic at the crowd closing in. 

‘Johnny, who is she?’ ‘Another Herald?’ ‘Is this for a movie?” 

Without thinking you cling tighter to Johnny, who you’ve decided is the only person you can trust in this weird place, and that does something alarming to his stupid little heart. Red flag, red flag–whatever, he decides to step up to the role, shielding you from the photographers. 

“Alright, show’s over everybody!” He announces with a smile, never losing that golden boy persona, before turning back to you. “Okay, princess, you’re coming with me,” he says, pointing upward.

“...How?” You ask, staring up at the sky with a frown. 

“You just hold on, and try not to scream,” he winks at you, and before you can react he’s picking you up bridal style, bunching the skirt of your dress so it’s not on the way. “I’ll try not to scorch it, but no promises.”

“Scorch it? What do you mea–oh my god…” 

The night sky glows with fire coming out of this man’s body, as he flies you across the Manhattan realm. Truth to be told, coming from a world of magic and curses, this may not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to you. 

You land on the balcony of a tower that looks absolutely nowhere near the ones made of stone back home. And thank the universe you’re too busy gawking at the view, because Johnny is able to sneakily pat the ends of your dress that caught on a few flames without you noticing. 

“Oh wow…” you whisper, placing your gloved hands on the railing, overwhelmed by all the movement and lights and floating things. “Your world is strange, Johnny of Manhattan,” you laugh softly. 

Johnny chuckles, and wow, this is not what he thought his night would be like. But then you gasp, pointing at the sky.

“We have the same moon!” You exclaim, placing your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your palm as you stare longingly at the sky. “Don’t you like it, Johnny? Knowing she’s always there?”

Johnny smiles, but he’s not sure it’s because of the celestial body he’s admired since he was a little boy, or the way you seem completely mesmerized by it.

“I’ve always loved her,” Johnny says fondly, stepping next to you with both hands on the railing, but he doesn’t look up. His eyes stay on you. He watches you sigh dreamily, and it makes him smirk. “Is this the part where we start singing about our heart’s wishes?” 

“What? Noo,” you chuckle, without taking your eyes off the moon. “It just means home must be close if we can see the same stars…” 

Right, home. Johnny forces himself to take his eyes off you, and as he peeks inside the empty living room, he notices Ben is no longer there. Perfect. 

“Come on, let’s go inside, princess,” he says, and you turn to him with a smile. 

He bows to let you go first, and you do a little bow in return. Your enormous skirt barely manages to cross the threshold with a few tugs. The black fabric at the ends, courtesy of the human torch, drags across the carpeted floors as you slowly take in every detail. He guides you into a big metal box, and presses a panel. You extend your arms for balance as the thing begins going up all of a sudden. 

“Fascinating,” you whisper.

Johnny watches you with a smile and pride blooming in his chest. The Baxter Building is a marvel even for normal people, to you? It must be mind blowing. The innocent awe in your face makes Johnny feel that familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Bad Johnny. 

“Okay, number one rule,” he clears his throat, compensating by the thing he does best: joking. “We’re going into the ogre’s swamp, so you’re better off not touching anything.”

He feels proud of it, at least until you look at him horrified and recoil in fear. 

“An ogre? Oh no no no no…” you shake your head, reaching for the panel and pressing it frantically until the thing stops moving. “I don’t like those, absolutely not.”

“No, wait, sorry,” Johnny apologizes. “It was just a joke. We’re going to my brother in law’s lab, and he’s a bit…particular,” he explains, and only presses the button to keep going up when you nod. “Just uh…follow my lead, and you’ll be fine,” he says, when the elevator comes to a stop.

He stretches his neck, bouncing slightly on his feet and giving himself a small pep talk you can’t really understand. Then the doors open to another colorful, open place that makes your eyes go wide. Johnny strolls in first, and you follow behind like an anxious lost puppy. 

“Reed!” he calls out dramatically, to a figure leaning over a counter. “I bring gifts from my mission!”

The man–not ogre, thank the stars–Reed, doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. His intention to ignore Johnny doesn't last long though, because he hears a pair of heels clicking on the floor that definitely don’t belong to his brother in law. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes immediately land on you.

“Why is there a bride in my lab?” He deadpans, looking at you up and down. “For the love of God, Jonathan, don’t tell me you–”

“Uh-uh,” Johnny cuts him off, holding a finger in the air before spreading his arms in a flourish to gesture at you. “I present to you: the steaming sewer.”

“Hiii!” You smile politely, waving at Reed. “Are you the ruler of this realm?”

Reed now looks at Johnny, exasperation written all over his face. “Explain yourself.”

“She came out of the sewer,” Johnny shrugs, looking too smug for his own good. “Dress and all.”

“I did,” you nod enthusiastically, not really helping at all.

Reed sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, but by the time he opens them again, you’ve already wandered to one of his old models with a curiosity that reminds him of his own son. 

“Oooh, what’s this?” You ask, reaching for a red lever.

“No, don’t touch–“

You gasp in delight as the lights flicker when you pull on it, but Johnny catches your hand just in time before you pull the whole thing and cut the power of the entire building. He gently guides you away from the counters, smiling apologetically at Reed’s resting bitch face. 

Ogre, indeed. 

The doors of the metal box you arrived in open again, and a woman storms in carrying a child in her arms. He doesn’t even look a year old. 

“Not only are you working late, but you’re messing with the power while I’m trying to put Franklin to bed and I–” The woman stops in his tracks when she sees you standing in the middle of the lab. Her eyes go to Johnny, and she only has to raise her eyebrows for him to look like a scolded child.

“Sue, I can explain. Don’t panic, she’s just a–”

“Pwincess!” The baby in her arm babbles, clapping his little hands together.

You coo at the baby, but stay put where you are, not wanting to crowd the woman narrowing her eyes at you. You gather the fabric of your dress and give them a little curtsy.

“Thank you, little bean. But I’m not a princess yet,” you say, pressing one hand to your chest. 

Sue notices the way you clutch the fabric of your dress nervously, and curiosity gets the best of her. 

“Did you escape from your wedding?” She asks, but there’s no real malice behind it. 

“I didn’t escape,” you shake your head, looking down to the floor. “I believe someone may have tried to kill me and I ended up here instead.”

“Oh honey,” her expression softens, not entirely sure why she believes you’re harmless to her family. At least at this moment. 

Johnny does, and he sighs, because now you’ve activated Sue’s mom instincts. How is he supposed to not get attached?

At least she won’t be telling him to kill you.

“Where exactly did Johnny find you, sweetheart?” She asks, bouncing little Franklin on her hip.

“Johnny says it’s called a sewer!” 

Sue just nods, looking between Reed and Johnny but the latter just smiles with a shrug. A sudden blue light washes over you, but before you can panic Johnny shows you it’s coming from a little device Reed is hunching over. 

“He’s just scanning you to see how we can help,” Johnny explains reassuringly, and you nod as the light keeps going all over you. 

“Fascinating,” Reed says after a few minutes, walking away from the thingy to circle you. “No traces of chemical intoxication. Her body has adapted to survive in our environment, but her clothing fibers are unlike anything I’ve seen on this planet.” 

“Oh! My dress was hand sewn with the help of my friends. Mouses and rabbits are very talented when it comes to special fabrics,” you say matter of factly. 

“Mouses and rabbits.” Reed repeats and you nod happily. Jesus Christ. 

“H.E.R.B.I.E told me you were all here. What’s going on?” A new voice echoes across the lab as the doors open again. ”Uhh, is Johnny getting married and didn’t tell us?” 

You turn around to see a tall man made out of orange rocks and your shoulders sag in relief. Finally, someone normal around here. But before you can ask him if he knows how to get to your kingdom, Reed is already gesturing for him.

“Perfect timing, Ben. Team gathering. Now.” 

Ben obeys, following him without taking his eyes off you. Sue walks past you, and Franklin giggles when he tries to grab one of your puffy sleeves and fails. Reed motions them deeper into the lab, and Johnny walks backwards to look at you. 

“Don’t touch anything,” he mouths, and your eyes drift immediately towards another lever device on the counter. “Especially that!” He whisper-shouts, and you nod innocently, clasping your hands behind your back.  

He flashes you a grin before jogging to meet the others, who are already explaining the situation to Ben. You can hear the whispering, but you can’t really make out what they’re saying, so you distract yourself with your own dress. 

On the far corner of the lab…

“She came out of a sewer, and you believe she’s a princess?” Ben asks, biting back a smile as he watches Johnny roll his eyes.

“She could be delusional. Experimenting a psychological episode perhaps.” Reed says.

“Then why didn’t your scans show anything?” Johnny crosses his arms. 

Reed hesitates, because the machine may not show physical abnormalities, but your mental state is a different thing. 

“My love?” Reed asks the person he trusts the most in the room.

“She looks harmless,” Sue shrugs, shifting Franklin who’s starting to fall asleep on her shoulder. 

“She is harmless,” Johnny says immediately.

“You've known her for like twenty minutes,” Ben teases. 

“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes she’s been overwhelmed, yet polite enough to ask for our help. After all we’ve seen lately, I think we’re safe–just…look at her.”

They all glance back. 

You’re standing exactly where Johnny left you, carefully lifting the edge of your gown and gasping in visible distress when you notice it has turned black.

“Oh no…my dress…”

Johnny mentally slaps himself when you look at the singed fabric with a sad face. Okay, maybe flying in flames while carrying a hundred pounds of magical tulle had been a bad idea.

“So who’s the lucky fella?” Ben whispers, nudging his arm to get his attention.

Johnny takes a second too long to take his eyes away from you, before turning back to the group with the answer. 

“She said she was marrying some prince named Eddie,” Johnny explains, trying to sound as casual as possible. “But I don’t trust him, what if he’s the one who sent her away?”

“Or…maybe you just want to steal his bride,” Ben says without hesitation, making Sue snort. Even Reed’s mouth twitches. 

Johnny groans, stepping back to point between them defensively. 

“No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! Absolutely wrong,” he defends himself, but his family has the audacity to laugh in his face. 

“Johnny–”

“No! This isn’t another Shalla-bal situation,” he insists, crossing his arms. “That was months ago. Besides, can you really blame me? She was gorgeous.”

“And do you think the princess is gorgeous?” Sue asks with a knowing smile. 

He glances at you once again, and it’s a bad idea, because Herbert has rolled into the room too and now you are bending slightly so you can pet his weird head. You were actually petting him. The droid is complimenting your dress, and you thank him giddily because you somehow understand what he’s saying. 

“I fear the gown may be ruined, though,” you add with a small laugh.

“It still looks pretty on you,” Johnny blurts out loudly from his spot. 

You straighten up to look at him, and your flustered face makes it difficult for him to not smile like a lovesick puppy. What the hell is happening to him? 

When he turns back around, everyone is staring at him. Johnny closes his eyes with a grimace, sighing. 

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“I say you’re toast already,” Ben says, amused, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you can handle some heat–“

“I’m not handling any heat–“

“Alright!” Reed shuts them up. “Until we understand what happened, we can’t exactly send her anywhere,” Reed says, exhaling in defeat.

That makes Johnny perk up immediately with a smile that’s nothing but trouble.

“So we’re keeping her?” He says. 

“We are letting her stay temporarily because she clearly needs help,” Sue corrects, giving him a warning look. “And you are going to behave.”

“Yes, absolutely!” Johnny nods, way too fast and completely unconvincing. Sue narrows her eyes at him. “Your mistrust wounds me, sister. I’m always on my best behavior.”

She glares at him one last time, before gesturing with her head at the group to walk back to you. She notices H.E.R.B.I.E has stuck to your side, and seems to be charmed by you as much as Johnny is. Which is another positive point in your favor.

“You can stay with us until we figure things out,” Sue says with a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best to find your home.”

Your eyes go wide, the relief washing your face makes you look even brighter. Johnny has to keep himself from clutching his chest dramatically. 

“Oh, I’m eternally grateful to all of you,” you say, lifting the fabric once again to do a full curtsy. “But especially to you, Johnny of Manhattan, because you were the one to trust me enough to bring me to your castle,” you add with a smile, straightening up and walking toward him to pressing a soft kiss on his warm cheek. 

Johnny stills on his spot as your lips delicately graze his skin, before you pull apart a walk alway like nothing happened. His hand lifts instinctively to touch the spot you kissed, and this time his family’s snickers are inevitable.

Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he’s toast. Burned toast. 

As he watches you obliviously hum a little tune for Franklin, who’s drooling away on Sue’s shoulder, acceptance hits him like a train. 

He was absolutely doomed the second you climbed out of that sewer. 

Thank you for reading this small fairytale! Feedback is always appreciated 💗🦇

Gorgeous dividers by: @chachachannah

[justreadingthings]

Did this just heal my inner child?

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

clear-headed

pairing: travis 'teacake' meacham x reader

summary: when you and the cute guy at the storage unit go out to discuss getting your new bookstore set up, things escalate to a little bit more than just handiwork and literature

wc: 5.3k

tw: explicit smut, p in v protected, oral (f recieving, talsk of sobriety, travis does not shut tf up

a/n: hey babes! as a heads up, cold storage also happens to be one of my favorite books. so a lot of the characterization, and the fact that its canon teacake has never been with a woman sober, are taken from the book. but this can absolutely be read without book knowledge, just keep that in mind.

masterlist

Teacake has memorized your schedule by now. 

You came into Atchison Storage twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays, with a stack of books for your unit. Through a couple conversations, mostly led by him, he learned you were opening a used-bookstore-slash-coffee-shop in town. You needed a place to store some of the inventory you were collecting, and he was more than grateful for that. 

Wednesday nights were slow. He was sitting at the security desk, trying to focus on his book as his eyes drafted to the door every so often. 

The sensor above the door chimed. He looked up and saw you walking in with a box of books, looking exhausted but content.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said, a little too bright for the sleepy hour. “You know the routine. Unit 247, down on your right. You need a hand with those?”

You give him a soft smile, happy for the familiar face. Truthfully, you liked seeing him here. He was always willing to. chat about anything and everything. And it didn't hurt that he was attractive, despite his shitty prison tattoos.

"Theres another couple boxes in the trunk if you don't mind grabbing a dolly for me. I can grab them once I get these inside."

He's already on his feet. "Nonsense, lady. You look like you could use a break. I'll grab 'em all for ya. One trip."

He grabs the dolly from the corner of the office and heads for the door, taking your keys from you. 

You watch as he loads up the three boxes and heads back inside with them.

He buzzes you both in with his badge and he walks with you to your unit, chatting away. You both reach your unit and he lifts the heavy rolling door, revealing a space packed to the brim with boxes of books.

"You weren't kidding about stocking up, lady, jeez. You ever think of a name for your shop yet?"

He sets the boxes down with a soft thud and turns to you, wiping sweat from his brow.

You couldn't help but stare. He had a certain... scrappy charm. A well-worn white t-shirt stretched tight across his chest under his orange work button up, black work pants clinging to muscular thighs.

"Yeah, it's called The Book Nook. I'm hoping to open by fall."

"The Book Nook," he repeats. "Cute. I like it. Very... you." He gives a little grin that makes your stomach flip. "So what's in these new boxes? Any good stuff? Find any old treasures today?"

He leans against the doorframe, making no move to leave as you begin to finagle the new boxes in. 

"Went to the flea market a town iver, met up with a seller who had a ton of old sci-fi stuff. Got a decent deal on them."

"Last week it was horror, you're gonna have quite the selection, aren't ya?"

You laugh. "Yeah, my goal is to have something for everyone." You pause, looking at him. "So, what do you like to read, Teacake?"

He's quiet for a second, like he wasn't expecting that question. "Uh... I've been reading some self improvement type books lately? Really trying to stop my 'people pleasing mentality' or somethin'? Court appointed psychiatrist said I have that. I'm, uh, impressionable? Can't remember the words she used. But you probably don't wanna hear about all that."

You caught on to his rambling habit early on in meeting him, but it made you smile nonetheless. You loved hearing him talk.

"Hey, nothing wrong with that. I think it's great you're working on yourself."

He just shrugs, a bit embarrassed now. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta do it, right? No one's gonna do it for me. Couldn't really. Self work an' all." 

He rocks a little on his heels. "Well, I should probably get back to the desk before my boss realizes I'm slacking off. Or, you know, that I even exist."

He gives you a little half smile and turns to leave, but stops.

"Hey, you know, if you ever need an extra set of hands for the shop? I'm... I'm pretty good with a hammer. And I lift heavy things. That's my whole job, basically. Besides, buzzin' people in."

You give him a soft smile that he mistakes as sympathetic. 

"I mean..." he clears his throat. "I know you probably wouldn't want to hire an ex-con for your pretty little shop, but I figured I'd offer an'all--" 

You cut him off immediately as he misunderstood you. "You're not some violent criminal, Teacake. I've known you long enough to know that. I would love the help. The landlord is dragging their feet on some repairs at the storefront and I could use a strong pair of arms."

You watch a real, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah? You'd... you'd really let me help? After... well, after me telling you all that?"

"You've told me what got you in prison plenty of times." You gift a gentle laugh, as he did tend to overshare. "Just don't, sit passenger for anyone who plans to rob my books. We're good."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, a little breathless. "So... when do you want me? I mean, when do you need me? At the shop. Not need me, need me. Unless you did, which would be—"

"Are you doing the overnight tonight?" You cut him off again after looking at your watch. 

8 PM.

"Uh, no actually. Not tonight. On till 10, then home. Why?" He replies, a little sheepish.

"If you're up for it, we could meet for a drink, discuss my plan of attack? I'm buying. To thank you for the help, both now and later."

His face lights up like you'd just offered him the world. "Yeah? You'd— You'd wanna go for a drink? With me?" He seems genuinely surprised, and it makes your heart ache a little.

"Is that weird?" It was your turn to feel nervous, wondering if you crossed some weird boundary. You were, technically, still a customer.

"No! Not at all! I just... I'm not used to people wanting to, you know. Hang out with me. I'd love to." He's nodding enthusiastically now. "Love to. Yeah. Where at? There's that new place down on Church? Heard they've got some good craft beer stuff. Not that I drink beer much anymore. But I could try it. If you liked it. Or we could go somewhere else. I don't care where we go, as long as—"

You put a gentle hand on his arm, and he stops mid-ramble. The contact sends a jolt through both of you. "Church Street is perfect. 10:30 work for you?"

He fidgets in the booth, picking at the peeling vinyl. The bar is dim, lit mostly by neon beer signs and the glow of a jukebox in the corner. He ordered a water. He wanted to be clear-headed for this. For you.

You show up right at 10:30, sliding into the booth across from him.

"Interesting drink of choice." You smile at him softly. 

He shrugs, a little self-conscious. "Yeah, well. Figured I should probably, you know. Keep a clear head. For... shop talk." He gives you a lopsided grin.

It was only a half truth. Part of him hoped that maybe this wasn't just a work call. He was gullible sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. He caught you looking at him a little longer every so often, even if he didn't see why you would.

And a guy can hope for a kiss at the end of the night. Even on the cheek. And he wanted to be sober for that. 

"So, shop talk," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "What's the plan, boss?"

The conversation flows easier than he expected. You lay out your vision for The Book Nook: mismatched armchairs, shelves that go all the way to the ceiling, a little nook in the back with an old record player.

You both talk about anything and everything, his side tangents leading to very interesting, albeit random, conversations about things he saw in jail, or a story about his childhood. You hung onto every word.

He doesn't even notice the bartender clearing his throat at the end of the bar.

"Last call, folks."

The words jolt Teacake back to reality.

"We didn't even get actual drinks." You whisper, a little smile on your face. "Think he really wants us out." 

Once outside, you take out your phone to get an Uber. 

"What, you didn't drive here?" Teacake raises an eyebrow. 

"I didn't want to rush it if we had a couple drinks. Figured I'd be responsible."

"I can drive you home. Car's right over there." He points to a beat-up car in the lot. "Safer than she looks, promise. 

"Alright."

He pulls up to your place, the engine of his car rumbling in the quiet street. The silence that's fallen between you is different now.

"Well," he starts, his voice a little too loud in the small space. "That was... That was good. The plan. It's a good plan. Very... architectural. And stuff. I can definitely do the things. The hammering. And the lifting. I'm good at that."

"Do you want to come inside?" 

You blurt it out like you've been waiting to the whole ride. Teacake freezes, his hand still on the gear shift.

"You... You mean... Right now? Inside your... house?" He glances from your face to the darkened window of your building and back again, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"Yes. In my house." You glance over at the small house you rent, dark except for one lamp in the window. "For some coffee. Or water. Or nothing at all. Just to come inside."

His brain feels like it's buffering. He's so used to things being one way, and this feels like a glitch in the matrix. You, with your bookstore dreams and your kind eyes, asking him inside.

"I uh... don't drink coffee. Makes me all... jumpy. But water's good. Water is... hydrating." He shuts the car off. "Yeah. Okay. I'll come in. For water."

He follows you up the path to your front door, a respectful distance behind you, like he's afraid to touch you by accident. Inside, your house is cozy, filled with books in precarious stacks and the scent of old paper and something warm, like vanilla.

You take him into the kitchen and he leans against the counter, watching you grab two glasses from the cupboard. His eyes follow your every move, taking in the small details of your life: the used novelty mug by the sink, the reminder note on the fridge, the way your hair falls over your shoulder.

When you turn, you catch him looking at you. 

You put the two glasses down with a sigh. 

"I didn't ask you in here for... water." You whisper, your gaze never leaving his. The unspoken truth of the night hangs heavy in the air.

"Oh." He breathes, a shaky, vulnerable sound.

"It's okay if you aren't—" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"No," he says, taking a step closer. "No, I... I am. I am. I was just... I didn't think... You'd want to... I mean, you know about... and you still...?"

You laugh and he smiles sheepishly. 

"Those were like... half sentences. See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm a mess." He's still coming closer, like he's being pulled by an invisible string. "I'm just... I'm not very smooth."

"I like that you're not smooth." You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, shit, lady. That's good to know."

He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him. You reach up and cup his jaw in your hand, your thumb stroking the stubble there.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, leaning into your touch. "I've never... I don't know what to do here. Not with someone like you. You're so... put together. And I'm just..."

He let's out a deep sigh before continuing. 

"I've never done this... sober. I don't know how to be with someone like this when I'm not all... fuzzed up."

"Like sex?" 

He laughs at that.

"I've never even kissed a girl sober." He admits. "Sober me is awkward. It's the me that got my ass kicked in the schoolyard and the me that didn't know how to say the right thing to a girl and the me that—" You cut him off by pulling him down by his collar and pressing your lips to his. 

He's still for a moment, like a startled animal, then he responds with a soft, almost desperate groan. It's not a kiss of practiced finesse; it's all clumsy eagerness and raw honesty. One of his hands finds your hip, gripping it like a lifeline, while the other cups the back of your head, tangling in your hair.

