logan can't get it up one night and is humiliated. but that just means he'll have to prove he can still satisfy you.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, age gap (reader in 20s)
a/n: the part in dpw where he said he's got whiskey dick with the claws turned me on too much tbh
This had never happened to Logan before.
That wasn't a lie he was telling you to make himself look less pathetic. It wasn't an affirmation he repeated in his own head to feel like he was still hot shit. It was the truth. One he would swear to on anything.
He'd never had a problem getting it up before.
Not with you, not with anyone. He thought the healing factor made him immune to whiskey dick or any kind of down-there dysfunction. But apparently not. Because the two of you finally had some time alone after being amidst the chaos of the mansion all day and his body was stalling.
The second he had the bedroom door shut, you were dragging him over to the bed and climbing into his lap. You were doing everything like usual. Your lips pressed against his, and then moved to his jawline and down his neck. Your hands glided across the firm muscles of his chest. Your hips rolled down against his lap, beckoning the appendage between his legs to reciprocate your desire.
But it just wouldn't. He tried to make it because it wasn't a matter of not wanting you. He wanted you bad.
He grabs your chin and brings your lips back up to his mouth so he can communicate his passion wordlessly. He digs his fingers into your hips, feeling the beginnings of where your flesh swells into your ass. He envisions how you'd been prancing around the whole day, cute tits pushing against the fabric of your t-shirt and calling out for him to grab.
You're so soft and warm. The little mewls that leave your lips sound like calls of angels up above. It doesn't matter though. His cock had clocked out for the night.
"God damnit," he grumbles before brushing you off his lap and bringing his fist down against the mattress. He sighs and his head hangs.
He can already sense the look on your face. Worry, hesitation, and affection swirling into one humiliating look. He feels your hand find his shoulder, the touch tender and accepting.
"It's ok, Logan. We don't have to," you say. Your tone is so soft and gentle, and it just drives him fucking nuts.
"But you want to," he says and looks over at you. The look in your eyes kills him. He knows you don't mean it, but it looks so patronizing. As if he's an old dog about to be taken out back and old yeller'd.
"Yeah but I don't want you to force yourself. We can just cuddle," you offer, sweet as can be.
"It's not forcing, I want to do this. I want you so bad," he says and cups your cheek. He pulls you back onto his lap and nuzzles your neck. "Been thinking about this all day."
You let out a little sigh as he lays some kisses on the column of your throat, and that gives him a spark of hope. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he doesn't have to be put out to pasture just yet. The two of you make out and grind and feel each other up some more. But eventually your tits are all but in his face and his dick still doesn't have a pulse.
He huffs and pulls back. 'Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says.
You watch him, the gleam in your eyes as adoring as ever. It was the same look you gave him when you'd have to explain a basic function of a cell phone to him.
"It's ok. You don't have to be embarrassed," you reassure and lean in to peck his cheek.
He groans and gently brushes you off. "Don't. I don't need you coddling me."
"I'm just saying. I understand," you say with conviction, hands splaying on your chest to physically convey your empathy, "It happens to lots of guys when they get older. You don't have to be ashamed of it with me."
And in that moment, he wishes he didn't have his mutation so he could just die on the spot from being utterly mortified. He'd actually have preferred if you laughed in his face and called him an old man. A sad, old, perverted fuck who decided to date some half his age even though he couldn't keep up with her appetite. If you'd told him you were gonna find someone who could satisfy you, it probably would've stung less than being talked to like a patient who doesn't know their cancer is terminal.
There was no chance in hell, you'd ever do any of that though. As much as he hated that fact right now, it was part of why he loved you.
All he does is mumble a thank you and kiss the corner of your mouth. He doesn't just cuddle you after though. He gets you off on his thigh. You were still going to cum even if he couldn't. When you're done, he holds you close and rubs your back till you're sleeping curled up to his side.
His night isn't very restful though. It's haunted with the prospect of future incidents like this, of your perception of him changing. The look in your eyes changing from admiration to pity.
He can't live with that. The next day for the two of you is super busy, but he makes sure there's a spot at the end of it for him to secure his redemption.
This time around it's him carting you away from the others once the sun is down, mouth on the curve of your neck before you even reach the bedroom. His hands grope your waist and paw at your tits. You stumble into the door, bumping it loud enough that you'd be worried about someone hearing you if they weren't all downstairs.
"Logan..." you giggle. You push your ass back against him and glance at him out of your peripheral.
"Not what you're gonna be calling me before the night is done, sweet thing," he grunts and boosts you up.
Your legs press into his sides to support yourself as he opens the door. He takes the two of you inside and kicks it shut behind him before heading to the bed and tossing you on the mattress.
You look up at him with a coy smile, arms propping you up and one of your legs extended to entice him.
"You know... you don't have to prove anything to me, right?" you say.
"Oh, I don't?" he asks and grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips meet, "You're too easy to please, babydoll."
Another laugh bubbles through your lips. Your legs drop to lock around his waist. "I'm just saying. It's like totally normal, and I don't want you to get all grumpy about it."
"Oh, I get grumpy, do I?" he asks as he leans over you. His large body envelopes yours on the mattress. He ducks down further to swallow your words up with kisses.