"You're damn soft," he mumbles against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "And you smell good. Like... books and vanilla. And I'm probably gonna say a whole bunch of dumb stuff. 'Cause my brain is... it's not working right now."

"Good." You murmur, pulling him back in. "I like when you talk."

You're kissing him again and he's already getting more confident, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You grant it, and the kiss deepens, becomes wetter, hungrier.

"Okay," he says, breaking away, his breathing ragged. "Okay. So... this is happening. This is... yeah." He looks down at your body, then back up to your eyes. "Jesus christ. I can't believe this is happening."

He lifts you onto the counter effortlessly, your thighs bracketing his hips. The position puts you eye-to-eye, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.

"God, your eyes," he whispers, mesmerized. "It's like... looking at something I'm not supposed to. Something holy. Which is a weird thing to say to someone you're about to, you know... but it's true."

You run an hand along his jaw and smile. 

"What's your real name?" You ask softly. It was a sudden question, but it felt right.

He blinks, surprised by the question.

"My real name?" He repeats, as if you've spoken in another language. "It's... uh... it's Travis. Everyone just calls me Teacake. On account of... well, it's a stupid story."

"Travis..." You say, lips hovering over his. "I like it."

"Shit," he breathes, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, like your acceptance of his real name was the final key to unlock him. His hands roam from your hips up your back, pulling you flush against him.

You quickly shimmy off his orange button up work shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in just the white tee. You can feel the heat of him through your clothes, the solid muscle of his chest.

"I've thought about this," he confesses, his hands slipping under your shirt to splay across your back. "So many times. Since I met you. I'd see you come in all tired with your books and I'd just... think about what it would be like to... to touch you. I felt like such a creep. But I couldn't help it. You're just... you're nice. You're the nicest person I've met in... ever."

He's kissing down your neck, his lips and tongue exploring the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

"And you're smart," he continues, his words muffled against your skin. "Way smarter than me, not like thats hard... But you've got plans, you know? You're doing something. You're not just... existing. You're building a life. And I think that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

He pulls back, his hands still on you, his eyes dark with desire and something else, something deeper.

"I'm gonna say all the wrong things," he warns you.

You take his hand and travel it under your skirt, between your legs to feel how damp your panties are. 

"I told you I like when you talk." You whisper in his ear.

"Okay," he breathes, a shudder running through him as he feels the heat of you through the thin fabric. "Okay. Right. So... okay."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so wet already. God. That's for me? That's... wow. I did that."

You go to lift your shirt off exposing a black lace bra, nipples already hard against the lace. He just stares, transfixed.

"Those are... Jesus, lady." He sounds genuinely awestruck, like he's looking at a masterpiece in a museum. "They're perfect. They're like... like something out of a magazine. A really... really classy magazine. Not one of the ones they had in the joint."

He reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as they trace the edge of the lace. "Can I...? I just wanna... feel."

You nod, and his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric, making you arch into him.

"You liked that," he murmurs, a smidgeon of confidence creeping into his voice. "Okay. Good. That's... that's good to know."

He hooks a finger in the cup of your bra, pulling it down to bare you to his gaze. "Oh," he says again, a reverent whisper. "Oh, wow."

And then he's leaning down, taking the sensitive peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it in a way that makes your toes curl. He's not practiced, but he's enthusiastic, and the raw, honest pleasure he's taking in this is intoxicating.

"Your mouth is the sexiest thing about you..." you gsap at the feeling, hands running through his messy bleached waves. He moans around your nipple, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core.

"Fuck," he pulls back, looking up at you. "I love it when you talk dirty to me. I really, really do. I just... I've gotta tell you, I'm so hard right now it's almost painful. And I'm gonna... I'm gonna probably bust in my pants if we keep going like this. And that's embarrassing. I'm too old for that. But you're just... you're doing things to me."

He's panting, his chest heaving. "But I want to make you feel good. I want to... I want to make you cum. Can I? Please? Let me make you cum."

He doesn't wait for an answer, sliding off the counter onto his knees before you. His hands are on your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips.

"You're killing me with these panties," he says, hooking a finger in the black lace. "They're... they're evil. But in the best way."

He pulls them down slowly, his eyes fixed on the place he's uncovering.

"God," he breathes, looking up at you from the floor. "You're perfect. All of you. Just... perfect."

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, higher up.

"Tell me what to do," he says, his voice husky. "Tell me how you like it. I'm a fast learner, I swear. I just... I wanna do this right. For you."

"If it's anything like how you kiss I'm sure you'll do it right." You tell him breathlessly.

"Yeah? Okay. Yeah, I can do that."

He takes a deep breath and dives in, his tongue exploring your folds with a curious, hungry intensity. He's not trying to mimic anything he's seen in porn; he's just exploring, listening to the sounds you make, the way your body shifts under his touch.

His nose bumps against your clit, and you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him to you.

"Tastes even better than you smell," he mumbles against you, the words muffled but clear. "Like... heaven. Or something."

He's getting bolder now, his movements more confident. He's found your clit and is focusing on it, his tongue working in circles, then flicking, then sucking gently. You're writhing on the counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat building inside you.

"Travis," you moan, your hips bucking against his face.

He groans when you use his real name like that, the sound vibrating through you. He doubles his efforts, one of his hands coming up to slide a finger inside you, then another.

"I'm gonna cum," you pant, your head thrown back.

"Yeah," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Come on. Cum for me. Let me taste it. S'gonna taste so good."

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure washing through you.

He doesn't stop, working you through it, lapping up your release like a man dying of thirst.

When you finally come back to earth, he's looking up at you, his face slick with you, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on his face.

"Good news is I didn't cum in my pants yet." He says with a half grin. "But if you keep looking at me like that I might still."

He climbs to his feet, a smug, boyish grin on his face.

"So..." he says, a little out of breath as he's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you still wanna... do the rest? The, uh, the main event?" He gestures vaguely at his crotch.

You can't help but laugh.

"Yes, Travis. I still want to. Very much so."

"Good," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Like I said though, I might not last. I've thought about... you know... being inside you. A lot. More than is probably healthy. I've got it all worked out--" 

You cut him off by hopping off the counter and hooking a finger through his belt loop.

"Bedroom. Now."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you down the hall, his eyes glued to the sway of your hips.

Your room is just as cozy as the rest of your house, with a big, unmade bed piled high with pillows and a duvet.

You strip your clothes off fully and he stands there, a little wide eyes and slack jawed, before rushing to take off his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt.

"Jesus H. Christ," he whispers when you're naked before him.

He walks towards you, grabbing your face in both his hands, kissing you deeply. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He's pushing you gently towards the bed, and you fall back on it, him following you down, hovering over you.

Your hands waste no time getting his work pants off, pushing them and his boxers down with a little difficulty. He kicks them the rest of the way off.

"Shit," he breathes. "I'm naked. In your bed. This is actually happening."

You can't help but trails your eyes from his dark chest hair tapering down to one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen. 

"Holy shit." You say in the softest whisper. 

He immediately seems nervous, never having had a woman look at him this way, in such a sober setting.

"What? What is it?" He asks, a knot in his stomach, assuming the worst.

"Nothing... I just... Travis, you're beautiful."

The word beautiful seems to short-circuit him. His jaw goes a little slack. No one's ever called him beautiful before.

"Can dicks be beautiful?" He manages to huff out with a laugh. "Is that a thing? 'Cause if they can, you must be looking at someone else's. I think this is pretty standard issue."

He pushes himself up on his elbows, a frown creasing his brow.

"I'm serious," he insists, misreading your awe for something else. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. You don't have to... lie to make me feel better. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

"Yeah... definitely big boy." You mumble, licking your lips.

The corners of his lips twitch, fighting a smile before he catches it.

"Lady, you just talking about it like that is gonna..." He trails off as you reach down and wrap your hands around him, feeling the velvety weight of him. He lets out a strangled moan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Okay. Okay. That's... yeah. Good. Very good."

You begin to stroke him and he thrusts gently into your fist.

"I have... a condom in my wallet. In my pants. I... fuck... didn't assume or anythin'... I just like to be prepared. You know, for... for... yeah." He's stammering, lost in the pleasure of your touch. "And I was hoping. God, I was hoping so much."

You let go of him reluctantly and he scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to his discarded pants. He fumbles for his wallet, pulling out the small foil packet with a triumphant, slightly shaky "Aha!"

He's back on the bed in a second, tearing it open with his teeth. He starts to roll it on, his movements a little clumsy.

"I can do it," you offer, sitting up and taking it from him. Your touch is sure and confident, and he watches, mesmerized, as you smooth the latex down his length.

"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes closed. "Okay. Okay, I'm ready. I think. No, I know I'm ready. But I'm still probably gonna... you know... be quick. It's not you, it's me. I swear. It's the... you. And the... sober thing. And the--"

"Please just shut up and fuck me, Travis."

Your words hit him like a physical jolt. He opens his eyes, and the raw, unadulterated hunger in them takes your breath away.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a low growl. "Yeah. I can do that."

He settles between your legs, the head of him nudging at your entrance. He pauses, looking down at you, a question in his eyes.

"I've never... I've never done this without... like, a bunch of noise, you know?" he confesses, his voice soft.

"I'm sure you're about to hear plenty of it." You say with a smirk.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than you hear. "Yeah. Probably."

He pushes into you, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You both gasp at the sensation, the perfect, aching stretch of it.

"Jesus," he chokes out, his head dropping to your shoulder again. "You feel... so good. So fucking good. And I'm not even all the way in yet."

He's taking his time, savoring it, committing every sensation to memory.

"Okay," he says, after what feels like an eternity. "Okay. I think... I think I can move now."

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, then a little faster as he finds a rhythm. It's not the practiced, athletic sex you've had before; it's something else, something more earnest, more vulnerable.

And God, it feels amazing. His hands are everywhere, his lips are on yours, and he's whispering a constant stream of praises and observations against your skin as you cry out with each roll of him inside you. 

"You're so tight," he's murmuring, his hips pistoning into you. "And so wet. And you're making these little noises. God, those noises. They're gonna... yeah... they're gonna do it."

"Travis... you're so fucking good at this." You whine, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The praise seems to unlock something in him. He growls, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto him with each thrust, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

"I'm think," he pants, his movements becoming more erratic. "Think I'm just really... motivated."

He's close, you can feel it in the tension coiling in his body, in the way his breath hitches. "I'm trying to hold on. I really am. I want to... I want to feel you come again. But... around my... fuck... around my cock. But you... you're just..."

You feel the tension in you snap, your second orgasm washing over you, even more intense than the first. You cry out his name, your body clenching around him as you pulse with pleasure.

"Shit, yeah," he growls, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep inside you as he cums with a loud whimper of your name. "Oh, fuck... fuck...fuck. "

He collapses on top of you and you're both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. 

After a long moment, he pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a dazed, happy expression.

"Wow," he says, that slow boyish grin spreading across his face again. "Just... wow."

He's still inside you, and you can feel him start to soften. He carefully pulls out, disposing of the condom in the small trash can by your bed before flopping down beside you.

"I didn't know it could be like that," he says, turning onto his side to face you, propping his head up on his hand. "I mean. It's never been... like that."

"What was it like before?" you ask, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos, a poorly-done snake that looks blown out on the edges. 

"Uh..." he thinks about how to phrase it, his eyebrows creasing together. "It's always been... transactional, I guess? Even when it wasn't... you know... a transaction. It was always about getting off. A means to an end. There was never any... this. The talking. And the... looking." He gestures to your face.

"I like looking at you," you say simply.

"Yeah, well," he flushes, looking away for a second. "Nobody's ever said that to me before. And meant it. People look at me, but it's not... it's not like that. It's usually a 'what's this guy up to' kind of look. Not a 'I wanna take him home and have my way with him' look."

You giggle a little and he does too, just happy he  can make you smile.

"It's weird, though, right?" he says, suddenly serious. "That we... that I'm your storage guy. And now I'm... naked in your bed." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize I'm just... a guy with a record and has some questionable ink and can't stop talking."

"Mmm, you're also a guy who's sweet and considerate and always willing to help. You listen to my ramblings about books and have a great plan for The Book Nook. You also made me see stars twice in one night." You say, moving closer to him.

You lean in and kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with affection.

"So you wanna... continue doing this? Like on the regular?" He asks, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you say no.

"Yes. And not just doing... this." You gesture to the bed. "All of it. If that's something you want."

The relief that washes over him is so profound it's almost painful.

"Are you kidding me? Lady, I... I'd be an idiot to say no to that. I'd be the biggest idiot in the history of idiots." He's practically vibrating with excitement. He kisses you again, still smiling through it. When he pulls back, he's just... looking at you. He's looking at your face and your hair and your body. He's memorizing you.

"You know," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "I've been thinking about what you'd look like in my bed too. Not just... in general, but... in my actual bed. The one at my place. It's got this ugly green comforter my cousin gave me. But the mattress is pretty new. And it's... quiet. You can hear the trains at night, if it's not raining. And I was just... thinking about what it would be like to have you there. To wake up with you."

You're quiet for a moment, just looking at him, at the vulnerable hope in his eyes.

"Well, I guess that's the plan for after our next date." You say, a little smirk playing on your lips.

His face lights up, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. 

[justreadingthings]

*sighs dreamily*

[snoopyharrington]

hi angel !!! can i request flowers + librarian reader x steve or travis 🩷🩷

writing this for our bleach blonde king just bc this is the only travis request i got </333

prompt #1. flowers

pairing: librarian!reader x travis "teacake" meacham

word count: 1.3k

spring + summer prompts are closed for now since i currently have a bunch to catch up on!!

To no one's surprise, the state doesn't do much for people who recently got out of prison.

Once your paperwork is processed (which, if Teacake's being honest, made him feel more like a cattle being prepared for slaughter than a human being getting released back into the real world), the jail gives you $20, the clothes you came in with, and then... that's it.

His freedom, of course, is conditional. He has to have a place to stay and a job, which is why he's working these shitty overnight shifts at a 24-hour storage facility. When he meets with his parole officer, he has to piss in a cup and pass a drug test, and, most importantly, can't get in any legal trouble whatsoever.

Teacake thinks he's doing a pretty good job of that so far.

Seriously.

In a previous, pre-prison life, he may have already let some dipshit talk him into accidentally committing another crime, but Teacake's been keeping busy. There's not a ton of stuff to do when you're broke and saving every penny you've got to move off of your cousin's couch, but his parole officer suggested taking a stroll through the local library and... well, to Teacake's surprise, the library is actually pretty cool.

Besides all the free stuff you can just get with a library card, he may or may not have taken a liking to a certain librarian. You, who work the afternoon shifts during the week, and always smiles brightly and greets him by name — his real name. You offer commentary on the books he takes out and even ask if he wants recommendations, and you recently started setting aside specific books for him to take out.

Teacake never thought he'd have a hard-on over someone because they're kind and soft and intelligent and have a beautiful smile and look like they give great hugs, but... these days, it's really all he can think about.

"Hey, Travis," you greet sweetly that Wednesday afternoon. He grins at you, feeling his stomach flip as he approaches the front desk you do most of your work behind. "How're you doing?"

"Good. I, uh, finished that one book you recommended for me. The Hobbit? It was really good, you were right. What'd you say you liked the best about it? The, um, the building?"

"The world-building?" you ask, mirroring the excited smile on his face. Teacake nods enthusiastically. "I'm so glad you liked it! I feel like you finished that one super fast. Here, lemme return it for you so I can give you something else."

Teacake nods and pulls it out of his backpack, then places it on the desk. Your fingers brush against his as you take it from his grasp, and Teacake tries not to be a total loser over something as small as touching.

"What kind of books do you like?" he asks, drumming his fingers against the table's worn mahogany. "You don't feel like a fantasy, sci-fi kinda person to me, but... I dunno, I could always be wrong. I feel like I don't always read people right, but that's very much a me problem, ya know?"

You giggle as you listen to him, typing away on the computer to locate where the next book is.

"I mean, I'm around books all day so I tend to know my way around most genres," you explain with a shrug. "But in my free time, I mainly like to read romances."

Teacake raises his eyebrows, then lowers his voice to a sharp whisper. "Like... like those sexy books with shirtless dudes on 'em?"

"No!" you exclaim, laughing loudly, and you're grateful this is a relatively dead hour for the library, "Like... I dunno, some of them have that kind of stuff in it, but they don't look like that!"

"Oh, shit, you do read sex books!" Teacake gasps teasingly. "Who woulda thought? The sweet, cute librarian reading porn in their free time?"

"Shut up!" you round the desk to gently bat at his chest, then nod in the direction of the science fiction section. "C'mon, let's go find your book."

"Is it a sexy one?"

"I'm gonna ban you from the library, Travis."

He snickers as he follows you into an empty aisle, watching you bend down to the O section. You quickly find the spine of the book, then pull it out with diligent fingers.

"1984," you announce. "It's another classic. A little darker, a little more thought-provoking, but still very good. I'll be curious to hear what you think about it when you're done."

You press the book into his grasp, swallowing as Teacake's tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"Why romances?" he asks. This time, his voice is soft, gentle — not looking to tease.

"You're really stuck on this, hm?"

"I'm just curious," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. There's things people have asked me that I don't want them to know."

You shake your head. "No, it's... I just like the idealism of it, I think. I like that everything gets wrapped up in this perfect bow at the end. I know what to expect. Sure, there's drama, but..."

Teacake's eyes soften. "But what?"

"But I never get disappointed."

You watch as his Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. Shaking your head, you place your hand on your hip and go to brush past him, back to the front desk.

"I'm sorry, that was too much—"

"No, it wasn't." Teacake says, but for once, he's stumped for words. His brain his screaming at him to say it — I'll never disappoint you, I promise, I'll do whatever I can to make you happy, I'd move mountains for you and visit you every day and bring you lunch and show you off to the world and buy you flowers — but he doesn't know why he can't get it out.

You wish he would say it, too.

The next afternoon, when you clock into work, Ella is straightening up the front desk as you're getting started.

"Oh! Before I forget, these came for you." she says, pulling something huge and wrapped in paper out from beneath the table. Your eyebrows furrow, glancing between her and the monstrosity in front of you.

"Um... are you sure?" you ask, confusion apparent in your expression.

Ella shrugs, "Some guy came by looking for you, I said you weren't in yet but he asked me to make sure they get to you. Said it's very important."

"Some random stranger came by looking for me?"

She sighs. "Well, no. I've seen him here before. Talking to you."

That only piques your curiosity even more, so you gently pull the paper wrapping off, only to reveal a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Your eyes widen when you see them — tulips, peonies, hydrangeas, azaleas, snapdragons, all in a smattering of pastel pinks, purples, yellows, and reds. You blink, then see the note stapled to the bottom. You don't think twice before grabbing it, desperately hoping it's the person you think it is.

i should've said this yesterday, but i pussied out. sorry, "pussied out" isn't a really romantic thing to say. anyway, i can't promise that i'll never ever disappoint you, but i can promise i'll always fucking try not to. for the past few months, seeing you has been the highlight of my days. sorry if that's really pathetic. if it is, then call me pathetic i guess.

anyway...again... if you aren't too weirded out by this, and maybe by the grace of god or whoever or whatever exists out there, you like me too, would you wanna go out with me? here's my number. text or call me when you get these. if you want.

travis

ps - if you don't like me and this is really weird for you, can we just pretend it never happened? please dont ban me from the library. i actually really like it here. thank you

You grab your phone and run outside at record speed.

[justreadingthings]

This is so sweet and cute!!! I love it 🫶🌸🌺🌼

[goodkidmadcity]

when the fic was so good, you just sit and wish it was you there rn….

[elegantpaperoperatormaker]

When you and Eddie get married, he can’t stop referring to you as his wife.

My wife this, my wife that. 

It gets to a point where his friends start to think you’ve got him on a tight leash now because he won’t stop hitting them with, “I’ll have to check with Mrs. Munson,” any time they try to make plans with him. 

Meanwhile, he just wants an excuse to call you his missus. He’s certain he has never liked a set of words pressed together as much he likes my and wife. Also, he’s not even asking you. 

“Can I ask you something?” Gareth’s voice crackles through the receiver.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, you called, so go ahead.” 

You’re confused why he’s not just asking for Eddie like usual, but then he speaks up.

“Why is it that Ed needs your permission for shit all of a sudden?”

You jerk back, his words almost sound accusatory and you’re certain they’re unfounded. 

“What—“

“You used to be so chill, but what, now that you’re married, he’s all yours? I mean, come on, making him check with you about D&D nights? You never used to do that!”

“Okay, first of all, I still don’t do that,” you bite back, frustrated at how pointless his anger is. “And second of all, I would pay you to get him out of this house. I can’t get shit done when he’s following me around all—“

Eddie saunters into the kitchen and you immediately snap your fingers to draw him over to you. His eyes brighten at the invitation, and he’s already reaching for your hips when you pull the phone away from your cheek.

“Edward, your side piece is bitching at me. Control him,” you grumble, and his smile drops as he reaches for the phone. 

You can hear Gareth complain on the other end, but you snatch the phone back before he can fully take it from you. 

“Also, are you blaming it on me that you don’t wanna hang out with your friends?”

He straightens but doesn’t drop his grip on you. “What? N-No!”

You raise an eyebrow, and he tries to drag you into him. You resist as much as you can, but his hands sink lower, just above your ass, and he closes any distance he can’t steal from you.

“No,” he repeats, firmer this time. “I just— I just wanna spend time with you.” 

It’s then that he deploys his greatest weapon: those damn puppy dog eyes. All round and wet and completely pitiful. 

Gareth’s voice sounds faint through the phone, but you hear the disgust loud and clear. “Jesus Christ.”

“So just say you don’t wanna hang out. Don’t say I’m not letting you. Because now I’m hearing a lot of won-won-won from your scorned lover,” you shake the phone. 

“Hey!”

“No, baby, I’m not saying you won’t let me. I’m just— Okay, I think I get the confusion here. Two things.” He holds up a finger. “One: I wanna hang out with you because you’re my wife and I love you very much—“

“Flattery,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. But he kisses you quickly, shocking the annoyance off your face.

“Flattery,” he agrees, “and yet…true.” 

Instead of holding up the second finger, he just returns his grip to your waist, digging two fingers into you, kneading your curves. “Two: I just really like calling you Mrs. Munson, Mrs. Munson.” 

Another kiss, this time chaste in the corner of your mouth. And damn him, he always knows how to leave you seeking more.

“When I say I’ve gotta check with you, it’s just an excuse to call my fair lady her proper title.” 

“Ugh, gag me—“

His eyes carry that certain sparkle and you feel yourself being hoisted onto a pedestal with every word. It’s so hard to stay annoyed when he does that. And he knows that, the asshole.

He watches your face as you fail to stop the grin just itching to break out. He matches you immediately, kissing you once more.

“Just wanna be with you all the time, baby,” he mutters, pulling you even tighter to him. 

You squirm because you’ve got a reputation to uphold, but you know he loves the challenge, always squeezing you closer.

“Ugh, you’re like a tumor.”

“A sexy tumor,” he grins, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Oh, look! A pencil! Wonder if it’ll permanently damage my hearing if I just—“

“The Third is getting huffy. Better put out the fire,” you smirk, wiggling free as you shove the phone into Eddie’s hands. 

Masterlist

Submission Guidelines

[justreadingthings]

This is disgustingly cute!!!!!!!!

[keer-y]

be quiet (no, don’t)

pairing: teacake meacham/f!reader wc: 4100 tags: travis will never shut up, very bad dirty talk (but he’s cute so it evens out), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, [unsafe] vaginal sex, face sitting, come eating a/n: this is combining two very… well i can’t really say similar asks but they both mentioned teacake talking a lot during sex (different fonts though) so i combined them into one fic that has it all. by which i mean trying to get teacake to shut up with your pussy and it definitely not working. enjoy! (travis sure did.) for @djob00bies and 🪽anon. &&

It’s not that you zone out when Teacake is talking. He’s called you on it before, but that is not what it is. You swear.

When he gets going, really on a tangent, it’s like he’s a fucking hypnotist and his tongue is the pendulum.

You really try to take in what he’s saying, but he’s just so cute and charming that it’s not your fault that you just let yourself get wrapped up in the excitement he has for whatever he’s yapping about and just…forget to actively listen. Nevermind that you’d fail a pop quiz about it as soon as he stops talking一his little country drawl and the way he emphasizes his words with his hands, everything about the one-sided conversations you tend to have is your favorite part of your day.

So when he stopped abruptly and tilted his head to the side, you were shocked out of your reverie and focused on him again. He was smirking, looking down at your crotch.

“You good?” Teacake asked, and you blinked.

“Yeah? Why?”

“You’re, uh…” he tipped his head to the side, shrugging that shoulder. “Well you seem a little worked up.”

“What?” you asked, but now that you were tuned back into your body you know what he meant, what he must have seen. You were squeezing your thighs together. “I’m fine.”

“You were literally licking your lips staring at mine,” Teacake said, and he stood up from where he was seated perpendicular to you at your kitchen table. “Come on, pretty girl.”

“What?” you repeated, and he just reached for your hand, resting around a coffee mug that you forgot was there because you were too busy staring at Teacake’s mouth and letting your mind wander to what else it could do besides talk your ear off (affectionate).

“Ya want it that bad, I’m not gonna keep it from you. Let’s go.” He tugged at your fingers, and you rose from the chair, let him lead you down the hall. This was not usually how his daily summary of his shift at Atchison Storage went, but you weren’t going to complain. 

“You can finish your story first,” you said, and he just chuckled.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” he said, pulling you around the door jamb into your bedroom. “Don’t worry, I won’t spare a single detail.”

You laughed a little, to yourself mostly. “Good.” You loved hearing Travis talk almost as much as you loved Travis himself.

Instead of continuing his story, though, he stopped pulling you when you were beside the bed, keeping his hand closed around yours, then reaching up to brush the backs of his fingers over your cheek. “God, you’re pretty,” he said again, and you smiled a little. It was his go-to compliment, and it never got old. He called you other adjectives: Gorgeous, beautiful, perfect一but “God, you’re pretty” was the first thing he ever said to you, by accident when you were strangers, and you sort of loved that a guy who talks so much on purpose and so deliberately, said the first words he ever said to you unintentionally.

Cupping your face in both hands, he leaned down to kiss you and you let him in immediately, no hesitation, no pretense一just a smile on your lips as his hands dropped to your shoulders and then your arms, turning you slowly to the bed and sitting you down.

“So, like I was saying,” he said, and you couldn’t help but to smile as he pushed you back a little一you moved with him easily, letting him spread your legs as he kneeled in between them, reaching up to undo the button of your jeans, lifting your hips as he tugged them down. “Griffin brought in donuts for us this morning which, I believe, is because he wants me to do some more illegal shit for him.”

As he spoke, he worked the denim off your legs, removing your socks along with them, then rising to stand on his knees between your thighs. He placed one hand on your arm, the other reaching around to your lower back. He helped you out of your shirt.

“Can I take this off too?” he asked, once your shirt collar was clear of your head, reaching to let his index finger slip beneath the band of your bra, tickling you.

“Yeah,” you affirmed, and he slipped the hooks with just one hand. “Impressive.”

“I’m pretty good with my hands,” he said.

“Better with your tongue,” you snickered.

“Possibly true,” he said, sliding your bra down your arms and then leaning in to kiss your breasts.

“I had two donuts though,” he said, between kisses, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as he spoke, so his words were a bit too muffled for you to really comprehend. “Vey w’r pr-y一mm一good.”

“Travis,” you said, laughing, smoothing his hair back over his forehead to look down at him.

“Mmn’ sayin’,” he said, pulling off of you.

“It’s really a miracle that I can understand you when you do that.”

“Talented tongue,” he said, sticking that very thing out at you.

“Prove it,” you said, and he just grinned up at you, his tongue peeking out just a little between his teeth.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Or yours, I guess.”

Teacake licked his lower lip and lowered himself back down between your thighs, hands splayed out on your legs as he pushed you open a bit further to accommodate him. He leaned in, letting his lips trace over your pussy, not really doing much with his mouth yet, but he did bring one of his hands over to rub two fingers against your slit, parting your folds and sighing softly when he felt how wet you were for him already.

“Wow,” he breathed, looking up at you from where you had settled back, resting on your elbows, looking down your body at him. “You’re so…” he trailed off, not lost for words (he never was) but choosing to stop himself, as he licked a long, thick stripe up your center. Your hips lifted off the bed, following him, as he held you open for him, revealing your tight little hole, and he licked at it again, just barely tracing his tongue over it before he pulled back, sighing.

“Travis,” you whined, but you didn’t mean it. He’d said he was going to finish his story, and you knew he intended to.

“Not sure what it’ll be this time,” Teacake said, curling one finger inside of you slowly, letting you take him in, even and easy. “Some stupid shit, I’m sure, it always is with Griffin.”

You tipped your head back, letting the timbre of his voice wash over you as he fed his finger inside your body, pulling it back out before pushing back in. His cheek was on your thigh, his eyes right on your cunt, as he teased entrance with a second finger.

“More?” he asked, and you managed to whimper out an “Uh huh” before he was pressing his second fingertip against you, stretching you on two fingers.

“I should’ve brought a donut home for you,” he said, and you groaned, squeezing down on his fingers as he spoke, as he scissored them inside of you to feel your walls quiver against him. He grinned up at you, though you weren’t looking. “You like that, huh, pretty girl?”

You snapped back to attention, because the pet name got through to you when nothing else he was saying really did, and you lifted your head, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.

“Good,” he replied, leaning in to take your clit between his lips, and your hips bucked up into his mouth as he hummed around it. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Travis,” you whined as he pulled away.

“So sweet,” he said, and you felt him about to branch off on another verbal journey. “Sweeter’n sugar.” He took another pull off your clit, lowering his mouth to suck at your slit around his fingers, slurping at your arousal like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. “Better than anything,” he murmured. “Better than those donuts.” 

You laughed despite yourself, because god, he couldn’t stop himself and that was what had made you fall for him in the first place. No filter, but also nothing bad to ever say一he was just pure sweetness and light.

“Shoulda brought one home for you,” he said again, then resumed his work, fucking you with his fingers and making sure to press up against your front wall each time he entered you with them fully. You were practically gushing around him, and each time your body shook, wracked with pleasure, he leaned down to lick at your cunt, taking his fingers so goddamn well.

“Travis, I’m一”

“Oh yeah,” he said, pulling his fingers out of you. “I didn’t finish telling you about Griffin yet.”

“We’re not talking about Griffin right now,” you hissed, but there was no venom in it, no malice whatsoever, because you were well practiced in tuning out anything that didn’t contribute to your orgasm when he had his hands on you. 

“I was talking about the donuts.”

“We’re not talking about donuts either,” you said, snippy, but he only laughed.

“Just sayin’, you taste better.” He leaned in to suck at your clit, but pulled off of you just enough to speak. “Maybe I could make you the cream-filled kind and see how ya like that.”

“Travis!” you said, reaching down to push him away from you, because you were horrified but also laughing, and when you pushed his forehead back with the heel of your hand, you saw he was grinning just as wide as you were.

“Would ya hate it, really?” he asked, and you bit your lip.

“No,” you admitted.

Teacake shrugged one shoulder, tilted his head to the side like that was all there was to it. “Slide back, pretty girl,” he said, and you pushed yourself backward on the bed as he rose up to stand over you, tugging off the thermal henley shirt he was wearing and leaning over you, hands skimming up your thighs as he did. He made his way up to your hips, then your waist, finally cupping your breasts as he leaned fully over you, enveloping your bare body with his own, as he nosed his way in to kiss you, lips meeting yours in a chaste kiss that turned heated all too quickly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down against you even though he was still half clothed.

He melted against your lips, eyes fluttering closed as he drank you in, quiet for a long moment, too long in your opinion, before he was mumbling softly against your mouth and you pulled back to hear him.

“Your lips are so soft, it’s just一they’re perfect,” he said, half to himself, really. “Like little pillows.”

“Oh my god,” you said, laughing, and he looked not nearly sheepish enough as he pulled back from you, grinning.

“It’s true!”

“You’re so weird,” you said.

“Maybe,” he replied, giving you one last peck on the lips before he pushed himself back upright, reaching down to his waist and undoing his own button and fly, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, baring himself now while you watched.

A smile was all that graced your lips, and he took himself in hand even as he watched. You heard him start talking again, thankful that it wasn’t about Griffin or donuts this time.

“See how you get me all worked up?” he asked, and you nodded, reaching down between your legs to touch yourself a little too, because while he’d fingered you, he hadn’t paid all that much attention to your clit, and honestly? It felt a little neglected. “You get me so horned up, I swear, everything about you just一god, you know?”

“Tell me,” you said, mostly because you just wanted to hear the low rumble of his voice, the way he mumbled his words, the cute way he spoke to you about anything and everything that crossed his mind.

“You’re just so pretty,” Teacake said. “Your eyes and your smile, your nose? It’s perfect. And the way your cheeks get all round when you laugh at me.” You giggled and he pointed at you with his free hand, even as he was still stroking his cock with the other. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

He stepped closer to the bed, leaving his bottoms in a pile on the floor, and crawled onto the bed, kneeling between your legs.

“And…” he started, his cock bobbing a little as he moved closer to you; you could see it hanging below him, under the small tummy he had. “These too,” he said, lowering himself down to let his lips trail over your tits, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn, sucking softly at them just to coax whimpers from you, to perk them up so he could trace his lips over them to tease you a bit more. “So nice,” he muttered, letting his tongue move over one pert nipple, pressing flat and hard against it, dragging it along with his mouth as he moved to the other side, but instead of licking over that one, he sucked it, teasing the tip with his tongue while it was in his mouth. “Reminds me of this one lady at work today,”

“Excuse me?” you said, actually a little stern, because it was one thing to talk about his boss or the donuts he brought; it was another to talk about a woman at work.

“No, just一she had all these dolls to store away.”

You blinked. “I’m not following.”

“Like… baby dolls,” Teacake said, gesturing at your chest like that made any kind of sense.

“I don’t…think I want to know.”

“Y’know, the kind you can pretend t’feed ‘nd they say ‘mama’ and shit,” he said, and as he did, he lowered his gaze to your body, looking down as he hoisted your legs up over his hips, before angling his cock against your slit.

“I’m still一” you began, but before you could say you were still fucking confused by whatever he was going on about, he’d pushed the head of his cock up against your slit and was now just barely breaching you, entering your wet little snatch in one fluid movement. “Oh god, Travis.”

“Anyway, one’a the dolls kept staring at me no matter where I was in the unit,” he said, sheathing himself fully inside you. He ground his hips against you a little.

“What?” you asked, absently, because now that he was in you all you could think of was him, nothing else, no stupid haunted dolls at the storage facility or whatever the fuck else.

“It kept lookin’ at me,” he said, reaching down to take hold of your hands, and instead of leaving you laying on the bed, he pulled you up to sit on his lap, holding you upright against him, his strong arms wrapping around you as he moved you bodily off of his cock, only to let you slide right back down.

“Travis一” you gasped, and he just chuckled.

“Figure it’s easier to have a conversation face to face,” he said, and you just whined, curling your arms around his neck and holding yourself tight against him, even as you rolled your hips above his, taking him in over and over, pulling off and letting gravity sink you back down.

He took your lips with his, kissing you again. He broke off the kiss but you didn’t stop kissing him, even as he talked to you.

“You feel so fucking good, babe,” he said, and you hummed quietly, nodding, as you bounced on his cock, his arms ringed around you, his muscles tensing up each time you squeezed down on his length. You were so fucking wet it felt like you were suctioned to his cock, not wanting to let him slip out of you, wanting to just feel full of him, wanting him to claim you as his own again and again, and each time you slipped back onto him, it felt like he was. “So wet, god, you’re fucking一soaking me,” he said, his tone amused because you were fucking him silly. “Gonna ruin the sheets.”

“Don’t care,” you managed, and he just kissed the corner of your mouth. 

“You feel good too?” he asked, and you nodded, the tip of your nose brushing his before you kissed him again, and even when you did, he was still going. “You’re so good to me, pretty girl,” he said, kissing your lips between every couple words. “So good一to一me一” He punctuated each word with a kiss, and then you were biting at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth as you rolled your hips above his, riding his cock.

“Travis,” you whispered, and even with just that one word he was off again.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he said, squeezing you tighter around the middle, holding you closer to him as he bucked his hips into you as best he could while kneeling, while holding you. You clung to him desperately. “Gonna do it, you like that?” You nodded. “Yeah, ‘course you do, I like it too, fuck, you’re just so一tight and一and wet, and一fuck一”

“Touch me?” you asked, and you weren’t sure if he even heard you because he was still going on, his lips brushing yours as he praised you. Your cunt was fluttering around him, your clit throbbing for attention, and his fingers smeared your arousal over your folds before he found the swollen bead of your clit and let his fingertips move over it, circling it slowly as you worked your hips onto him, grinding down against him, and it was like as soon as he got a hand on you properly, you were already gone.

“Oh, ok,” Teacake said. “Ok, that’s一yeah, you like that,” he said, and he wasn’t asking. “You got一really tight on me when I一” he trailed off, because you’d just clenched down on him again, your walls slipping around his cock inside of you and he took a sharp inhale. “Fuck, pretty girl, I can’t一won’t last if you一fuck一”

You weren’t able to keep yourself composed anymore一far from it. Your body had tightened, coiled like a spring, then snapped, your cunt pulsing around his thick length taking him in as deep as you could, your lips glancing over his as you tried to kiss him but missed, which was fine, because he was talking you through it.

“That’s it, pretty girl, feel so nice on me like that, right?” he said, his voice washing over you; you could feel it in his chest where you were pressed against him, and as he lifted his hips into you a few times, snapping them up into your tight heat, you felt him come too, deep inside you, just as you were coming down. 

He just kept going, his body and his mouth. 

“Fuckin’一hell, god, I’m fillin’ you up so一so good, so fuckin’ wet, both of us, just一just, so一god, you feel good,” Teacake was babbling through his own orgasm, the warmth of his release coating you on the inside, and you took a long, heavy breath while Travis let his hands move to your hips.

“Never get tired of feelin’ you, pretty girl,” he said, and you locked eyes with him, reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand.

“I never get tired of hearing you,” you said, and he looked momentarily like maybe he didn’t believe you, but smiled in the end as you kissed him softly. “But…I can think of something else you’re so good at.”

“What’s that?” he asked, squirming a little beneath you as his load oozed out of your slit, leaking down over him.

“Lie down,” you said, gripping his shoulders before pushing yourself up and off of him, some of his come rolling in thick rivulets down your thigh before you squeezed your legs together.

He licked his lip, smirking at you as he did, resting his head on his pillow.

“Really quick,” he said, “since, you know, eating is sort of the topic of the moment…” You watched him even as you moved closer to him on your knees, reaching down between your legs to try and keep his come from completely rolling back out of you, which felt filthy as hell but somehow still necessary.

“Yeah?” you prompted.

“One of the regulars told me about this new brunch spot we should check out,” he said, and you laughed, then lifted one of your legs over him to straddle his face, your cunt dripping with your fluids and his spunk just inches from his mouth.

“Maybe,” you said, a smirk playing at your lips; it was mirrored on Teacake’s mouth.

“I think it would be nnmf一” he said, but you’d lowered your pussy to his mouth before he could get the statement out, and without missing a beat, he had licked into you, his eyes slipping closed as he put his tongue to the test, really letting it delve into you, eating his own come out of you as you curled up over him, the fingers of one hand fisting into his hair as the heel of your other hand dragged down your front, playful fingers slipping through your wet folds yet again to tease your clit, the hard little nub begging for you to touch it, and so you did.

Teacake was still mumbling something, muffled against your cunt, and it just made you smile a little to yourself, even as you held onto him, even as you rubbed your own clit, your pussy twitching around his tongue.

“Mmn, mhn,” Teacake was trying to say, and you just pressed yourself down a little further onto him. “Mhm!” he hummed, actually giving you a thumbs up, and you just laughed because he was yours, and he was everything you could want.

His arms came up to curl around your thighs, holding you down against his face as he ate your pussy, the sloppy, wet sounds of his lips on your cunt only spurred you on, your second orgasm dangerously close as you let your fingers move purposefully over your clit.

“M-by,” Teacake said. “Lemme一mngh,” he said, pulling away before diving right back in before he’d even said what he’d wanted to.

“Tr-Travis,” you moaned, and then before you could really even warn him you were grinding yourself down on his face, your second climax hitting you as your legs trembled even in his hold, your full weight resting on him for a second. It only made him lick you more firmly, suck at your folds even harder, smack his lips as he pulled away just barely, taking you back in and nudging your fingers out of the way with his nose so he could suck at you there too. You curled your wet, sticky fingers into his hair and held him up against you even as he was still trying to speak, or at the very least was just moaning against you.

Spent, you fell back, your wet thighs on his chest, your cunt still spasming a little with aftershocks as you sat on his torso. He was mid-sentence as you fell away from his mouth.

“一won’t be as good as you,” he was saying.

“What?” you sighed, half amused, half exasperated, like he expected you to know what the first half of that statement had been.

“I was saying, however good that brunch place is, nothing would taste as good as you,” he said.

You looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line as you tried not to laugh.

“What?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You didn’t reply一he would figure it out and tell you so in a minute一so instead, you just slid yourself down his body to kiss him, tasting the two of you mixed together on his lips, and as you pulled away, you only smiled as he opened his mouth and inhaled, readying himself to keep talking to you, his pretty girl.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @sheisjoeschateau @morninglesss @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg

[justreadingthings]

WELL FUCK

[beasbrain]

Over Flow

description: a soft and sweet eddie fic about crying too easily, feeling things too deeply, and finally being loved gently because of it instead of despite it.

pairing: eddie x gf!reader (fem!reader)

tags: eddie x you, no y/n, fluff, hurt/comfort, "sensitive" reader, emotional reassurance king, soft relationship dynamics, overapologizing, subtle angst, happy ending

TW: angst, anxious/insecure themes, mention of evil ex

WC: 2.2k

A/N: requested by @beansboop i hope you enjoy! just some gentle hurt/comfort to get this week started:) reblogs are always apprecited <33 also, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all of the love on Wishbone! part 2 shall be out soon;)) love ya!!

The first time your ex called you exhausting, he did it in front of his friends, as if it were a joke.

You had been sitting in the Hawkins High parking lot after one of his basketball games, knees tucked to your chest in the passenger seat while he smoked a cigarette out the window.

You don’t even remember what upset you anymore. Something small, probably. Maybe he forgot your plans. Maybe he snapped at you after a bad game. Maybe one of his friends made a comment that stung more than it should have.

Whatever it was, your eyes had gotten glossy, your voice quiet in that humiliating way it always did when you were trying not to cry. And he laughed. Like, actually laughed.

“God damn,” he muttered, leaning back against the driver’s seat. “You are so sensitive.”

His friends snickered from outside the car, where they stood passing around beers.

You remember shrinking instantly. “I’m not trying to start anything,” you said quickly, immediately trying to fix it. “Forget it.”

“No, because every little thing turns into this whole emotional production with you.” He shook his head with this incredulous smile, as if you were impossible to understand. “It’s exhausting.”

That word lodged itself somewhere awful inside your chest. “Exhausting.” “Too emotional.” “Too sensitive.” “Too much.” “Grow up.”

After that, you started noticing how often people acted inconvenienced by your feelings. Your friends sighing when you got quiet after being teased too hard.

Being called dramatic when something genuinely hurt your feelings. Getting told to “lighten up” when jokes crossed lines nobody else seemed to notice.

Eventually, you adapted. You learned how to swallow hurt before anybody could see it. You learned how to laugh when people embarrassed you. You learned how to cry silently.

And worst of all, you learned how to apologize for having feelings before anyone even asked you to. By the time you broke up with your ex and started dating Eddie, you had perfected pretending things didn’t bother you, which was difficult because Eddie noticed everything.

It starts small.

You’re sitting with him and the Hellfire boys in the cafeteria one afternoon, tucked quietly against Eddie’s side while he argues dramatically with Dustin over some campaign detail. You mostly just listen, occasionally smiling when Eddie gets especially animated.

Then Gareth says something. Nothing cruel, technically, just teasing. “You always this quiet,” he asks you with a grin, “or is Munson holding you hostage?”

The table laughs. You smile automatically because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but Eddie feels it.

The tiny way your body pulls inward. The way your fingers stop moving against your lunch tray. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. And then, almost like instinct, you make yourself smaller.

“He's not,” you say softly before anyone can even react. “I’m just tired.” You say it like an apology.

Eddie’s eyes flick to you immediately. He doesn’t say anything then. Doesn’t embarrass you by making it a bigger deal.

He just throws an arm over the back of your chair and smoothly changes the subject, loud enough to redirect everyone’s attention somewhere else.

But later, when he’s driving you home with one hand lazily resting on your thigh, he asks quietly:

“People give you shit for being quiet a lot?”

You stare out the window. “Not really.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

That almost makes you smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.

Eddie glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Didn’t say it was.”

A few weeks into dating Eddie, everyone starts noticing the same thing: He’s obsessed with you.

Not in a casual high school boyfriend way, either. No, Eddie hovers.

Always touching you somehow. Hand on your knee under the table. Fingers hooked through your belt loops.

Pulling you into his lap at movie nights like it’s instinct instead of thought. Looking at you constantly, no matter the circumstance. And honestly, it confuses people a little. Because you’re quiet.

Sweet, yeah. Pretty in that soft sort of way that sneaks up on people. But shy enough that most people at Hawkins High never really knew what to do with you. You spent more time listening than talking, smiling politely while louder personalities swallowed entire rooms whole.

One Friday night, you’re all crammed into Steve's living room for movie night. Robin’s upside down in the armchair, Dustin and Mike are fighting over snacks on the floor, and Nancy’s trying to get everyone to shut up long enough to actually start the movie while Steve complains dramatically about people getting grease on his couch.

You’re tucked into Eddie’s side on the floor, knees pulled close to your chest while his arm hangs lazily around your shoulders; it’s nice.

Until Robin snorts at something you say. It isn’t even intentionally mean, either.

“You apologize a lot, you know that?” she says casually, reaching for popcorn. “Like… a weird amount.”

Heat crawls up your neck instantly. “Oh,” you laugh softly. “Sorry.”

Robin bursts out laughing. “See? You literally just did it again.”

Steve groans. “Jesus, now I'm noticing it too.”

“It’s like a reflex,” Robin says, still giggling. “Like one of those little dogs that shakes all the time.”

Everyone laughs lightly. Not cruelly or maliciously, but your stomach drops anyway. Because suddenly every apology you’ve said all night feels humiliating. Every sentence is replaying in your head too loudly.

Your ex’s voice echoes automatically. Exhausting.

You shrink without realizing it, curling a little tighter into yourself. And immediately, Eddie notices. His laughter dies first, eyes flicking down toward you, brows pulling together slightly.

You feel him squeeze your shoulder gently. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Every instinct you have screams at you to fix it before you make things awkward, so you smile.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m okay.” Eddie watches you for another second, like he can see the exact moment you tucked the hurt away.

The room moves on quickly after that. Robin starts arguing with Steve about the movie choice, Dustin throws popcorn at Mike, and the conversation shifts naturally.

But Eddie stays quieter, his thumb rubbing absent little circles against your shoulder for the rest of the movie. And later, when everyone’s distracted in the kitchen, digging through Steve’s fridge for drinks, Eddie catches your wrist gently before you can follow after them.

“Hey.”

You glance up. “Hm?”

“You sure you’re alright?”

Your stomach twists instantly because he’s asking genuinely. “I’m fine,” you insist softly.

Eddie tilts his head slightly. “Robin hurt your feelings.” It isn’t a question.

You immediately shake your head too fast. “No, she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You blink at him. And there’s no accusation on his face, just this quiet patience that makes something uncomfortable tighten in your chest. Because most people don’t notice when your feelings are hurt. Or they do notice, and act like it’s ridiculous.

But Eddie notices and treats it like it matters. Even now, he keeps his voice gentle. “Did it upset you?”

You stare down at your hands. “No, it’s fine, really. Promise.”

He steps closer then, hands settling carefully on your hips. “You know what I think?” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I think you spend a lotta time trying to convince people you don’t have feelings.”

Your throat tightens. Because he says it like he already knows the answer, like he’s been watching you fold yourself smaller and smaller since the day he met you. 

The fight starts over nothing, which somehow makes it worse. Eddie had canceled plans. Not even completely, just pushed them back a couple of hours. 

He was supposed to come over after Hellfire, but the campaign ran long, and then Gareth’s car broke down, and suddenly it’s nearly ten o’clock and Eddie’s climbing through your bedroom window apologizing breathlessly while you sit curled up on your bed pretending you hadn’t been waiting by the window for over an hour.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says immediately. “Everything got fucked up.”

And logically, you understand that, you do. But disappointment had already settled heavily in your chest hours ago, and once feelings land there, they stay.

You shrug lightly instead. “It’s okay.”

Eddie pauses halfway through taking off his jacket. That tone.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

He studies you carefully for a second. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not.”

Lie. A painfully obvious one, at that. 

Eddie sighs softly, moving closer. “Baby.”

“It’s seriously fine.”

Except now your voice has that awful tightness in it, the one you get when you’re trying too hard to sound normal.

Eddie notices immediately. “Hey,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”

You stare hard at your comforter instead. Because you want to. You want to tell him your feelings were hurt.

That you missed him. That you spent the last hour convincing yourself not to cry over something stupid. But experience has taught you what happens when you do that.

People get irritated. People think you’re dramatic. People get tired.

So instead, you swallow it, again. “It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.

Eddie’s brows knit together. “Clearly it does.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, seriously, it’s fine.”

His expression shifts slightly at that. “What?”

“It’s fine,” you repeat quietly. “I shouldn’t care so much, anyway.”

Something flashes across his face then. Not anger exactly, something more towards frustration. But not at you, at whatever invisible thing keeps making you do this.

“Can you stop doing that?” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Doing what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely between you. “Agreeing with me immediately so we don’t actually talk about anything.”

Your stomach twists instantly. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Eddie runs a hand through his curls roughly now, pacing once beside your bed. “Every time something bothers you, you act like you’re not allowed to feel it.”

You shrink a little automatically. “I just don’t wanna start problems.”

“That’s not starting problems!” His voice rises without meaning to, causing you to flinch instantly.

His face falls a little, but now you’re already spiraling internally, heartbeat climbing too fast.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, nodding before he can continue. “It’s really nothing! I’m just being dramatic and—”

“Jesus Christ.” The words snap out sharper than he intends, and you go silent immediately.

Your eyes gloss over instantly, but you’re still trying so hard to keep yourself together that it almost hurts him to watch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Eddie stares at you in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shrug helplessly, arms wrapping around your stomach now.

“I just do! I get it, I do it too much.”

The sentence comes out so small and so, so practiced. Like something you’ve been told too many times.

Eddie feels sick. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s okay,” you rush out before he can continue. “Seriously, I know I get upset over dumb stuff, and I’ve been trying really hard not to—”

“Hey.” His voice softens immediately. “No. Stop.”

But now that you’ve started, it all comes pouring out. “My ex used to say I made everything into a huge emotional thing,” you admit shakily, eyes fixed on the floor. “And my friends always acted annoyed when I got upset, so I’ve really been trying not to be like that anymore—”

Your voice cracks. “I know it’s probably exhausting.”

“Baby,” he says quietly, horrified. “Who the fuck convinced you that having feelings makes you exhausting?”

You wipe angrily at your face before tears can fall, embarrassed now.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

And you do. Every eye roll. Every sigh. Every laugh. Every “it’s not that serious.”

Eddie kneels in front of you then, hands settling carefully on your knees. “You listen to me right now,” he says softly but firmly. “Feeling things deeply does not make you too much.”

Your lip wobbles immediately.

“It doesn’t make you dramatic. It doesn’t make you childish. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you hard to love.”

The first tear slips down your cheek, and Eddie wipes it away instantly with his thumb.

“I got frustrated because I want you to tell me when something hurts,” he admits quietly. “Not because I think your feelings are annoying.”

And there’s no irritation on his face anymore. Just concern, guilt, and this overwhelming softness like he’s terrified you think he sees you the way other people did.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he murmurs. “I never want you thinking you gotta earn the right to feel things around me.”

That completely undoes you. A sob catches in your throat before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately moves, pulling you into him so fast you barely process it.

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping both arms tightly around you.

You hide your face in his shoulder while you cry, mortified, but Eddie just holds you closer. “No more pretending you’re okay when you’re not,” he says quietly into your hair. “Not with me.”

Your fingers curl weakly into the back of his shirt. “I’m trying,” you whisper tearfully.

“I know.” He presses a kiss against your temple. “And you’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

dividers by @strangergraphics

hope you all enjoyed a little sweetness:) until the next one xoxo<3

taglist is open :D

taglist: @angel4ever9

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25@abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond

[justreadingthings]

Girl this resonates SO strongly with me! And the way you write Eddie is just so perfect. I love this 🥺

[beasbrain]

Idle Hands

description: everyone in hawkins thinks you and eddie munson are already married. honestly? you can’t even blame them. between the shared garage, the constant flirting, and the way he cannot help but stare, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing going on between you.

pairing: mechanic!eddie x mechanic!reader (fem!reader)

tags: mechanic!eddie, eddie x you, no y/n, coworkers to lovers, unresolved sexual tension (until...), small town romance, flirtationship, mechanic core aftercare, old married couple energy, fucking on a '67 impala, workplace romance, tension tension tension, whimpering eddie, teasing each other mercilessly

TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, needy eddie

WC: 4.1k

A/N: requested by my beloved @bitterestwillow I HOPE YOU ENJOY QUEEN AHHHHHHH. reblogs are a writer's best friend <3 yes, i had to use this gif for this fic...it does something to me idk......

The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.

“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”

The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”

Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”

Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana. 

Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.

“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”

Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”

“They’re towels.”

“They are expensive towels.”

Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.

“Anything for my favorite customers.”

Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”

You nearly choked on your own spit.

Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.

“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”

“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.

The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”

You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.

Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”

“What look?” you asked suspiciously.

“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”

Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”

The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.

“Husband, huh?” he mused.

“Don’t start.”

“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”

You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”

Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”

“You work here.”

“Semantics.”

“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.

You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.

“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”

You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.

“Say it once.”

“No.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”

You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.

By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.

Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.

Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.

You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.

Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.

Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.

“You are down catastrophically bad.”

That got Eddie to blink. “What?”

Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.

“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”

Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I’m working.”

“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”

Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.

“Shut up.”

Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.

Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.

The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.

The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.

Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”

Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.

It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.

Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”

Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”

Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”

“Why not?”

Eddie began to argue, but froze up.  Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.

Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.

It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.

“You’re both idiots.”

“Says you.”

“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”

Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”

Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”

“That is such a lie!”

“It is the truth.”

Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.

“Munson!” Both men looked over.

You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”

Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.

The next morning was somehow even hotter.

By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.

And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”

You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.

And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.

“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”

“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.

Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.

At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.

“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.

Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”

Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.

Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?

About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.

That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.

Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.

“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.

“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.

“Looks like jealousy.”

“Not jealous.”

“Mhm.”

The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.

“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”

Eddie stood immediately.

Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”

Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.

“No fucking way.”

The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.

A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.

Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”

The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.

You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”

And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.

“You alright there, big guy?”

Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.

You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.

“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.

You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.

Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.

By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.

The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.

Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.

The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.

And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.

You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.

Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.

“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.

Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”

That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.

Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”

You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.

Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.

Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”

You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“Thought girls liked that.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “You wish.”

“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”

“That happened one time.”

“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”

A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”

“It was hot.”

Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”

But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.

“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”

You snorted. “Into you? Please.”

“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”

“That’s because old people are nosy.”

“That’s because you look at me like that.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”

Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.

“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.

His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”

Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”

“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”

“That is not—”

“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”

“That was one time.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”

Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.

Interesting.

“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.

Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”

You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.

“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”

His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.

“Or what?”

Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.

You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.

His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.

Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.

He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.

“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.

“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.

Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”

“Now.”

He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation. 

Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.

“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.

He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.

He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit. 

Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors. 

Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.

For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.

“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.

“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.

“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”

You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.

“Eddie—shit—”

“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”

You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.

“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”

You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you. 

He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”

You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.

You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.

“You alive over there?” he called.

“Mhm.”

“Liar. You sound deceased.”

You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.

Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”

“You keep towels at the shop?”

“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”

He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.

Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.

“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.

You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.

“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.

“I’m multi-talented.”

“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”

“That is slander.”

You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.

You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.

“So.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”

“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”

anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA

@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975  @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond 

[justreadingthings]

This is so fucking sweaty and yummy and fan-fucking-tastic! Also, Eddie is delicious and I wanna bite him.

[m0llygunn]

Eddie's Notes (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: Eddie's a friend you trust... you trust him enough to have your first time with him... and your second.

tropes: virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, friends to lovers, bad at sex eddie but eager to learn (eventually) warnings: 18+! mature language, pet names (baby, pretty/sweet girl), smut, p in v sex, mentions of reader's period, oral (f receiving), virginity loss a/n: a lot of people write eddie as being good in bed (myself included) but I thought it'd be fun to dive into a realm of him being not good (but he is a cutey little dedicated sweetheart once he gets his act together). reblogs and comments are appreciated profusely <3 wc: 10.4k+

“Do you want to do something else?” You ask over the top of Eddie's copy of The Hobbit. 

“Not really anything else to do.” Eddie replies, from the other end of his bed, only sparing you a short glance before going back to his guitar. 

You’ve been thinking about it for a while and you trust Eddie, you really do. 

Saving yourself for marriage is not in the question. Saving yourself for the love of your life doesn’t seem probable. So someone you trust is the best case scenario. And you really trust Eddie. 

The best part is you’re pretty sure it’ll be an even playing field with Eddie. In his crude nature, with sex jokes and innuendos, it was hard to decide whether or not he has but you’re almost certain he hasn’t. 

Almost certain. 

“Are you a virgin?” You ask, words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. 

“What?” He laughs. You shrug before realizing that maybe that question is outside of your realm of friendship. Maybe what you actually want to ask him is eons outside of your friendship. 

Sure, you’ve been friends with him for a few years now but you’re not the best of friends. Good enough friends to hang out a couple times a month doing nothing beyond enjoying each other's company, but it’s not like you’re best best friends. 

“If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine. I guess that was super weird for me to ask, sorry.” You say, going back to hiding your face in his book. 

“No— no, not weird at all.” He says with a nervous chuckle. 

You give him a moment to answer the question but he doesn’t. When you peek out from behind the book again, his gaze is fixed forward, stuck in a trance of thought.

“Sorry.” You say again.

“No— don’t be.” He shakes his head, blinking away whatever he was thinking. “I’m um, uh— not really?” He says, adding an inflection to his statement like he’s asking you.

“Not really?” You ask, looking for clarification but he just shrugs. You assume the conversation is done but as soon as you go back to the book, he speaks again. 

“I… have done stuff. You know, a little rub and tug from the hideout’s finest,” He says, making a crude pumping motion with his fist over his guitar covered crotch. “but… to elaborate, uh— no actual penetration, I guess.”

“Penetration?” You say, laughing softly at his choice of words. 

“Yeah… never put it in?” He says again like he’s asking you if it’s an okay answer. 

“Fair enough.” You smile, nodding your head. 

The both of you sit in silence, Eddie shifting uncomfortably in his spot. You expected him to counter ask your question, but he just sits there, fingers drumming on the body of his guitar.

“Why did you ask me that?” He asks with a genuine curiosity, finally breaking the silence. 

“You don’t want to know if I’m a virgin?” You ask, purposefully ignoring his question. 

“Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows rise, hiding beneath his bangs before he comically relaxes himself, putting on an image of indifference. “Oh… me too.” He says coolly.

“So I’ve heard.” You reply, rolling your lips inwards to try and hold back your laugh. You twist in the bed, putting the book down on the floor.

“Why are we talking about this?” He asks quietly, following your lead and setting his guitar down on the bed beside him. 

“Do you… want to…” You ask, trailing off, shrugging your shoulders.

“Want to…?” He asks, sitting up straighter. 

“You know?” You say, raising your eyebrows hoping he says it so you don’t have to. Faux indifference thrown to the wind, his own eyebrows rise once again, eyes going wide in disbelief. 

The silence goes unperturbed until his mouth pulls into a flatline before dropping agape, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“I think you’re gonna have to spell this one out for me, cause I think I know what you mean, but I am not gonna look like an idiot if I’m thinking something entirely different than what you’re thinking.” He rambles, hands working overtime twisting his rings mindlessly. 

“Do you not want to?” You ask, your eyes flitting to his nervous habits on full display. 

“No I do!” He says a little too loudly, cheeks going red in embarrassment. “But… clarify please cause I really don’t want to be reading this wrong.” He says, flattening his palms on his legs, as he clocks that you’ve noticed his fidgeting. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You ask as plain as can be. All of Eddie's fidgeting stops immediately. He freezes, his eyes going wide, and you feel your own nerves pick up.

It takes a moment but when he comes back alive, his eyes finding yours. “You’re not joking right?” He asks, his gaze penetrating so deeply it almost becomes too much.

“I’m not joking.”

“Uh— then… yes.” He says calmly.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic.” You laugh nervously, feeling uncomfortable in the thick tension of the room.

“Shit— I’m sorry. I’m just— it took me by surprise. But I do! Really do, seriously!”

“Okay then.” You smile, feeling your nerves relax. “Do you want to… now?”

He nods his head vigorously before pausing with a look of defeat. “Shit, yeah I do but Wayne was supposed to be helping a friend fix up their car. He might be home in a few hours.”

“A few hours? Is it… is it gonna take that long?” You laugh.

“Probably not.” He says, cheeks flushing dark red. He starts wringing his hands again, his nervous habits becoming more and more prominent by the second.

“Eddie, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you can tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t be upset, I swear.” You say, sitting up straighter to look at him. 

“No— no god no. I mean yes— I do. I want to. I just— fuck, I didn’t think we’d be doing this today.” He says, eyes flickering over the room before meeting you with a sheepish smile. 

“Should I take my clothes off?” You ask, toying at the hem of your shirt. 

“Oh shit— yeah. Yeah, and I’ll take mine off?” He asks, grabbing at the hem of his own shirt. 

“Yeah. I think so.” You smile, pulling your shirt off. 

“I’m just gonna— yeah, just gonna move this first.” He says, picking up his guitar and pushing himself up off the bed. When he turns from hanging it up, he stops, eyes flickering over your shirtless body. Trying not to lose your nerve, you quickly unclasp your bra, pulling it down your arms, and dropping it off the side of the bed. Eddie’s unwavering eye contact with your chest makes your skin heat, playing on your nerves, especially since he's stood in the middle of his room not saying anything.

“Eddie.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Right.” He mumbles, jumping into action, pulling his own shirt over his head. He moves quickly to unbutton and unzip his pants and with a deep breath, you shimmy out of your own, pushing them off the edge of the bed. 

“Underwear too?” He asks, still standing in the middle of his room.

“I guess.” You laugh.

“Right. Stupid question.” He says, shaking his head. You watch as his hands go to his boxers and within a blink he’s pushing them down until they pool around his feet, his hard length becoming your main focus as it bobs against his lower belly. You take in the sight of him, still standing in the middle of his room, naked. Your eyes linger on his erection until his hands cover it. 

“Sorry.” You mumble shyly, shifting on the bed to tug down your own underwear. 

“Don’t be sorry.” He says, clearing his throat. 

“Are you going to come over here or…” You ask, dropping your underwear to land in the pile of your other discarded clothes. 

“Yeah.” He says, swallowing harshly. He steps to the edge of the bed, about to climb on until he stops. “Condom, uh— gimme a minute.” He says, eyes darting around the room. “I have one somewhere, just…” He mumbles as he bounds for his desk.

With his back turned, you let your eyes rake over him. He’s cute, very cute. His nerves are endearing; however, Eddie’s always been brash, you didn’t expect him to be so jittery. In a weird way, you like it, because it’s distracting you from a lot of your own nerves. You trust him, entirely. You’ve never not trusted him.

He opens drawer after drawer scrambling through his belongings until proudly holding up the little silver square.

“Right, good.” You say, trying to sound casual. 

“Are you okay, like, do you need anything?” He asks, stumbling his way back to the bed over his messy floor. 

“No, I’m good. Just need you, I guess.” You say, motioning down to his crotch, cringing at yourself for saying it like that. 

“Right. I’ll… put this on then.” He replies. He settles on the bed beside you, pausing before tearing open the condom package. He pauses again.

“Do you need me to… help?” You offer, hoping you don’t sound as dumb as you think you do.

“Uh, I’m good. I think, just— slide it on there.” Eddie says, rambling as he fumbles with the condom. “Just like… that. There. Okay.” He coaches himself, turning his upper body towards you when it’s finally on.

“Do you wanna…?” You ask, motioning for him to get on top of you. 

“Yeah, sure, yeah.” He rambles, pushing himself up. You spread your thighs for him, his hips fitting between your bent knees. His movements are awkward, which you also didn’t expect from Eddie. Normally, he’s clumsy but he’s very forthcoming, very sure of himself. You're used to the way he thrashes through life, kind of like a bull in a china shop, but right now he’s tiptoeing, treading very lightly.

“Should I put my arms here?” He asks leaning forward so a hand rests on the bed next to your head.

“However you’re comfortable.” You say softly, trying to coax some of his nervousness away.

“Let me… just… figure this out.” He rambles again, adjusting his body first with both hands caging you in, then switching back to just one, before leaning back and resting on his knees.

It takes you a minute, but you clue in that every adjustment is centered around the least physical contact between the two of you. “You can touch me, Eddie.” You say, hoping he’ll ease into the moment.

“Right. Yeah of course.” He says, shaking his head. He tentatively lets his hands find your bent knees. His touch is feather light, obviously unsure.

“Should I just…” He asks, looking down between where your bodies almost meet. His eyes linger between your thighs, hands gripping harder on your knees, and it makes your belly flip. A good flip, more like a flutter. You like how his eyes become darker, and his mouth slightly drops. It’s cute. He’s cute. 

“I’m ready when you are.” You exhale, trying not to laugh as his eyes glaze over in a dazed look, still focused between your legs.

“I’m ready, so if you’re ready.” He replies mindlessly, still not looking up. 

“Eddie, you can put it in.” You laugh softly. His eyes finally flicker to you, catching your smile, and he mirrors it as best as he can, albeit with a blush of pink across his cheeks for being caught staring so long. 

“Right… I’ll do that.” He replies. He takes his length in his hand, running his fist up and down once. It’s a casual action, practiced, and you get a glimpse of what Eddie’s really like without the jumbled nerves. 

He leans in the slightest bit and you feel the tip of his head prod at your slit, sliding down slowly. He works himself down, parting your slit until he’s resting just at your opening. You think he might start pushing in, but he pauses, keeping himself entirely still. 

“Uh— sorry but, this is the hole right?” He asks, cheeks flaring red.

You don’t blame him, there is a lot going on down there and you know he just wants to be sure. He's being careful, asking questions when he’s unsure, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but it still makes your face turn the tiniest bit hotter because of the intimacy you’re not used to. 

“That’s the one.” You say awkwardly, moving your own hand down to your center to help guide him. 

Before you can even wrap your hand around him, he interrupts you, making you draw your hand back. 

“Wait do we— I don’t have lube or anything.” He says, eyes flitting to yours. 

“Maybe… spit? That’s what other people use, right?” You offer with a shrug.

“Yeah… I’ll just…” He says before dribbling over you. Missing completely, his glob of spit lands on your lower stomach making you laugh. He looks embarrassed at first, but as he watches you laugh, his lips slowly break into a smile before he eases into his own laughter. 

“Why are we being so awkward? We’re friends, this is fine, right?” You say, exhaling, trying to compose yourself from your laughter.

“Yeah, we’re friends… having sex.” He says with a heavy exhale.

“I’m still me and you’re still you, we don’t need to be nervous.” You say, looking into Eddie’s eyes. He nods, taking another deep breath and letting it out and you can feel some of his nerves leave him. He nods again and you smile at him. 

“I’m still me, you’re still you.” Eddie echoes. He takes a final deep breath before looking at you, returning a flash of a smile. 

You spit in your hand, bringing it to your core, getting yourself wet. You motion for Eddie to come closer and when he does, you wrap your fingers around him enough to line him up with your entrance. 

“Okay, so just push in. But slow please.” You guide. 

“Slow, got it.” He replies, hips beginning to move towards you.

He takes your words to heart, pushing in extremely slow. So slowly, you aren’t even sure if he’s moving, apart from the noises he’s trying to hold back— and there’s a lot of them, which must mean he’s getting something from this. 

You move your hand to his hip, pulling him towards you and he moves a little faster at your guidance. You start to feel a pinch, then it turns into a stretch. He continues pushing in slowly, the stretch turning to a very mild burn.

“Are you almost in?” You ask, squeezing your eyes closed.

“Almost, like another inch, maybe?” He says, hand squeezing your knee.

“Okay— good.” You breathe.

“Are you okay?” He asks, movements stilling.

“Just stings, but keep going.” You say, trying to unclench the muscles you keep tensing by accident. He complies, pushing into you slowly again.

His hips finally press flush against yours and Eddie stills. Looking up at him, you see his mouth working back and forth, eyes glancing over your body like he’s trying not to look too hard or too long at any particular spot. You’re about to tell him that he can touch you again but his mouth opens, sucking in a breath like he’s about to say something. 

“You’re really warm. Like… inside.” He says. His voice sounds strangled but you can tell he’s trying to come across as casual. You can’t help but laugh.

This is what you wanted. It’s easy. You feel comfortable enough to laugh. You trust Eddie and despite his nerves, he’s doing a good job. 

With your hand on his hip, you keep him still, giving yourself time to adjust, and he complies, taking deep breaths that you subconsciously align your own breathing to. 

When the sting relaxes into a dull ache, you take a final deep breath before relaxing your grip on Eddie.

“Okay, you can move, Eddie.” You say, pushing against his hip. He looks up at you long enough to nod, before moving his eyes back down to your center.

He pulls out slowly, just a touch faster than he pushed in and it’s such a foreign feeling to you. It’s on the cusp of being something you might enjoy… but not quite there. 

When he pushes back in, it’s a little quicker and you get the same almost pleasure feeling. 

“Fuck.” Eddie groans, hands squeezing harshly on your knees.

“It’s okay?” You ask. The tone of his voice catches you off guard. You’ve never heard Eddie sound like that before.

“Y-yeah. You’re really tight.” He says in that same tone. It’s deep, it’s raspy, and he sounds out of breath. It’s hot. Your stomach twirls, and you watch his face as it contorts in pleasure, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and his brows pinched harshly together. 

He looks like he’s really enjoying it, but… apart from seeing him like this, you aren’t.

You shift your hips, trying to find any ounce of pleasure but if anything, it just feels like he’s prodding at you. Not uncomfortable but definitely not pleasurable.

“Eddie, does this… feel good for you?” You ask tentatively. You know the answer, you can tell by the way his breathing has turned into little pants but you figure there must be something you’re missing. You can’t help but feel a pinch of jealousy that it feels that good for him. 

“Fuck. Yeah, feels really good.” He groans, his thrusts slowly picking up in pace. 

You lay still, watching Eddie thrust in and out of you. The image of him, face contorted in pleasure, and all the breathy little gasps spilling from him makes a hint of heat pool in your lower stomach, but this isn’t at all like you thought how sex would feel. 

Maybe your next question comes out a little mean, but his radiating pleasure taunts you. It’s juvenile, but you can’t help but think how it’s not fair.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me if it feels good?” You watch as Eddie’s mouth drops open even further, his chest rising and falling harshly. His eyes squeeze shut and you aren’t even sure if he heard you. 

“I’m gonna cum— shit. I’m sorry. I can’t- f-fuck.” He groans, his thrust becoming uneven, stuttering against you. 

“Oh.” You say quietly. His thrusts are short and shallow until his movement still, cock pulsing inside you. 

And just like that, it’s over. 

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, his hold on your knees becoming almost bruising. You feel a little more heat pool in your core seeing Eddie come undone but at this point, you know it’s over.

You continue laying still, watching Eddie’s face slowly unwind, eyes fluttering open. He pulls out, moving his way to lay back beside you on the bed, his breathing still harsh and ragged.

You watch as his head hits the pillow, eyes closing as he sucks in a deep breath, exhaling it harshly. His eyes open again, meeting your gaze. 

“That was— holy shit.” He says breathily.

“Yeah?” You ask, trying not to sound disappointed because that most definitely was not ‘holy shit’ to you. Quite frankly… that was just shit. You’re not upset, not in the slightest, just jealous. Envious that it was so easy for him and not you. It’s irrational, and you know you shouldn’t be mad at him, but it doesn’t stop the bud of spite inside of you. 

“Did that— sorry. Was that good for you?” He asks, head tilting towards you. 

“No.” You say flatly. Your eyes go wide at your answer because you most definitely didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped without thinking. 

And as you watch his face fall, every ounce of jealousy, envy, spite, anything you were feeling just seconds ago leaves you entirely, being replaced with regret for that one little word. You shouldn’t have said that. 

Eddie was nervous. He was shy. He was tentative. Gentle. Careful. Respectful. 

It was endearing. You found him cute. 

You wanted it to be with Eddie because you trust him. He did everything you wanted. 

It was his first time too.

“Oh” He says, eyes going round with disappointment. 

“No! I mean it was fine. You did good Eddie, we’re no longer virgins!” You say excitedly, trying to fix your slip of the tongue. You smile but his face falls flat. You feel your heart pang as he deflates in front of you. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry. Maybe— uh… I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He says quietly, hand raising to his face, rubbing aggressively over his mouth and chin. You can tell he’s not buying your cover up and you genuinely feel bad.

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie. It was just the first time. I'm sure it’ll get better?” You say, trying to fix the sad look in his eyes but it only gets worse.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, and his demeanor breaks your heart. You should have kept your mouth shut.

“Don’t feel bad!” You say, sitting up to get a better look at him.

“Fuck— I’m so sorry.” He huffs, hand going back to rubbing over his jaw.

“No, don’t be sorry! It can only go up from here, right!” You try your best to fix your mistake but it’s not working. 

“It was that bad.” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Eddie, please don’t feel bad.” You say, moving to be able to fully look at him. “I wanted to lose my virginity to you because I trust you, Eddie. And it was perfect in that sense. You didn’t hurt me at all, and I really, really don’t want you to feel bad.” You say genuinely. You let your hand rest on his arm, trying to pull his hands away from his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He says again, palms pressing harder into his eyes despite you trying to pull them away.

“Eddie. I’m so serious. I wanted it to be with you for a reason. Please, please, don’t feel bad.” You try a final time.

He stays, hands covering his face for a while and you don’t know what else you could say to make it better so instead, you opt for getting dressed. Even when you shift on the bed, he doesn’t move.

It only takes a few minutes for you to be fully dressed. He laid still the whole time, hands pressed to his eyes, and you’re convinced he fell asleep.

“Maybe I should go?” You whisper quietly. His hands fly away from his face, eyes widening. His gaze takes you in, realizing that you’re fully dressed and he sits up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He rushes out, his wide eyed gaze meeting yours.

“I probably should, right? It’s getting late.”

“Right…” He agrees sitting up. “I can drive you, if you want?”

“It’s nice out, I can walk.” You offer.

“I'll drive you, just give me a minute.” He replies, brushing off your comment.

“Sure.” You say politely, grabbing your bag from the floor.

You wait for him in the living room and it’s only a few minutes before he’s fully dressed. Wordlessly, you both go outside, and get in the van.

After a silent ride, he parks in front of your house.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined your first time.” You say.

“Shit. You have nothing to feel sorry about. I’m the only one who should be sorry.” He says, huffing an almost laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. Eddie, I told you already. I trust you and because of that it was a great first time.” 

Eddie shrugs, not accepting your sentiment. 

“I’ll see you?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, see you.” He nods.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

It's been just over a week since you and Eddie slept together. A week of radio silence. Sure, it’s not like you two hung out everyday before, but you thought that, maybe, that might be different after you slept together. But nope. 

You waited a while to call, trying to give him space since that night didn't exactly end as you hoped. While you waited, you hoped he would call, but he didn’t. 

Eventually, you ended up calling, but you got his uncle, who said Eddie’s been busy the last few days and he hasn’t seen him much. Later that night, Eddie called, but your mom answered since you were staying at a friend's house. You called again yesterday, Eddie wasn’t home. You had expected him to call that night but he didn’t. And you’ve been thinking about it all day since it’s summer vacation, your parents aren’t home, and you just have a lot of time.

When there's a knock at the door you fully expected it to be a salesman or jehovah witness, but you were surprised to see Eddie. You didn't even have a chance to speak before his hand was on the door, pushing it open as wide as it could go.

“I want to try again.” He says, a slight breathiness to his voice as if he just rushed his way over here.

“What?” You ask confusedly.

“I want to try again.” He says a little louder before shrinking a little. “If you’ll let me, I mean. Only if it’s okay with you.”

“You… want to try again?” You ask, finally clueing in to what he’s talking about.

“Yeah. I feel fucking bad that I came—” He stops himself, turning around, looking to the street. “Can I explain inside?” He says, wincing slightly. 

You usher him inside, spotting your neighbor on their porch and you pray to god they didn’t hear Eddie and if they did, they remain oblivious to what he was getting at. 

As soon as the door is shut, Eddie’s speaking again.

“I meant to start with an apology.” He says, voice softer and less breathless.

“Eddie, I really don’t want to hear you apologize again. It was fine.”

“It wasn’t.” He states, raising his brows. He relaxes into sincerity, meeting your gaze. “I want to apologize for what happened after.” He says, pausing for any objections from you. You let him continue. “You were being really nice about it and I… I was being selfish. You already didn’t enjoy yourself, and then I made it your job to make me feel better about it. That was really shitty of me.” 

“I felt bad, you know. It was your first time too.” You shrug.

“But you shouldn’t have had to coddle me like that. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” He says softly. You can tell he’s genuinely sorry for it and you really do appreciate it. You nod, and he rolls his lips inwards, nodding back. 

“Thank you.” You say. He nods again.

The room stills, the both of you in silence. You can tell Eddie wants to keep talking. 

“So… outside you were saying?” You lead, prompting him. He catches your eye, smiling appreciatively for you being the one to break the silence.

“I was saying outside that I feel terrible that I came so quickly and it wasn’t good for you and I want to try again.. if you’ll let me.” He blunders out. 

You raise your brows. This is more like the Eddie you know. Straight forward, to the point. 

“I um— I don’t know what to say.” You laugh softly. You do feel a hint of apprehension. You’ve already accepted that the sex was bad but the part that really got you was what happened after. Not his sulking, but after you left. The not talking part. That was the last thing you wanted to come from this.

Despite your feelings, you can’t help but light up a bit at Eddie’s enthusiasm. His eyes are wild with it. 

“You don’t have to say yes. But I did a fuck ton of research and look—” he says pulling out a folded piece of lined paper from his back pocket, starting to uncrumple it. “I took notes and everything. I want to do it right, so if you’ll let me…”

“You took… notes?” You ask amusedly. He holds the paper out to you and you cautiously take it.

“Yeah. I’m dedicated to this. I told you, I feel fucking terrible. I should have listened more, asked you questions, done so many things differently. So I just— I don’t know.” He says shrugging, hands wringing themselves.

You glance down at the paper to see his scribbled writing covering every inch of the paper. Your eyes gravitate to a very technical diagram of a vagina that he drew out. 

“I don’t want to look at this.” You laugh, shoving the paper back to Eddie. 

“Shit, sorry.” He laughs nervously. He goes pink in the face. Not exactly out of nerves like before, but more so flustered. It’s cute.

You can’t help but bite. 

“So… what exactly did research entail?” You ask, holding back your smile.

“I went to the library first. Looked at some books there. Read some magazines… asked a few people.”

“People?” You question worriedly.

“No— no don’t worry! I didn’t tell them it was you or anything. It was mostly just books and magazines that I read, I swear. I just wanted to make sure some things were actually true.”

“And… you really want to do this?” You ask. You're intrigued and his effort is very endearing. You did say that it could only get better…

“Yes! But only if you’re comfortable with it. Doing it once was generous— so if you say no, I understand.”

“Generous?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Like, that was a cool thing to do, you know?” He shrugs, cheeks flaring. 

“Cool?” You laugh again.

“Yeah.” He replies, cracking a smile.

Your eyes gravitate to the sheet of paper in his hand. You don’t really have anything to lose, right? You’ve done it before and if he really is dedicated to this like he says he is… might as well give it a shot?

“Yes.” You say firmly, your mind made up.

“Yes?”

“Let's try again.” You exhale.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t do any research but… if you’re okay with that, my answer’s yes.” 

Eddie perks up, eyes becoming filled with excitement. He looks at his sheet of notes for a moment before his gaze finds yours again. 

“Do you have a calendar?” He asks plainly. 

“A calendar, Eddie? What?” You ask, feeling confused all over again.

“I just… yeah. Just like a regular calendar.” He shrugs.

“In my room.” You lead him upstairs, pulling the calendar down from your wall and handing it over.

“Okay, thank you. And when was your last period?” He asks, laying the calendar down flat on your desk, fingers drumming over the dates.

“My last period, Eddie, what the fuck?” You laugh.

“No, seriously. If you’re ovulating it’s supposed to be better, so last period was…?” He says, fingers gliding over the calendar.

“Like two— three-ish weeks ago?” You say, pointing at the general days on the calendar. 

“Okay, okay. Just gimme a minute.” He says, flattening his notes down on the surface next to the calendar. “Alright, so if this was the first day of your period, then you should be ovulating? Or almost ovulating?” He says, fingers sliding along the weeks, counting quietly under his breath. 

“Eddie, it sounds like you’re trying to get me pregnant.” You laugh nervously.

“No! No, I swear to god, no! I just- I read that it’s supposed to feel better for you during that week, so, like, now would be a really good time for me to… you know, try to make you feel good.” He says, eyes going wide as he turns towards you, looking the slightest bit mortified.

“Oh…” you respond, brows raised as you try not to laugh in his face. It’s endearing it really is, but… this boy is so odd. “Alright then.” You nod, your lips tugging into a smile. 

“Yeah. So I can check that off.” He says, grabbing a pencil from your desk and physically checking off one of his notes. “So next, is foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You parrot, laughing in disbelief.

“Yeah. I think that’s where I really fucked up last time. I mean, I didn’t even kiss you, for christ sake. And I didn’t touch you at all before, so yeah. Foreplay.” He says, exhaling harshly.

“You want to kiss me?” You ask nervously. Your heart picks up as your gaze flickers to his lips.

“I mean, yeah.” He says, going shy. “But I didn’t know if you would have wanted me to cause we’re not… you know, together.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You could have kissed me.” You smile at him, your stomach going fluttery at the thought. 

“Really?” He asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You affirm, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Cool.” He nods slowly, smiling.

“So.. are you going to?” You ask, sheepishly. He meets your gaze, eyes slowly lowering to your lips. He nods his head, stepping closer to you.

When your eyes flutter closed, you feel his lips press against yours, soft as a feather.

He pulls away and you almost think it’s over until he pulls you back in, hands on your waist, bringing you closer to him. His lips meet yours again and it’s entirely different from the first. His lips work against yours and it leaves you dazed, struggling to keep up with the unexpected, but it’s perfect.

His hands still on your waist, he guides you to lean against your desk, his body pulled flush to yours. His hands rub up and down your sides slowly, adding to your fluttery dizziness. 

The kiss deepens, his tongue licking along your lower lip and you part your mouth. He’s gentle with you, tongue imploringly licking into your mouth, almost as if he’s testingly seeing what you like best. It gives you butterflies, something you’ve tried to not dwell on getting from Eddie in the past.

His hand trails up your waist, taking purchase on your jaw, guiding your mouth against his until his kisses slow, his lips meeting the edge of your mouth before trailing down the side of your face.

You swallow harshly before speaking. “That was really good.” You say, clearing your voice. You practically feel Eddie’s lips turn up in a smile against your jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks breathily against your skin. 

“Yeah. I think your research is working so far.” You say, squeezing your eyes shut as his kisses trail down your neck. 

You open your eyes when the kisses stop and you feel him pull away. 

“Yeah?” He asks excitedly, making eye contact with you. His gaze is a combination of shock, disbelief, and amusement and it’s adorable. It pulls on all of your heart strings at once.

The attentiveness, effort, the everything from right now mixes with everything from before. Gentle, careful, respectful, you trust him. You trust him and you think he’s cute, endearing, adorable, and you want him.

“Keep going.” You say, your own voice going breathy.

“Right.” He mumbles, face pressing against your neck again. 

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers entwining in his hair. As soon as you do, you feel a nip of teeth that makes you gasp. He cleverly soothes the area with his tongue after, making a whimper rise in your throat that surprises you when it falls from your lips.

“Eddie, who’d you get that from?” You whisper curiously, voice sounding pathetically whimpery. 

“Dunno, s’just something I picked up.” He replies, pulling away enough for his breath to fan over your damp skin, giving you shivers. 

He nips again, chasing it with a harsh suck that makes your head spin. You can’t help but feel like he’s showing off now but you don’t care, you let him. He has you at a place where you’re his for the bending, malleable in his hands. 

“W-what’s next on your list?” You stutter through his kisses.

“Not done with this yet.” He says, voice gravelly and low. You nod your head, not bothering to try to speak again.

His kisses work lower and lower until they meet the neckline of your shirt. You feel his fingers on your hip playing with the hem of your shirt, tugging and lifting it just enough to get your attention. You nod again, wanting it off.

“Eddie.” You whine, pushing your chest against his when he doesn’t do it right away.

He pulls away from you again, and when he looks at you, he looks surprised. 

“What?” You question, feeling embarrassed.

“N-no! Nothing, that was just.. really hot. Wasn’t expecting that s’all.” He stutters, both hands now on your waist, rubbing up and down.

You feel your face burn, feeling shy all of a sudden. You know he picks it up because his eyes focus on you, pausing everything.

“D’you want me to keep going?” He asks, and you nod your head.

“Want you to take my shirt off.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” He laughs.

“Eddie.” You whine, feeling embarrassed at how much he’s affecting you.

“C’mon let’s get your shirt off, pretty girl.” He coos and you feel your stomach flutter. His hands lower to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and you raise your arms cooperatively. 

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask just as the shirt pulls over your head.

“Hell yeah. I think you’re beautiful.” He says, stopping to look into your eyes as he says it. You lower your gaze, fixing it on your shirt in Eddie’s hands.

“Which is another thing I fucked up last time, by the way.” He adds, dipping his face to meet your gaze.

“Hm?” You hum, head spinning too fast to keep up.

“Last time. I didn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are.” He says. His eyes flutter over your face, hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to, so I didn’t. But believe me, I thought about it.” He says, dipping his face down to press a chaste kiss to your shoulder. 

“Eddie.” You reply not knowing what else to say. Your heart beats faster and it’s all consuming, adding sweet to your ever growing list of things you like about Eddie. He’s always been sweet, but this feels bigger, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“Want me to take this off?” He asks, fingertips sliding under the strap of your bra. 

“Please.” You whisper, using all the air left in your lungs to muster the single plea.

His fingers trail behind your back, tickling you along the way until they reach the clasp, unfastening it hook by hook, letting it fall to the floor.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect. Wish I had said it the first time.” He says lowly, between kisses on your shoulders.

You hum, both because you don’t know what else to say and also because you are so fully absorbed by Eddie. You watch him as his kisses get lower on your collarbones

“S’this okay?” He asks, kisses stopping before reaching your chest.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe. Your hands move the back of his head again, tugging him lower until his kisses meet your chest. His hands rise tentatively until they press against the roundness of your breasts. Another moan falls from your lips and that spurs him on enough to more confidently massaging you, adding kisses to the mix.

“C-can we lay down.” You stutter, trying to catch your breath. 

“Anything you want, pretty girl.” He replies, continuing his kisses. He guides you, taking steps backwards to the bed, turning you so the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

You lay down and he follows, hovering over you more comfortably than last time. 

You close your eyes, absorbing the weight of Eddie on top of you, and you feel hot everywhere. It’s completely contradictory to last time and he still has every piece of clothing on. Before you can even think of asking him to take off his clothes, you're startled by the wet, hot feeling of his mouth on your nipple. 

“Eddie.” You moan. Embarrassment isn’t a feeling you can harbor anymore, Eddie has you so entranced. Your chest rises and falls harshly, panting as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. You feel like your skin’s prickling and your heads empty, the only thing that exists right now is you and Eddie. 

He switches, paying the same attention to your other breast and you spread your legs further, letting Eddie fall closer to you, hips pressing against yours. 

“Want clothes off.” You whimper, his teeth grazing before sucking harshly on the delicate skin.

“Mine or yours.” He mumbles, words vibrating against your chest and you’re sure you’re covered in goosebumps.

“Both, Eddie.” You moan. 

He makes quick work of pulling his shirt over his head. His hands go to the button of your shorts, stopping to look at you first. 

“I want to try something first, if that’s okay?” He says, dipping down to meet your gaze. 

“Eddie.” You whine, not caring the slightest, you can only think of wanting your clothes off. 

“I can take these off?” 

“Take them off.” You reply, getting impatient. He watches you, and he still looks surprised. You bring your own hands down, and it sets him in motion, popping the button open and pulling them down your legs. 

“Baby, you’re doing okay?” He asks, as he tosses your shorts to the side.

“M’doin’ good Eddie, keep going please.” You breathe, squirming on the mattress. 

“Fuck, okay.” He replies, voice gravely again. He tugs your underwear down, tossing them to the floor and begins shifting backwards on the bed. It surprises you, pulling you out of your spinning daze as he disappears between your legs.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You ask, sitting up slightly.

“M’gonna eat you out. That okay?” He asks, lifting his head to look back at you. You’re obviously familiar with the term, but you’ve never had anyone do it to you before, making his actions unexpected. You don’t know what you thought he was gonna do, but it wasn’t that.

You lay back down on the mattress, exhaling deeply.

“Hey? Is it okay? I don’t have to.” He says softly, getting your attention. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers.

“You can.” You reply nervously. He squeezes your hand.

“We can stop anytime, okay?” He says, eyes searching yours and making it clear that he means it. 

Trust is starting to seem more like an understatement. All of the good things you like about Eddie, you’ve always liked about him. Maybe it’s the way your head is spinning or maybe it’s just how Eddie’s always been, but you get a burning feeling for him. Not a desire or a neediness born from the heat of the moment, but like an adoration, like a particular thump of your heart exists just for him. 

“Okay” you reply, nodding your head.

Still holding your hand, he lowers himself again. His breath reaches your cunt and you feel shivers erupt up and down your spine, excitement blooming in your belly. 

“Just gonna ask you one thing, okay? Need your help a little, just tell me what you like, gotta tell me what feels good, okay?” He says softly, popping up once again to look at you. 

You nod, squeezing his hand, and he lowers his head again.

Your whole body jerks as you feel his tongue lick up your core. It’s wet and hot and something you’ve never felt before.

“Holy shit.” You gasp, squeezing his hand again. 

“Good or bad?” He asks from between your legs.

“Do it again.” 

He does it again and it’s good. Definitely good. 

“Good, Eddie. Really good.” You reply breathily. He squeezes your hand in acknowledgement before his tongue is on you again. The warm heat of his breath and his tongue meet your slit, licking up, parting your folds and catching on your clit, making you jolt again. 

When his thumb on the back of your hand starts running back and forth on your skin soothingly, you melt entirely. Relaxing into everything. 

His tongue explores your cunt, lapping up and down before he focuses on your clit, making you gasp. It feels like the almost pleasure you got last time but a million times better. It’s actual pleasure this time, not almost. It tingles all the way up into your belly and you can’t help the way your breathing turns into soft moans.

His tongue swirls around your clit and your mouth drops as your mind reels at the feeling.

“F-fuck.” You gasp when he switches to sucking, making your hips buck against him. “S’really good, Eddie.” You moan.

“You’re so wet this time, baby.” He groans, the vibrations of his words against you making you whimper. The tingles traveling to your belly start to tense, making your breathing turn into quick pants. You want to tell Eddie he’s doing a good job but you can’t get the words out through your gasps, so instead you find purchase on the back of his head with your free hand, tangling your fingers in his hair, hoping he’ll understand.

He switches between lapping at you, flicking his tongue, and sucking your clit. The wet sounds of his mouth against your cunt filling the room, adding to the way your body’s growing impossibly hot, stomach tightening into a tight knot. 

When you feel his fingers at your entrance, you gasp. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. 

He pushes in one finger first, it’s similar to the prodding from before but much better with his mouth working against you. 

He works his finger in and out of you before slipping a second in and the slight stretch that comes with it leaves you reeling. You think that feeling alone is fantastic until he curves his fingers upwards into an almost hook shape. 

Prodding turns into straight pleasure as he wiggles his fingers in and out, hitting a place inside of you that leaves you gasping for air.

“Eddie. G-good.” You moan, your stomach tensing harshly. You feel your thighs start to shake as moans, gasps, and whines leave your mouth unwillingly. 

“You're getting really tight.” He hums, lips barely leaving your clit. All you can do is whimper as the vibrations of his voice push you further and further into pleasure. “Baby, you gonna cum?” He hums again. 

You nod your head ferociously not being able to produce words.

“That’s it, cum for me, baby.” He groans between flicks of his tongue. His words travel straight to your stomach adding to the pulsing knot.

Your hips buck insenstantly and you feel like you’ve lost total control of your body. All that you can feel is pleasure rippling through you like waves, hitting an all time high, and you break. You cum, harder than ever before. You’ve tried on your own before and it’s barely been worth noting, but this.. this is earth shattering. 

You feel weightless, floating, all of the tension leaving your body. It’s magnificent, perfect, it feels like you’re in a dream. The only thing that tethers you to reality, is Eddie’s hand in yours and the way his thumb gently pushes into the back of your hand. 

You feel yourself settling down from your high, but as Eddie’s mouth keeps working against you, you feel the edges of your vision go dark. Your body fights with prolonging and pushing away the pleasure as it takes you whole. 

“E-Eddie.” You choke out, squeezing his hand. Your hips buck, and he understands, slowing down.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze his hand again and his motions come to a slow halt. 

You are astounded.

Absolutely astounded. 

You have no words.

You tug him by the hand, you need him closer.

“You okay?” He whispers, as he moves up by your side. You pull him by the hand, willing him to hold you as you turn on your side. He complies, giving you everything you need.

You take steady breaths that help you settle back into your body. It could be seconds, could be minutes, could be hours that pass, but eventually you catch your breath, finally grasping the moment. 

“Holy shit.” You exhale. Holding onto Eddie’s arm wrapped around your stomach.

“Was it good?” He asks nervously. You lean back, turning to lay flat on your back so you can see him.

“Was it good? Eddie, holy shit.” You say, widening your eyes as you take in his nervous features and flushing cheeks. Your eyes trail down to his slick coated face. His lips slowly curl into a smile and fuck, you finally understand how he felt after the first time. 

“It worked?” He laughs. 

You take his face in your hands and you kiss him hard. Yeah, it fucking worked, holy shit.

His tongue licks into your mouth immediately, his slick coated lips giving you a taste of yourself. Keeping your hands on his cheeks, you continue kissing him, tongues working in sync until you can’t keep up.

He kisses you breathless. When your head goes dizzy, all you can focus on is the reemerging pulse between your legs. 

Lowering your hands to his hips, you guide him on top of you. He tries to lift himself, hovering not to put all his weight on you but you need it, so you pull him until he rests flush against your body. 

Your hands explore up his chest, wrapping around his sides until you take purchase on his back, pulling him as close to you as you can.

Through his clothes, you feel his hardened length resting against you, and you roll your hips up looking for relief, making Eddie gasp into your mouth.

You do it again and his mouth stops moving against yours, feeding a whimper right into your lungs. 

“Clothes.” You pull away just enough to whisper, grinding your hips upwards against him. 

Eddie’s lips still against yours, he’s resolved into quickened breaths in and out, breathing into your mouth.

“Want you Eddie.” You whine, not getting enough relief from your grinding. 

“Clothes.” He echoes mindlessly, swallowing harshly. He doesn’t move, so you take to moving your hands down, folding your fingers under his belt, blindly searching for an edge to pull at.

“Take them off.” You say a little louder. 

“Right. Clothes.” He says, finally snapping out of whatever transfixion he was stuck in. 

He pulls away, and you miss the feeling of his chest against yours immediately. You watch as he undoes his belt and pants, pushing both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, struggling to get them off. Eventually, he takes to standing, nearly falling off the edge of your bed, making you giggle. When he finally has them off, he’s quick to resume his position overtop of you. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Need to make sure you’re doing good.” He says, blinking back the glazed over look in his eyes. 

“I’m doing so good, Eddie.” You purr, hands trailing up the expanse of his back. 

“Everything feels good? Do you need me to do anything else?” He brings a hand to the edge of your face, pushing your hair back, making your heart flutter and core ache at the same time. 

“Want you inside.” You whisper.

“I can do that.” He laughs breathily. He reaches down to the floor, his body weight laying on top of you as he reaches for his discarded pants. After a bit of fumbling, he sits up again, condom in hand. His hands slip on the packaging until he grows frustrated, ripping the corner of the foil open with his teeth. You feel heat pool in your core at the sight, wanting him more than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

“Eddie, you’re so pretty.” You say breathily, his eyes flicker up to you from his focus as he rolls the condom down his length. You see pink raise on his cheeks as his lips turn up at the corners.

“You think so?”

“Know so. So beautiful and cute and adorable and hot and I want you.” You ramble, feeling absolutely drunk off of how insanely fast he has your head spinning with lust. You want him in a lot of different ways, every way. You raise your hands to his shoulders tugging him closer.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers, dipping his face down to kiss you.

“Yours.” You mumble against his lips right before they meet yours. It rolls off your tongue naturally and it feels right. You’re his. Entirely enraptured by him, entirely swept up by him. 

You can pinpoint the exact moment he processes what you said. He had started kissing you hungrily, then it was like it hit him. His mouth stopped moving against yours, and when you slid a hand up to hold his jawline, his mouth started to move again, but differently. 

The kiss turned sweet, gentle, tender. It turned meaningful and slow, like every touch of his lips against yours and every caress of his tongue had purpose. You indulge yourself in the change of pace until you can't anymore.

“Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, sweet girl.” He whispers.

The sunsetting leaves the two of you in the low golden glow. Eddie’s face illuminates with the light bleeding in through your sheer curtains and your heart beats a little faster as you watch him lean back, his cock in his hand, rubbing his fist up and down his length once before lining it up with your entrance. 

The confidence he holds now, compared to last time, makes you swallow thickly. Last time it was cute and endearing, this time, he works you into pleasure and it leaves you reeling for more. This time he says you’re his, and you agree. You always have been in a way. Trust was a disguise, trust was a front. You like Eddie. You always have. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” He asks, voice low as he stares into your eyes. You feel his head at your entrance and you clench in anticipation.

“Ready.” You chorus, relaxing yourself. It’s literal in the way you relax your muscles, but it’s also metaphorical in the way you open yourself up entirely for him. This isn’t your first time, but it’s the time that matters. It’s the time where he is completely himself and you are completely yourself. It’s everything you wanted and more— more that you didn’t realize you needed until now.

He pushes in and you both sigh in tandem. Your sighs mature into moans as he slowly pushes in, fully bottoming out inside of you.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice quiet and carefilled.

“Not like last time.” You answer.

“Sorry, baby.” He whispers, dipping his face to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry it hurt last time and I didn’t even kiss it better.” He continues, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“S’okay, Eddie. You’re doing so good now, feels so good.” You reply, voice just as quiet as his. You pull his face down, pressing your own tender kiss to his lips before trailing your hands down the front of his chest, rounding them to hold his sides. 

He shifts his hips, withdrawing from you slowly. You guide him with your hands, willing him to keep going, and he does. 

“S’feel okay?” Eddie says through a strangled breath. 

“Feels good.” You breathe.

“You sure? We can put a pillow under—” he starts to explain, slowing his already slow motions.

“Want you to go faster.” You interrupt.

“Faster.” He echoes, almost like he’s coaching himself. You hum as he complies, drawing his hips and pushing them back into you at a quicker pace. 

Him filling you up and stretching you out felt entirely different this time, way better, and it has you absolutely dizzy. It’s not prodding this time, it’s more like a roll that leaves you breathless, panting just to fill your lungs. His cock grazes your sweet spot with every pump into you and with every other thrust, his hips meet yours completely, teasing your clit with their contact. 

“Harder.” You whisper, and he complies silently apart from the way he harshly sucks in a breath.

His hips begin snapping against yours, the slap of skin on skin echoing in your room mixing with the obscene, wet noises of his cock pushing in and out of you, complimenting the breathy moans and whimpers coming from both of your mouths. Each thrust hits your clit, making you shudder, hips jolting and stuttering with your pleasure.

You feel your insides start to tense and you know you’re close. His thrusts start to falter as his breathing turns ragged.

“So close Eddie, please.” You whine. He breaths a whimper, hips picking up again, returning to his quick, hard pace. 

“Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum for me.” He says breathily, voice pitching up. His hand reaches down past your belly, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it and it sends your hips into a spasm of stutters.

“Eddie.” You cry. You feel your body go rigid before your pleasure explodes, freeing you from the reigns of tension and pushing you into pure ecstasy.

Eddie only musters a few more thrusts with the way your cunt clamps down onto his cock, fluttering and pulsing all around him as your orgasm takes you over. Strangled whimpers pull from his lungs as he prolongs your pleasure until he breaks alongside you. 

“F-fuck. Shit. I’m c-cumming.” He grunts, cock twitching inside you as his balls press firmly against your ass. His hips stutter, shallow thrusts pushing in and out, the warmth of his cum filling the condom. With your half lidded eyes, you watch Eddie— his face contorting in pleasure, and you enjoy the moment, committing it to memory. 

Eddie stills completely apart from his heavy breathing that matches yours. He surprises you when he rolls onto his back, taking you with him, pulling you over his chest, his cock still firmly pressed inside of you. 

“Eddie.” You laugh breathily. 

“J-just need to feel you for another minute.” He replies hazily, eyes squeezed shut. His hands wrap around your back, hugging you closely and you relax into him tentatively. His hands pull you down again, and you have no choice but to put all of your weight on him.

When your combined panting resolves to steady breathing, he breaks the silence. “Was that better?” He asks, pushing his head back into the pillow to look at you.

“That was… better than better. Way, way, way better.” You say whimsily. It was perfect, it was everything, you don’t have any words. 

“Yeah?” 

“That was like… I don’t even know. I can’t even describe it, just so so good. Really.” You say in awe, reflecting on what just happened.

“You can tell me the truth.”

“Eddie.” You say warningly, lifting your head to really look at him. “If you studied like that for all your classes you’d be valedictorian. A++, honestly Eddie.” You say.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, still sounding unsure.

“You should frame those notes you wrote, hang them up like a diploma in your room.”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me.” He laughs, turning his head away from you to hide his smile. 

“No! And you wanna know how serious I’m being right now?” You say, reaching up and taking one of his curls, swirling it around your finger, grabbing his attention.

“How?” He asks, turning back to you. 

“Because I’m already thinking about doing it again.” You whisper. You watch Eddie as his smile grows. 

“Really?” He asks, eyes beaming.

“Yes.” You nod, pressing your lips together as your smile grows. 

You watch Eddie as a whirlwind of emotions take over his face, it’s disbelief, happiness, excitement, a few you can’t parse, before it settles into nervousness. It makes your belly knot in nerves immediately. 

“Last time… I was— after, I was so upset because…” He starts, eyes fluttering over your face, avoiding your gaze. He takes a breath before continuing. “I was so upset because I wanted to ask you out, and then after the sex was bad, I kind of figured you’d never go out with me.”

“You wanted to ask me out?” You say, pushing yourself up with your arms to see his full face. 

His eyes flood with worry, and you reach down, pushing his damp bangs from his forehead. He finally looks at you and all you can do is smile. His nerves settle the slightest bit as he relaxes into his own sheepish smile. 

“I would still like to, if that’s okay with you?” He asks, shyly.

“It’s really okay with me.” You reply.

“Maybe I can ask when I’m not still inside you?” He laughs softly, eyes flickering to your lips. “Not that I don’t think this is romantic, but…” he trails off when you start laughing, watching you closely as you do, dimples set deeply in his cheeks.

You nod your head before lowering your face to his. He meets you halfways, pressing his mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly. 

“My pretty girl.” He whispers as he pulls away. 

“Yours.” You whisper back, smiling. 

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

After a few more moments of you resting on top of Eddie, the two of you begin to shift, slowly separating from one another. Lazily cleaning yourselves up, trading discarded clothes as you pick them up from the floor, it’s a good memory, one you want to keep forever. 

The sun now tucked beneath the skyline, your room glows in the low light form your lamp, Eddie’s heartbeat serving as the background music to this moment. You settle deeper into his chest, and he hugs you tighter.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the time that mattered the most. 

As far as silent moments go, there’s not many with Eddie. He breaks the quiet of the room, shifting to look at you. 

“I think I might want to be a vagina doctor, I know so much shit about vaginas now.” He says, completely serious. You choke on a laugh, surprised by his comment.

“Really?” 

“No.” He says, tilting his face so you can see his smile. “Just know a lot now.” He laughs.

[justreadingthings]

This is so good! I have to tell you, I got sleepy while I was reading and took a nap (it’s Saturday I’m allowed) and this bled into my dreams even. I love the realistic first time, and then the second time making up for it, I will for sure be back to read this masterpiece again 🩷

[prettybutaching]

℘1 - ℘2 ⋆˚࿔ m.list⋆˚࿔ steveharrington x henderson!reader

You avoid Family Video entirely after the fight.

Not intentionally at first.

The first day afterward, you tell yourself you’re just tired.

That you don’t feel like dealing with fluorescent lights and movie shelves and Robin making knowing faces at you from behind the counter. You tell yourself you’ll go tomorrow instead once the knot in your chest settles into something manageable again.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it gets worse.

Because now every quiet moment leaves too much room to think.

And every thought circles back to Steve eventually.

The argument replays constantly in your head in sharp fragmented pieces that refuse to leave you alone no matter how hard you try distracting yourself.

Because watching you with these guys sucks.

You don’t get to act possessive over me when you’ve never actually wanted me.

I thought it was obvious.

That part ruins you most.

You thought it was obvious.

The words echo around your skull for hours afterward because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Obvious how?

Obvious that Steve cared about you?

Obvious that all those looks meant something?

Obvious that every late night conversation and every lingering touch and every moment that felt too intimate to just be friendship actually wasn’t all in your head?

The possibility tears straight through you because if that’s true, then the last few months suddenly become unbearable to think about.

Every date.

Every time you forced yourself to pretend someone else was enough.

Every night spent lying awake convincing yourself Steve could never actually want you like that.

All of it suddenly feels humiliating.

Because maybe you were both standing on opposite sides of the same misunderstanding this entire time.

But then another thought crashes into it immediately afterward.

If Steve really felt something, why didn’t he stop you?

Why didn’t he say it?

You replay the moment over and over again while lying awake in bed that first night, staring blankly at your ceiling while moonlight spills faintly across your room.

You remember the look on his face after you said he never wanted you.

Like you’d reached into his chest and pulled something out barehanded.

Your stomach twists painfully at the memory.

Then you remember what happened after.

The way he just let you leave, didn't follow you or stop you.

Didn’t say the words you desperately needed him to say.

And that hurts worst of all, because now you know enough to ruin yourself properly. Now you know there was something there.

Meanwhile Steve spends those same three days feeling like someone physically removed his internal organs and forgot to put them back.

He barely sleeps the first night.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face in the video store again.

The confusion turning into anger, then that horrible wounded expression right before you left.

Steve’s never hated himself more than he does in that moment replaying endlessly through his head at three in the morning.

Because how did this happen?

How did he spend months loving you so obviously in his own mind while somehow completely failing to make you feel wanted?

The realization genuinely wrecks him.

He keeps thinking about your voice when you said

“You don’t get to act possessive over me when you’ve never actually wanted me.”

And Jesus Christ... The fact that you believed that.

The fact that somehow you spent all this time thinking his feelings weren’t real makes Steve feel sick with guilt.

Because to him, loving you became as natural as breathing somewhere along the line.

He forgot you couldn’t actually read his mind.

Forgot that not everyone interprets devotion through stupid little things the way he does.

To Steve, it felt obvious.

Of course he loved you.

He looked for you first in every room. Memorized your coffee order. Drove across town at midnight whenever you called. Spent entire conversations staring at your mouth without realizing it. Let you touch parts of him emotionally nobody else had seen in years.

In his head, he’d been loving you loudly for months.

But he never actually said it.

And now he understands that maybe you needed him to.

The second day is somehow worse, Because now you’re fully avoiding him

No calls. No stopping by Family Video. Nothing.

The absence of you feels violent suddenly.

Steve never realized how much of his life revolved around you until your silence settled over everything.

Even Dustin notices almost immediately.

“You guys had a fight or something?” he asks while climbing into Steve’s car after school.

Steve grips the steering wheel tighter automatically.

“No.”

Dustin snorts.

“You’re both acting weird.”

Steve says nothing.

Because he doesn’t even know where to start explaining this.

How does he tell Dustin that somewhere between movie nights and summer drives and hearing you laugh from another room, he accidentally fell so deeply in love with you that now functioning like a normal person feels impossible?

Instead he just drives in silence while Dustin keeps glancing at him suspiciously from the passenger seat.

“You know y/n’s being weird too, right?” Dustin says eventually.

Steve’s heart immediately betrays him.

“What do you mean?”

“She keeps asking if you stopped by.”

Steve goes still.

Dustin notices instantly.

“Oh my God,” he says slowly. “You’re in love with my sister.”

Steve nearly swerves into another lane.

“I am not—”

“You totally are!”

“Dustin.”

“No way.” Dustin sounds genuinely delighted now. “This is disgusting.”

Steve groans and drops his forehead briefly against the steering wheel at the next red light while Dustin cackles beside him.

But even through the embarrassment, Steve’s chest still aches at the thought of you asking about him.

Because you miss him too.

At least a little.

That thought becomes the only thing keeping him sane for the next twenty four hours.

By day three, Robin is fully losing patience with him.

Steve’s been standing in the middle of the action aisle for almost five straight minutes holding the same tape without moving while his brain replays the argument again for probably the hundredth time.

Robin watches him from behind the counter with growing irritation.

Finally she slams the register drawer shut loud enough to make him flinch.

“If you stare dramatically into the distance one more time,” she says flatly, “I’m calling a priest.”

Steve barely reacts.

Robin narrows her eyes.

“That wasn’t a joke. I think your soul left your body yesterday.”

Still nothing.

Which immediately tells her this is worse than she thought.

Robin walks over slowly, arms crossing over her chest while Steve continues staring blankly at nothing.

“You gonna talk to her?”

Steve laughs once under his breath.

“She hates me.”

“She absolutely does not hate you.” Robin’s expression softens slightly.

“You didn’t see her face.”

“I did actually.” Robin leans against the shelf beside him. “You both looked like someone shot your dog.”

Steve shuts his eyes briefly.

Because that’s exactly how it felt.

Robin watches him carefully for another second before speaking again.

“What exactly happened after I went into the back room?”

Steve hesitates before telling her, not everything but some.

Robin physically recoils.

“Oh my God, you idiots.”

Steve drops his head into his hands.

“I know.”

“No, like actually. This is so painful to witness.”

Steve laughs weakly despite himself, but it disappears almost immediately.

Because underneath everything else, one thought keeps eating through him relentlessly.

You thought he didn’t choose you.

After all this time, somehow you still believed he wouldn’t.

Robin sighs beside him.

“Steve”

He looks up tiredly.

“Go talk to her”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“The truth?” Robin says like it’s obvious. “Crazy concept, I know”

Steve looks away again immediately.

The truth is that Steve loves you enough to rearrange his entire life around your existence without noticing he’s doing it.

The truth is that every future thought in his head somehow includes you automatically now.

The truth is that seeing another guy touch you made him feel physically sick because somewhere deep down, some selfish broken part of him already thinks of you as his even though he’s never had the courage to ask if he could be yours too.

How is he supposed to say all of that out loud without completely falling apart?

Robin watches panic flicker across his face in real time and immediately understands.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

Steve swallows hard.

“Yeah.”

For a second neither of them speaks.

Then Robin nudges his shoulder lightly.

“She’s probably just as scared as you are, you know.”

Steve thinks about your face in the video store again.

And suddenly something inside him snaps into place painfully hard.

Because maybe Robin’s right, Maybe you’re hurting too.

Maybe this entire thing only happened because both of you were too terrified of losing each other to admit what was already there.

Steve exhales shakily.

Then grabs his car keys.

The drive to your house feels longer than it actually is.

Steve keeps both hands locked tightly around the steering wheel the entire time like if he loosens his grip even slightly, he might lose his nerve and turn the car around before he gets there.

Streetlights blur past the windows in soft streaks of yellow while the radio hums quietly in the background, low enough that he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat.

Everything in him feels restless, like his chest physically cannot hold another second of this.

Because Robin’s right.

He has to talk to you.

And honestly, Steve’s not sure what scares him more anymore, telling you the truth or spending another day pretending he can survive without you.

His thoughts keep circling back to the same horrible realization over and over again.

You thought he didn’t choose you.

After everything.

After every look and every touch and every moment where he practically handed you pieces of himself without realizing it, somehow you still believed he didn’t want you enough.

That thought alone makes him feel sick.

Steve pulls onto your street just after midnight.

Most of the houses are dark already, quiet in that specific late night suburban way where everything feels softer somehow. The air outside is warm when he steps out of the car, carrying the smell of summer pavement and distant rain that never actually came.

Your bedroom light is off.

For a second he just stands there staring up at your window feeling sixteen again.

Then he bends down, grabs a few small rocks from beside the curb, and throws one lightly against your window.

Nothing happens.

Steve exhales sharply and tries again.

Still nothing.

By the third rock, he’s starting to feel genuinely insane.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath. “Fantastic plan, Harrington.”

Then finally your curtains move slightly.

Relief hits him so fast it almost knocks the air from his lungs.

A second later your window slides open and there you are, sleep rumpled and exhausted looking down at him with immediate disbelief written all over your face.

Your hair’s messy from bed.

There’s a crease pressed lightly into your cheek from your pillow.

And somehow Steve still thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“What are you doing?” you whisper harshly.

Steve shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket mostly so you won’t notice they’re shaking.

“I need to talk to you.”

“At one in the morning?”

“I was emotionally spiraling.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches slightly.

Steve notices immediately because of course he does.

The tiny almost smile disappears just as fast though, replaced by something more guarded.

The last three days are still sitting heavily between both of you.

You glance behind you into your dark room for a second before looking back down at him carefully.

“You couldn’t have called?”

Steve laughs softly under his breath.

“You haven’t answered the phone in three days.”

Fair point.

Silence stretches for a second.

The warm night air presses softly against your skin while Steve looks up at you with an expression so openly nervous it makes your stomach twist unexpectedly.

Because Steve doesn’t usually look unsure of himself around you.

Not like this.

“Can I come up?” he asks quietly.

Your heart stumbles hard enough to hurt.

Part of you wants to say no purely on principle.

Because he hurt and confused you.

Because you’ve spent three straight nights replaying that fight until your chest physically ached from it.

But another part of you—the bigger part unfortunately—has missed him so badly it’s become unbearable.

You missed his voice. You missed his stupid commentary during movies. Missed the way he fills space in your room like he belongs there naturally.

Three days without Steve feels wrong in ways you don’t even know how to explain to yourself yet.

So eventually you sigh quietly and step back from the window.

“Fine.”

Steve’s relief is immediate and impossible to miss.

It moves across his face so fast it almost looks painful, like he’d been fully prepared for you to shut the window in his face and leave him standing out there alone with everything he should’ve said days ago.

His shoulders loosen first.

Then his expression softens in that quiet unguarded way you only ever catch accidentally, usually late at night when he’s too tired to hide what he’s feeling properly.

For a second neither of you says anything.

You just step back from the window silently while Steve looks up at you like he can’t quite believe you still let him in after everything.

The guilt from that alone settles heavily in your chest.

Because no matter how upset you were these last few days, some part of you always would've opened the window for him anyway.

That’s the problem.

It’s Steve.

And apparently your heart has never learned how to deny him anything for very long.

A minute later you hear the quiet scrape of his shoes against the side of the house followed by the familiar thud of him climbing through your window with significantly less grace than he probably imagined in his head.

Normally you would’ve laughed.

Normally Steve would’ve made some sarcastic comment about risking his life for you while dramatically dusting himself off afterward.

Tonight neither of you does.

Steve catches himself against the frame awkwardly before stepping into your room, and suddenly the atmosphere shifts so sharply it almost steals the air from your lungs.

Because the room feels different with him in it again.

Like the last three days left behind an absence you only notice now that it’s gone.

Your bedroom had felt too quiet without Steve in it.

Too still. You didn’t realize how used to him you’d become until he disappeared and took half the warmth in your routines with him.

Now he’s here again standing near your window in faded jeans and a denim jacket thrown hastily over a gray tshirt like he got dressed too quickly to think properly. His hair looks messy from running his hands through it too much, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes that make something ache deep in your chest because suddenly you wonder if he slept as badly as you did.

Your pulse becomes unbearable immediately.

You sit cross legged near the end of your bed mostly because your legs suddenly don’t feel steady enough to trust standing anymore while Steve lingers awkwardly by the window like he’s unsure whether he’s still allowed to take up space here.

That more than anything almost breaks your heart.

Because Steve has always belonged in your room.

He used to walk in carelessly, all easy confidence and lazy smiles while stealing hoodies off your chair or collapsing dramatically across your bed like he lived there half the time.

Now he looks careful.

Like one wrong movement might make you ask him to leave.

The realization hurts far more than you expect it to.

Steve glances around your room briefly, and you can physically feel the tension radiating off him in quiet waves. His hands flex once at his sides before disappearing into his jacket pockets again, a nervous habit you only started noticing recently because apparently you notice everything about him now too.

The silence between you stretches softly.

Your bedside lamp casts warm gold across the room while summer wind drifts lazily through the still open window behind him, stirring the curtains slightly. Somewhere downstairs the house creaks quietly, your mom probably asleep in front of the television again, completely unaware that your entire life feels seconds away from changing permanently upstairs.

And Steve—

God.

Steve keeps looking at you like he’s trying to gather the courage to say something that might ruin him completely depending on how you react.

Finally, the silence becomes too much to sit inside anymore.

You pull your arms tighter across yourself like it might somehow steady the mess happening in your chest and force your voice to come out even despite the way your pulse keeps climbing higher the longer Steve looks at you like that.

“Well?”

The word lands softly between you, but it still feels sharp enough to split something open.

Steve drags a hand back through his hair immediately, fingers catching for a second like he’s already frustrated with himself for not knowing how to start this properly. You watch his throat move when he swallows hard, eyes flicking away from yours before finding them again almost helplessly.

And suddenly he looks younger somehow.

Not physically but, stripped down in a way you’ve never seen before.

No easy grin to hide behind.

No carefully timed sarcasm to soften whatever he’s actually feeling.

It’s just Steve standing in your bedroom at one in the morning looking terrified enough to ruin you completely.

Then quietly, almost like the words hurt coming out

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Everything inside you stops.

Your heartbeat stutters once so hard it almost feels painful, and for a second your brain genuinely refuses to process what he just said because the sentence itself feels too impossible to exist outside your imagination.

You’ve spent months wanting this.

Months replaying tiny moments over and over again wondering if they meant as much to Steve as they did to you.

And now he’s standing in front of you saying the exact thing you trained yourself not to hope for too much.

Steve lets out a quiet breath afterward, but it sounds uneven around the edges. Wrecked, almost. Like even saying it out loud physically shook something loose inside him.

Then he shakes his head once immediately after, eyes dropping toward the floor.

“Actually, no,” he says softly, correcting himself before you can even react.

“That’s not true.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Steve looks back up at you then, and the expression on his face nearly undoes you on the spot because there’s nothing uncertain left in it now.

“I know I’m in love with you.”

The room goes so quiet afterward that you can hear the soft buzzing of your bedside lamp and the faint sound of cicadas outside drifting through the open window behind him.

You just stare at him.

Because what are you even supposed to do with that?

Part of you feels almost detached from your own body suddenly, like this entire moment exists slightly outside reality. You’ve imagined versions of this conversation so many times over the last few months that now it’s actually happening, your brain can’t catch up fast enough.

Steve looks at you for so long afterward that it almost becomes unbearable to sit inside.

Like now that the words are finally out in the open, he doesn’t know how to pull himself back together again.

Your room feels painfully quiet around him. The warm light from your bedside lamp catches against the exhaustion written across his face while summer air drifts softly through the curtains behind him, and suddenly you realize something that makes your chest ache immediately—

Steve didn’t come here tonight planning to protect himself.

He came here planning to tell the truth even if it destroyed him afterward.

The realization settles heavily into you while he stands there searching your face nervously, like he’s trying to figure out whether he already ruined everything by saying too much.

Then finally he laughs once under his breath.

“You know what’s insane?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head before you even realize you’re doing it.

Steve’s eyes stay fixed on yours when he speaks again.

“I genuinely thought I was being obvious.”

The words hit you hard enough to hurt.

Because now that he’s saying it—now that you’re looking back through everything with this new understanding—the signs suddenly feel everywhere.

The staring, the jealousy, the way he always reached for you first without thinking.

The way he’d show up at your house even when Dustin wasn’t there.

The softness in his voice whenever he said your name.

You swallow hard while Steve drags a tired hand down across his face.

“I didn’t even realize when it happened,” he admits. “That’s the worst part.”

His voice has gone quieter now.

Like each sentence is pulling something deeper out of him against his will.

“One day you were just…” He exhales slowly. “Dustin’s sister. The girl who insulted me in your kitchen while I bled all over the floor.”

Despite everything, a small breath of laughter escapes you.

Steve’s mouth twitches faintly at the sound before softening again almost immediately.

“And then suddenly you were the first person I wanted to tell things to.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Steve glances away for a second, jaw shifting slightly like he’s trying to steady himself enough to keep going.

“I started looking for you without realizing it,” he says quietly. “Everywhere.”

The honesty in his voice feels almost unbearable now.

“If I walked into your house and you weren’t there yet, it ruined my mood instantly. If something funny happened during my day, I’d catch myself thinking about how you’d react before I even thought about telling anybody else.”

His eyes find yours again.

“And then you started dating people.”

The sentence lands differently.

You physically see the hurt move across his face this time.

Steve laughs softly under his breath again, but it sounds exhausted.

“God, I hated it.”

Your heartbeat jumps.

Steve shakes his head once immediately afterward.

“Not because you did anything wrong,” he says quickly. “I know you didn’t. I know you were allowed to date people and live your life and whatever, but every time some guy picked you up, I felt…” He stops abruptly, frustrated with himself already. “I don’t know. Like somebody was slowly replacing me without me noticing.”

The confession cracks something open in your chest.

Steve takes another step closer unconsciously while he talks, like his body keeps drifting toward you no matter how hard he tries controlling it.

“I’d sit there listening to you talk about dates pretending I was okay while feeling completely insane inside.” His expression twists slightly, embarrassed now. “And then afterward you’d still lean against me like nothing changed.”

His voice softens at that.

“You still trusted me.”

You can barely breathe properly anymore.

“Even after other guys,” Steve says quietly, “you still came back to me.”

The room goes still around the two of you.

neither of you expected that sentence to sound as intimate as it just did.

“That’s when I knew it was bad,” he admits.

You stare at him.

“Bad?”

Steve huffs out a faint laugh.

“I’m trying not to completely scare you off here.”

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“I know.”

But neither of you are really joking anymore.

Steve’s eyes stay locked onto yours while he speaks again, quieter this time.

“I knew I loved you the night you fell asleep on my shoulder after that date.”

Your pulse stutters violently.

Steve looks down briefly like even admitting this still embarrasses him somehow.

“You were half asleep complaining that I smelled like cigarettes.” A soft smile pulls faintly at the corner of his mouth. “And I remember sitting there thinking I could do this forever.”

Your throat tightens instantly.

Because you remember that night too.

You remember leaning against him without thinking.

Remember how safe it felt.

Meanwhile Steve was apparently sitting beside you realizing he loved you enough to ruin himself over it.

“I started thinking about stupid things after that,” he admits quietly.

“What stupid things?”

Steve laughs once under his breath, looking genuinely shy for maybe the first time you’ve ever seen.

“Like… grocery shopping with you.”

You blink.

He shrugs helplessly.

“I told you they were stupid.”

“No,” you say softly before you can stop yourself. “Keep going.”

Something changes in his expression after that.

Like your answer gave him permission to finally say the things he’s been swallowing down for months.

Steve steps even closer until he’s standing directly in front of you now, close enough that your knees nearly brush against his jeans where you sit at the edge of the bed.

His voice drops quieter.

“I’d think about stupid domestic things all the time,” he admits. “About driving over here after work and finding you asleep on the couch. Or arguing with you in grocery store aisles over cereal. Or hearing you laugh in another room while I was making coffee.”

Your chest starts aching now because steve’s not talking about wanting you temporarily, He’s talking about building a life around you so naturally he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he says honestly. “Not even close.

“You got so important to me so fast that it actually scared me,” he admits. “suddenly every good part of my day somehow involved you. And every bad part got easier if I could talk to you afterward.”

Your eyes burn slightly at that.

His expression softens with something almost heartbreaking.

“And then at Family Video,” he says quietly, “when you said you thought I never wanted you…”

He stops there. Swallows hard.

You watch emotion move visibly through him before he forces himself to continue.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard something hurt that bad in my life.”

Steve shakes his head faintly, eyes still fixed on yours like he physically cannot look away anymore.

“I wanted you so badly it was ruining me,” he says softly. “I just didn’t know how to say it without risking losing you completely.”

The room goes completely still after that.

Just quiet in the kind of way that feels fragile, like even breathing too loudly might crack the moment apart before either of you are ready for it to end.

Steve’s standing so close now that you can see every tiny shift in his expression as it happens. The nervousness still lingering around his eyes. The exhaustion pulled into the corners of his mouth from too many sleepless nights. The vulnerability he’s making absolutely no attempt to hide from you anymore.

Steve has always been beautiful, everybody and their mothers know that.

But this version of him standing in front of you now—messy hair, tired eyes, voice rough from honesty—is the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Steve watches you carefully, like he’s trying to read your reaction before you even speak. You can tell he’s bracing himself for something. Rejection maybe. Hesitation. The possibility that he’s already said too much and there’s no taking it back now.

And the awful thing is that part of you understands exactly why he’s scared. You’re scared because suddenly this thing between you is real now. Tangible. Sitting openly in the middle of your bedroom where neither of you can hide behind almost anymore.

For months everything lived safely underneath the surface.

Lingering looks could still be accidents.

Jealousy could still be explained away.

Late night window visits and stolen touches and the way Steve looked at you like you were something worth protecting could all still exist in that blurry space between friendship and something else.

But now?

Now Steve’s standing in front of you admitting he imagined grocery shopping with you.

And somehow that feels infinitely more intimate than if he’d just said he wanted to kiss you.

You look down at your hands because suddenly your eyes burn in a way that feels embarrassing.

Immediately Steve’s expression changes.

Concern flashes across his face so quickly it almost startles you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

The gentleness in his voice nearly ruins you.

“I’m sorry if this is too much.”

Your head snaps up instantly.

“What? No.”

Steve studies your face carefully.

“You look upset.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, shaky and quiet and completely overwhelmed.

“I am upset.”

His face falls immediately.

“No, not because of—”

“I know.”

You press your lips together briefly, trying to steady yourself enough to explain properly. “I’m upset because I spent months convincing myself you could never feel this way about me.”

“Are you serious?” he asks quietly.

You let out another weak laugh, looking away again because saying this out loud feels humiliating now that you know the truth.

“Steve, do you know how many times I talked myself out of reading too much into things?”

His eyebrows pull together slightly.

“What things?”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What things?” you repeat. “Are you kidding?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

“Oh my God.”

The words leave your mouth with exhausted affection threaded through them, and Steve actually looks confused enough that despite everything happening right now, part of you wants to laugh again.

“You’d look at me for like…” You gesture vaguely. “Entire conversations.”

Steve blinks.

“I was listening.”

“You were staring.”

“I can do both.”

You shake your head immediately.

“No, because then you’d touch me all the time and act jealous every time I went out with somebody, and then two seconds later you’d flirt with some waitress at the diner like it was nothing.”

Steve groans softly and drops his head back toward the ceiling.

“Oh my God, not the waitress thing again.”

“It was devastating for me, actually.”

That makes him look at you again instantly.

And suddenly something shifts.

Because that sentence slipped out too honestly.

Steve’s eyes search yours carefully.

“You were jealous?”

Heat rushes into your face immediately.

“No.”

“That was literally a confession.”

“It was not.”

“You just said devastating.”

You cover your face with both hands instantly while Steve lets out the first real laugh you’ve heard from him in days.

You missed that sound so much.

“I cannot believe this,” he says, still laughing quietly under his breath. “We’re actually idiots.”

“You are definitely more at fault here.”

“Me?” Steve points toward himself in genuine disbelief. “You dated like four guys.”

“Because I thought you didn’t want me!”

“I thought you didn’t want me either!”

You stare at each other for half a second.

Then both of you start laughing at the exact same time.

Not because any of this is actually funny.

Mostly because the emotional tension sitting between you has become so huge that something had to break eventually.

Steve’s laughter fades first.

You watch the exact moment it happens.

Watch his expression soften again while he looks at you sitting there on the edge of your bed smiling for the first time in days.

And suddenly the atmosphere changes all over again.

The space between you feels charged in a way it never has before because now everything is out in the open. Every lingering touch from the last few months suddenly means something different.

Your pulse starts climbing again almost immediately when Steve steps closer.

This time neither of you pretends not to notice it.

He stops directly in front of you, knees brushing lightly against yours where you’re sitting at the edge of the mattress, and the contact alone sends warmth rushing all the way up your spine.

It’s ridiculous.

Steve’s touched you a thousand times before.

His hands on your waist guiding you through crowds.

His arm slung around your shoulders during movies.

Your legs tangled together in the passenger seat during late night drives.

But this feels entirely different now.

Now you know what it meant to him and, you know what it meant to you too.

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second, something almost disbelieving still lingering in his expression like he hasn’t fully processed the fact that you feel the same way yet.

“You really tried getting over me?”

You nod once.

Steve watches you carefully.

“How bad was it?”

You laugh weakly under your breath. “Pretty bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Steve, I literally went out with other people because I thought maybe eventually I’d stop comparing everybody to you.”

That wipes the remaining traces of amusement off his face instantly.

His expression turns almost unbearably soft instead.

“You compared people to me?”

“All the time.”

That confession makes something flicker visibly across his face.

Like the idea matters to him far more than it probably should.

“How come?” he asks quietly.

You look down briefly because admitting this suddenly feels terrifying in a completely different way now that he’s standing so close.

But Steve waits patiently.

He just stays there looking at you like whatever answer you give him might become the most important thing he hears all night.

So eventually you tell him the truth.

“Because nobody else ever felt safe the way you do.”

Steve’s breath catches softly.

You keep going before you lose your nerve.

“With other people, I always felt like I had to perform a little.” Your fingers twist nervously together in your lap. “Like I had to be interesting enough or pretty enough or say the right thing all the time.”

Steve’s face tightens slightly at that.

“But with you…” You finally look back up at him. “I never really had to think about it.”

The room feels impossibly quiet now.

Steve stares at you like you just reached directly into his chest and touched something fragile there.

Then after a second he shakes his head faintly, almost in disbelief.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says softly.

The way he says it nearly melts every coherent thought left in your brain.

Steve’s eyes drop briefly to your mouth before catching himself.

But this time neither of you ignores it.

Your breath catches instantly.

And suddenly all those months of tension settle heavily into the space between you at once. Every almost moment. Every lingering glance. Every touch that lasted slightly too long.

Steve notices your pulse jump in your throat.

You know he notices because his expression changes immediately afterward, softening into something careful.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

The words send warmth rushing through your chest so fast it almost hurts.

Because even now, after everything he’s still making sure.

Still giving you a choice.

You stare at him for a second too long before whispering

“I don’t think I could.”

That’s all it takes.

Steve exhales shakily like he’d still been preparing himself for rejection anyway before he leans in slowly, carefully enough that your heart starts pounding impossibly hard against your ribs.

And when he kisses you, it feels nothing like you expected.

Soft in a way that immediately makes something inside you melt completely because Steve kisses you like you’re something precious to him. Like he’s been thinking about this for so long that now he’s terrified of getting any part of it wrong.

His hand slides gently to the side of your neck while your fingers instinctively curl into the front of his jacket, pulling him slightly closer without even realizing you’re doing it.

Steve makes the quietest sound against your mouth at that.

The kiss deepens slowly, natural and careful and achingly sweet in a way that makes your chest feel painfully full.

suddenly it makes sense, why nobody else ever felt right, why every room felt different when steve walked into it, why being around him always felt a little dangerous in the best possible way.

When steve finally pulls back, neither of you move

His forehead rests lightly against yours while both of you try catching your breath in the quiet afterward.

“Oh my God.”

You let out a breathless laugh.

“What?”

Steve opens his eyes enough to look at you.

“That was actually worse than I imagined.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“Worse?”

“You know.” His mouth twitches slightly. “For my emotional stability.”

You laugh again, and the sound seems to physically brighten something in his face.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs without thinking.

The words hit both of you at the exact same time.

Steve freezes immediately afterward.

Then very slowly, heat creeps up the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he admits.

You stare at him for another second before smiling despite yourself.

“I didn’t hate it.”

The look Steve gives you after that nearly stops your heart entirely.

Then suddenly he’s smiling too, and it’s different from the smiles you’re used to from him. Less practiced somehow. Less aware of itself.

The realization sends warmth flooding through your chest.

Steve leans down and kisses you again before either of you can say anything else, quicker this time but no less careful, and you can feel him smiling slightly against your mouth halfway through it.

“You know what’s humiliating?” he says quietly afterward.

“What?”

“I had an entire speech prepared in the car.”

You burst out laughing immediately.

“No you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“I’m serious.” He groans softly, dragging one hand over his face. “Robin made me rehearse things.”

“Oh jeez”

“She said if I came over here and said something stupid, she’d legally disown me.”

Your laughter gets louder at that, and steve watches you with the kind of expression people only get when they’re looking at something they love too much.

The thought hits you suddenly and hard enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He loves me.

Steve loves you enough to lose sleep over it.

The weight of it settles warmly into your chest.

You reach up without thinking and brush your fingers lightly through the messy front pieces of his hair.

Steve goes completely still.

Your hand pauses immediately.

“What?”

He just shakes his head faintly.

“No, it’s just…” A soft laugh leaves him. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.

“You say things like that and then expect me to function normally afterward?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

Steve grins properly then, all warmth and affection and relief tangled together now that the worst part is finally over.

Then his expression softens again when he looks at you.

“You know,” he says quietly, “these were probably the worst three days of my life.”

You snort softly.

“That feels dramatic.”

“I’m deeply serious.”

“You survived demodogs.”

“Yeah, but this was super upsetting.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away immediately.

A comfortable silence settles between you after that while Steve sits beside you on the bed now, shoulders pressed together naturally like the distance of the last few weeks never existed at all.

Outside, summer night stretches quietly around the house while the clock beside your bed creeps closer toward two in the morning.

Neither of you seems interested in sleeping.

Steve absentmindedly traces shapes against your wrist while you lean against his shoulder, and every once in a while one of you looks at the other and starts smiling all over again for no reason besides this still feeling unreal.

Eventually Steve presses a kiss softly into your hair and murmurs against the top of your head,

“You know Dustin’s gonna be insufferable when he finds out.”

You groan immediately.

“Oh, he’s never letting us live this down.”

“Nope.”

Steve’s arm tightens slightly around you before he speaks again, quieter now.

“I really am in love with you, by the way.”

Your chest aches warmly at the sincerity in his voice.

You tilt your head enough to look up at him properly. “I know.”

Steve smiles softly.

Then he kisses your forehead like he’s been wanting to do that for months too.

⋆˚꩜｡ my inbox are always open for recommendations!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 @idontread4 @kurtsw7rld96 @drmscomet @swaggyvlad @omgshesinsane @louisbelongstome28 @somethingsfishy23 @certifedgoober380 @harringt0nangel @poetwithanxiety @decaffeinatedpuppygiver @brrrainst3w @matildakissesxo

[justreadingthings]

Hey so this ruined me! But it’s okay because you stitched me back together! This is so fucking good 🥹

[prettybutaching]

m.list⋆˚࿔ summary ⁀➴ steveharrington x henderson!reader ➺ Steve Harrington never meant for it to become anything serious until she slowly became the center of every late night drive, lingering glance, and thought he couldn’t shut off. Meanwhile, she’s convinced he’s just naturally charming with everyone.

The first time Steve Harrington walks into your house, he’s bleeding from the forehead, arguing with Dustin, and carrying three grocery bags full of junk food like he’s been personally victimized by the existence of children.

“I’m serious,” Dustin complains, stomping into the kitchen ahead of him. “You cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Steve argues immediately. “You just suck at arcade games.”

“You distracted me!”

“By existing?”

You look up from the counter where you’re cutting strawberries, already exhausted.

“Can one of you die quietly?”

Dustin gasps dramatically. “See? This is emotional abuse.”

Steve laughs at that.

He really laughs.

Head tipping back slightly, shoulders relaxing, the sound rough and easy and completely unguarded.

And for some reason, that’s the first thing he notices about you.

Not that you’re pretty—though you are.

Not even that you’re Dustin’s older sister.

He notices that you look at him like he’s normal. Like he’s just some guy standing in your kitchen bleeding onto the tile floor instead of Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High, owner of a reputation half the town already thinks they understand.

“Your face is gross,” you tell him casually.

“Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You know, most people are nicer to me.”

You shrug without looking up. “Most people want something from you.”

Dustin makes a loud choking sound while Steve just stares for a second.

Not offended. Not angry.

Surprised.

Then slowly, something amused curls into his expression.

“Ouch,” he says softly.

You hand him a dish towel. “Try not to drip blood everywhere, pretty boy.”

And that should’ve been it.

Really.

It should’ve stayed simple.

You were Dustin’s sister. Steve drove Dustin places sometimes. The kids dragged him around constantly now, which somehow meant he spent more time at your house than his own lately.

It wasn’t unusual after that for him to show up halfway through the afternoon carrying takeout or knocking against your window because Dustin forgot his backpack or slumping dramatically across your couch complaining about his day.

You didn’t think much of it.

Steve Harrington was charming with everyone.

That was just who he was.

He flirted with waitresses and cashiers and moms buying groceries. He smiled too easily. Leaned too close. Talked like every conversation was private even when it wasn’t.

You assumed none of it meant anything.

So when he starts aiming that attention toward you specifically, you barely react at all.

And unfortunately for Steve, that’s exactly what gets him.

At first, he thinks you’re funny.

That’s all.

He thinks it’s entertaining that you don’t care about his reputation. Entertaining that you roll your eyes when he flirts with you instead of blushing. Entertaining that when he sprawls across your bed stealing fries off your plate, you smack his hand away without hesitation.

“You know,” he says one evening, grinning lazily up at you from where he’s lying across your carpet, “you’re kinda mean to me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

“Steve.”

“y/n...”

You snort despite yourself. He notices that too.

Steve notices everything about you long before he realizes it matters.

He notices you hum under your breath when you’re reading.

He notices you always leave the crusts of sandwiches behind.

He notices you tap your fingers against cups when you’re anxious.

He notices you reread the final pages of books before you finish them because you hate endings.

He notices you tuck strands of hair behind your ear when you’re lying.

He notices way too much.

And slowly, without meaning to, he starts looking for you first.

When he walks into your house, his eyes find you automatically.

When he hears your voice from another room, he listens.

He starts showing up even when Dustin isn’t home once or twice, pretending he forgot something.

“You know Dustin’s at Mike’s, right?” you ask the third time it happens.

Steve leans against your bedroom doorway, completely unashamed.

“Yeah.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “So why are you here?”

His smile turns crooked.

“Maybe I came to see you.”

You laugh immediately, not even looking up from your magazine.

“You use that line on everybody?”

And for some reason, that answer bothers him more than it should.

Because he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s different.

He doesn’t even understand why it’s different yet.

So instead, he shrugs and says lightly, “Only the pretty ones.”

You throw a pillow at his face.

He catches it easily, grinning.

That becomes your thing after that.

Banter. Constant banter.

Steve teasing you just to hear your reactions.

You insulting him without mercy while he acts deeply wounded by it.

He leans too close when he talks to you. You stop noticing how often your knees touch in the car. His hand starts finding the small of your back automatically when guiding you through crowds.

He grows comfortable around you in a way he hasn’t been with anyone in years.

It sneaks up on him slowly.

He starts measuring his days around whether he’ll see you.

He pretends he’s visiting for Dustin even though Dustin usually disappears upstairs within five minutes anyway, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen while summer storms rumble outside and the radio plays softly in the background.

“You’re staring again,” you tell him one night.

Steve blinks. “What?”

You glance at him over the rim of your soda can. “You do that.”

“Do what?”

“Zone out and stare at me like I said something life changing.”

His ears go slightly pink.

“Maybe you do.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

But Steve feels strangely embarrassed after that because the worst part is—you’re right.

He does stare. He stares because you fascinate him.

You move through the world so differently than the people he’s used to. You never perform for attention. Never flirt just to flirt. You talk to him like he’s a person instead of a story people tell about him.

And somewhere along the line, Steve stops flirting casually and starts flirting because he genuinely wants your attention.

The problem is, you don’t realize there’s been a shift.

You still think this is just Steve being Steve.

So when you mention other guys, you do it carelessly.

“This guy at work asked me out today,” you say absentmindedly one evening while sitting beside him on the hood of his car.

The Hawkins night air is warm. The grocery store parking lot glows gold under flickering lights. Steve’s cigarette burns between his fingers.

“Oh yeah?” he asks lightly.

“Mm hm.”

“You gonna say yes?”

You shrug. “Maybe. He’s cute.”

Steve smiles.

He even laughs a little.

“Cool.”

Inside, something ugly twists sharply in his chest. But he ignores it.

Because he’s Steve Harrington. He doesn’t get jealous.

He definitely doesn’t get jealous over a girl who still thinks he flirts with everybody.

Then you actually start dating people and Steve discovers he hates it.

The first time another guy picks you up from your house, Steve is sitting on the Henderson porch steps beside Dustin pretending not to watch.

“He looks like a douchebag,” Dustin mutters immediately.

Steve squints at the car. “Yeah,” he says before he can stop himself.

You laugh from the doorway. “You guys don’t even know him.”

“I know his face,” Steve says. “That’s enough for me.”

You roll your eyes affectionately before heading toward the car.

Steve watches the guy touch your lower back while opening the passenger door and suddenly feels irrationally angry for reasons he absolutely refuses to unpack.

He acts normal about it afterward though.

That’s the worst part.

He still teases you. Still drives you around. Still lounges across your bed talking about nonsense while you paint your nails.

He never says a word about the jealousy eating him alive.

You honestly don’t notice.

Because Steve’s always touching you anyway.

Always close. Always looking at you too long.

You assume he’s like this with everyone.

But then the hickey thing happens.

And afterward, nothing feels casual anymore.

You got home late that night. The house is quiet in the way only late summer nights are quiet. The television downstairs hums faintly from where your mom must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, and somewhere outside cicadas drone lazily in the dark.

Your bedroom window is open just enough for warm air to drift through the curtains.

You kick your shoes off near the door with a tired sigh, already reaching to pull your earrings out when there’s a soft thud from outside your window.

You don’t even jump anymore.

At this point, steve climbing through your bedroom window has somehow become normal.

He stumbles inside gracelessly, one hand gripping the frame while the other holds a VHS tape above his head triumphantly.

“There’s actually something deeply wrong with your family,” he whispers dramatically.

You glance at him through the mirror while unclasping your necklace.

“You came here at midnight for a movie?”

“No,” Steve says immediately. “I came here because Dustin accused you of stealing from him, and apparently I’m the designated problem solver now.”

You snort softly.

Steve kicks the window shut behind him and looks up properly for the first time.

And then he sees them. The marks scattered along your neck. Faint purple bruises disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt. Another just below your jaw.

His entire body goes still.

It’s almost physical, the feeling that hits him.

Like missing a step in the dark.

You don’t notice right away.

You’re still talking casually, fingers moving through your hair while you stand in front of the vanity mirror.

“He actually wasn’t terrible,” you admit with a small laugh. “Which honestly surprised me.”

Steve stares.

Not at your face.

At your neck.

At the evidence that someone touched you there.

Someone kissed you there.

Someone leaned close enough to leave marks on your skin like they belonged there.

His stomach twists so sharply it almost makes him nauseous.

Because suddenly he can see it too clearly.

Some random guy making you laugh.

That same guy touching your waist.

Leaning down toward you.

Your hands against somebody else’s shoulders.

And Steve hates it.

God, he hates it.

Not the guy specifically.

Not even the date.

Just the fact that somebody else got there first.

The fact that someone else touched you in places Steve has spent months carefully avoiding looking at for too long.

He swallows hard.

“Wow,” he says finally, though his voice sounds strange even to himself. “High praise.”

You laugh quietly.

“Right?”

Steve forces his eyes upward.

Your reflection catches his for half a second through the mirror, and he prays you can’t see whatever’s happening on his face right now.

Because he feels insane.

You aren’t his.

That thought keeps slamming into him over and over again.

You aren’t his.

He has absolutely no right to feel this sick over a few bruises on your neck.

But he does.

He really, really does.

You move past him toward your bed, still talking.

Steve barely hears any of it.

Something about the restaurant.

Something about the guy making a joke you actually liked.

Something about maybe seeing him again.

Steve sits down slowly on the edge of your bed because his legs suddenly feel unsteady.

The mattress dips beneath his weight.

You don’t notice how quiet he’s gotten yet.

Your room smells faintly like perfume and laundry detergent and summer air drifting through the window. There’s a lamp glowing softly beside your bed, casting warm gold across your skin.

And those marks.

Jesus Christ.

Every time you turn your head, Steve sees them again.

He tries not to stare.

Really.

But his eyes keep dragging back.

Like touching a bruise with your fingertips even though you know it hurts.

You sit cross legged beside him eventually, absentmindedly reaching for the tape in his hands.

“You okay?”

Steve blinks hard.

“Hm?”

“You’re weirdly quiet.”

“I’m always weirdly quiet.”

“That is objectively not true.”

Normally he’d tease you back instantly.

Normally he’d grin or flick your forehead or say something cocky just to hear you laugh.

Tonight he just watches you for a second too long.

Your eyebrows pull together slightly.

“What?”

His eyes flick downward before he can stop them.

Your expression shifts immediately in understanding.

And for one horrifying second, Steve thinks maybe you’re going to mention it directly.

Maybe you’re going to laugh awkwardly and say yeah, sorry about that.

Maybe you’re going to tell him details.

He thinks that might actually kill him.

Instead you just tilt your head slightly.

“Steve.”

He forces a smile so quickly it almost hurts.

“Nothing.”

You study him for another second, unconvinced.

Then finally you shrug it off.

And somehow that makes it worse too.

Because to you, this is nothing.

Just another date.

Just another guy.

Meanwhile Steve feels like somebody reached into his chest and wrapped a fist around his lungs.

You keep talking softly while flipping the VHS tape over in your hands, completely unaware of the war happening inside the boy sitting beside you.

Steve notices everything now.

The way your lip curves when you smile to yourself thinking about something.

The faint smudge of mascara beneath your eye.

The way you absentmindedly scratch at your wrist when you’re tired.

He notices too much.

And suddenly all he can think about is the fact that somebody else got this version of you tonight.

Someone else got your laugh.

Someone else got close enough to leave marks behind.

The jealousy crawling through him feels ugly.

Not angry.

Not possessive in the cruel way.

Just aching.

Deep and humiliating and impossible to ignore.

Because Steve doesn’t even know when this happened.

When you stopped being harmless.

When he stopped flirting for fun and started looking at you like you were something precious.

When seeing another person touch you started physically hurting him.

He looks away before you can catch whatever’s on his face.

You yawn softly beside him.

“Tired?” he asks automatically.

“Mm.”

His chest aches again at the sleepy sound.

You lean against his shoulder without thinking about it.

Just naturally and comfortably.

And Steve nearly loses his mind.

Because even now—even after another guy spent the night kissing your neck—you still lean toward Steve instinctively.

You still trust him with your softness.

He sits perfectly still beside you, terrified that if he moves too suddenly, he’ll ruin something.

Your head rests lightly against his shoulder while warm air drifts through the open window.

Neither of you speaks for a minute.

And Steve realizes with awful clarity that he is completely, catastrophically gone for you.

Not a crush.

Not flirting.

Not temporary.

Gone.

The realization settles heavily into his chest.

You mumble something sleepy against his shoulder.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“I said you smell like cigarettes.”

Steve laughs softly despite himself.

“Sorry.”

“You should quit.”

“You sound like Robin.”

“She’s smarter than you.”

“Debatable.”

A tired smile pulls softly at your mouth, and steve feels something inside him shift so suddenly it almost startles him. The expression barely lasts more than a few seconds before you tuck your face more comfortably against his shoulder again, but it lingers in his head immediately like something precious he’s terrified of forgetting later.

It isn’t a performative smile or a polite one or even the kind you usually give people during conversations without realizing it. This one is slower, softer around the edges, weighed down by sleep and comfort and trust in a way that makes his chest ache unexpectedly. Steve stares at it longer than he should, watching the way the warm yellow light from your bedside lamp catches against your skin while the rest of the room settles into quiet around the two of you, and eventually he has to force himself to look away because suddenly the feeling inside him is becoming too big to ignore anymore.

The terrifying part isn’t that he wants to kiss you because Steve has wanted to kiss you for months now and has done a decent job pretending otherwise. The terrifying part is that somewhere along the line his feelings stopped being physical at all, stopped being simple enough to explain away with attraction or flirting or temporary infatuation. Sitting here beside you now, with your weight resting naturally against him and your bedroom window letting in warm summer air that stirs softly through the curtains, Steve realizes with horrifying clarity that he wants things he’s never really wanted before.

He wants mornings where he wakes up beside you tangled in sunlight and blankets while you complain sleepily about him stealing the pillows.

He wants late night grocery store runs and arguments over music in the car and your shampoo bottles cluttering up his bathroom sink someday.

He wants this exact feeling stretched out endlessly in front of him, your head resting against his shoulder while you slowly drift toward sleep completely unaware that you’re quietly ruining him.

The realization settles heavily into his chest because Steve Harrington understands relationships that burn hot and disappear fast better than he understands anything else. He knows how to flirt effortlessly and keep things shallow enough that nobody gets hurt too badly when it ends, and for years that’s been enough because shallow relationships are easy to survive.

They don’t ask for vulnerability or permanence or honesty in the terrifying ways real love does. But this thing with you feels deep enough to split him open if it goes wrong, and that thought scares him more than he wants to admit even to himself. He’s never cared this carefully before, never noticed someone so constantly that their absence physically changes the atmosphere around him whenever they leave a room.

He glances down at you carefully after a minute, unable to stop himself even though he knows staring is becoming a problem lately. Your eyes are closed now, though not completely asleep yet, and your breathing has gone softer and slower against his shoulder while your fingers curl loosely against the sleeve of his jacket.

There’s something so painfully trusting about the way you lean into him that Steve’s chest tightens hard enough to almost hurt because you genuinely have no idea what you’re doing to him.

Another guy kissed you tonight. Another guy got close enough to leave marks on your skin and probably thought he had a chance of becoming important to you afterward, and somehow you still ended the evening here beside him like this was the safest place you could think to be.

The thought completely undoes him because it feels too intimate somehow, too vulnerable in ways he doesn’t think you even realize.

He notices every tiny thing now because apparently being in love has turned him into the kind of person who memorizes details without permission. He notices the faint crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re overtired and trying not to show it.

He notices the way your breathing changes slightly right before you fall asleep and the way your fingers twitch absentmindedly against him whenever you’re comfortable.

He notices that your hair smells faintly like shampoo and summer air and whatever perfume you sprayed on before your date earlier tonight, and God, even that thought twists painfully inside him because somebody else got to see you dressed up like that before Steve did.

Jealousy keeps crawling through him in ugly sharp waves that make him feel guilty immediately afterward because none of this belongs to him, not your attention or your softness or the quiet affection you hand him so naturally. But wanting you has become instinctive now, impossible to shut off no matter how hard he tries to remind himself that he doesn’t have any right to feel this possessive over things that were never his in the first place.

You shift suddenly beside him, your hand sliding briefly across his chest as you stretch slightly in your half asleep state, and Steve’s entire body goes rigid for one embarrassing second because even the smallest touches from you affect him too much these days. Your palm only brushes him for a moment before settling again, but his heart reacts violently anyway, beating hard enough that he’s convinced you’ll hear it if you stay pressed this close.

He remembers every touch from you now whether he wants to or not because they replay constantly in his head afterward like scenes from a movie he’s incapable of shutting off.

Every lazy hug.

Every accidental brush of fingers while reaching for the same thing.

Every time your knees bumped together in the car and neither of you moved away afterward. Back then he thought those moments were harmless, but now each memory feels charged with meaning he was too oblivious to understand at the time.

You blink your eyes open slowly after a minute, clearly catching him staring again despite his best efforts to hide it, and your voice comes out rough with exhaustion when you mumble,

“What?”

Steve immediately looks away like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing, which unfortunately is exactly how this feels now every single time he gets too lost watching you.

He mutters a quick “Nothing” under his breath

but you narrow your eyes at him tiredly before accusing softly,

“You keep looking at me weird lately,”

and the casual observation nearly stops his heart entirely. Because if he tried explaining the truth right now, if he admitted that he’s staring because he thinks he might actually love you enough to ruin himself over it, he honestly believes he might combust on the spot from humiliation alone. You’d probably just look surprised more than anything because in your mind Steve is still Steve: beautiful and charming and effortless and incapable of falling apart over somebody this badly.

Meanwhile he feels like one genuine conversation away from a complete emotional collapse.

Because the awful truth is that he finally understands why he notices everything about you now, why your moods affect his entire day and why seeing someone else touch you felt like swallowing broken glass earlier tonight. It isn’t fascination anymore or even infatuation dressed up as obsession. Somewhere along the line it became love, real terrifying love, the kind that sneaks up slowly enough that by the time you recognize it, you’re already drowning too deep to save yourself. And as steve watches you settle comfortably back against him again without hesitation, trusting him completely while summer wind drifts softly through your curtains, all he can think helplessly is that he has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to survive this if you never feel the same way back.

The next morning starts badly and somehow continues getting worse from there because Steve cannot stop thinking about you long enough to function like a normal person.

He burns his toast because he’s staring blankly out the kitchen window remembering the feeling of your hair brushing against his jaw, and then he spends ten straight minutes standing beside his car with his keys in his hand because he got distracted imagining another guy making you laugh during your date.

Every thought he has eventually bends back toward you no matter where it starts, which would probably be humiliating if he weren’t already too far gone to care anymore. By the time he picks Dustin up, Steve already feels exhausted in the way people do after spending an entire night fighting with themselves unsuccessfully. Dustin notices immediately because of course he does, and the second he climbs into the passenger seat he squints at Steve suspiciously before saying,

“You look like you got possessed by something,” with the kind of blunt honesty only fourteen year old boys are capable of.

Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary while pulling away from the curb, mostly because he can already tell he doesn’t have the patience for Dustin’s energy today and also because he hasn’t stopped replaying the image of your neck in his head since midnight.

Normally Dustin talking nonstop barely registers anymore because Steve’s gotten weirdly used to the constant noise the kids bring into his life, but today every sentence feels like someone knocking repeatedly against a headache. Dustin keeps rambling about some campaign Mike ruined and a new comic book he wants and whether Steve would survive in a zombie apocalypse, while Steve responds automatically without actually hearing most of it because all his focus is tied up somewhere else entirely. At one point Dustin starts complaining about being hungry even though he’s holding an entire bag of donuts in his lap, and Steve snaps back so sharply that the inside of the car immediately goes quiet afterward.

The silence stretches awkwardly between them for several seconds before Dustin slowly lowers the donut he’d been reaching for and says, with genuine concern now instead of annoyance,

“Okay, seriously, what is wrong with you?”

Steve exhales harshly through his nose and runs one hand through his hair while stopping at a red light, but even that familiar motion doesn’t calm him down the way it usually does because he feels like every emotion inside him has been dialed up too high overnight. He wants to tell Dustin to drop it, wants to brush everything off with a joke like he normally would, but instead he just stares out through the windshield while morning sunlight spills across the dashboard and says nothing at all. The problem is that Steve himself doesn’t fully understand what’s happening to him yet because he’s never been in love slowly enough to watch it happen in real time before.

Usually feelings arrived fast and burned bright and disappeared just as quickly, but this thing with you crept up on him in tiny harmless pieces until suddenly it had rooted itself into every part of his life without permission. Somewhere between movie nights and late drives and sitting too close beside you on your bed, Steve had crossed a line he didn’t even realize existed, and now he had absolutely no clue how to go back to being normal around you again.

⋆˚꩜｡ hi guys missed ya!!! ill post a p2 to this soon, hope everyone is doing well!! :)

[justreadingthings]

How I’m feeling reading this versus how I’m imagining Steve’s reaction to reader doing literally anything:

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Single parenthood is no easy feat, but you and your daughter Abbey seem to be making it by just fine. That is, until the morning that you drop your daughter off for her very first day of elementary school and meet her teacher for the year: Mr. Harrington.

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, early-mid 90's, teacher!steve harrington au, single!mom!reader, parenthood

*once the main story is finished, this au will be open for requests/blurbs/ thoughts etc!

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Epilogue

Bonus Features! -

your first official date with Steve your first time with Steve 18+ you celebrate Steve's birthday with him telling Abbey she's going to be a sister the birth of your son, Lucas steve comes to the rescue when you're feeling overwhelmed

[justreadingthings]

I just finished the main series and I! Am! Obsessed! You know I’ll be coming back to read the bonus chapters. This is so so good, and I’ve really enjoyed reading it 🩷