You hum into the exchange but pull back a little to finish your thought.
"Mhm, you do. And I just don't want you to feel that way cause I knew when we got together what I was getting into," you say.
Your confidence is so cute. You talk with absolute certainty, like you understand all there is to be understood about him. Like you'd known him forever and he hadn't been doing things like this for decades longer than you walked this earth.
His mouth crashes against yours again, his body weighing down on you and crushing you into the mattress.
"You did, hm? You knew what you were getting into? You got with me thinking I wouldn't be able to give it to you how you need all the time?" he mutters against your skin.
"I didn't mean it like-"
"Didn't mean it like that? How'd you mean it then, sweetheart?"
"I dunno..."
"Doesn't sound like you knew what you were getting into to me," he breathes.
That little sentence that you'd said in an attempt to comfort him unlocked something between the two of you. He felt his cock waking up and pressing against his zipper, eager to get out and slide home. It's hard to register your clothes being pulled off when he's got his tongue in your mouth and his fingers playing with your clit. In no time at all, he's got the both of you bare and his cock nestled between your thighs.
Like he already knew, the issue last night had never been about lack of desire. And he intended to prove that to you, fuck you so good it wiped your memory of any placating word that fell from your lips.
He ruts into you hard. The mattress rocks on the bed frame and threatens to slide off. His dick is big and even though it's not a new sensation for you, each time you take it is a stretch. It's even more so when he pushes you up by the back of your knees. You whine as you're folded in half. His thrusts hit your sweet spot every time at this angle.
"Thought you knew what you were getting into?" he teases as he pistons himself in and out.
You mewl and bob your head, though you aren't sure if you're shaking your head or nodding.
"Fuckkkk, Logan. 'm sorry," you pant. Your walls squeeze tight around his shaft as your eyes close up. He made every part of your body contract and feel like it was moments from exploding.
He simply laughs at your apology. "Don't gotta be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just showing you what happens when I get older."
His balls hang heavy and swing with each motion, clapping against your ass. The heat between your legs is enough to make you squirm. Constant whimpers pour from your lips as he fucks into you without mercy.
"I know," you moan, "You fuck me better than anyone else."
"That's right," he grunts, "Nobody else could fuck you like this. Just me."
"Mhm, just daddy," you slur and cling onto him tighter. Your arms hook around his neck and keep his sweaty skin flush against yours.
"Just daddy," he repeats, his tone smooth like silk despite his raspy voice, "You don't need anyone else. Not when I can take care of you like this."
His tip prods at your cervix, making you yelp and buck. He doesn't stop though, just keeps battering into you, hammering into your warm, wet hole.
"You don't need any little boys thinking they know how to handle you," he breathes and nuzzles your neck, "Your old man can handle you just fine, make you cum whenever you need."
A strangled cry leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his back so hard that it seems like you wanted to draw blood. His words just make you melt for him. Reduce you down to a compliant jumble of flesh for him to mold and play with how he wants.
"Needa cum right now, daddy," you whine.
"I know you do, spoiled girl. You act so understanding, but I know that little pussy is aching to cum around my cock. To get filled up with my cum," he murmurs.
You nod wildly.
He chuckles at your eagerness and snaps against you even harder.
"Hold on tight, baby," he whispers.
His hips ricochet off your ass, clapping against you with intensity that borders on violent. You squeal and hang on as directed. Your whole body rocks with his momentum. Your head bobbles around like it's empty, which it is. Empty of everything but him.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.
"Let it out for me. Let me feel you burst, pretty girl," he grunts as he continues plowing into you.
Your body rolls. Your hips vibrate with the ecstasy release brings you. It crashes over you in one intense wave, like a gallon of liquid euphoria being poured over you. Your eyes flutter, and you bury your face in his neck like he has his in yours.
He fucks you through it. Coos in your ear too. "That's my baby. My sweet girl. Always sound so pretty when you're cumming."
One of your hands flies up to clutch at his thick, dark hair. Keeping him close keeps the words flowing.
"Getting so tight for me, fuck. No one can make me cum like you, honey. Drains me dry every fucking time."
Moments later he spurts into you, unloading thick ropes of his spend inside you. You let out another moan from that sensation alone. He growls and pants against your skin, his hands locking you in place as his hips pummel into your cunt and make sure every last drop has been released.
He lingers on you for a few moments before pulling out. His body feels loose in the afterglow. He stands at the edge of the bed and looks down at himself and then you. He knows he's gonna have to clean you up. Your inner thighs are shimmery with a mix of fluids, and the bush of dark hair at the base of his cock is in the same condition.
"Time to shower, baby?" he asks and pats your leg. You don't respond at first and he smirks. "Or did I tire you out too much?"
You whine something incoherent and shift to turn your face against the blankets. His smug look grows. He crawls over you again and nips at your jaw, rubbing his nose against your cheekbone.
"You know, it's ok, sweetheart. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's totally normal for pretty little things like you. I knew that going in."
His tone mimics your soft and understanding one from earlier. You make a little growl and swat at his bicep.
idk about dash but me myself and i am ready for werewolf!cowboy. waiting (im)patiently with eyes, ears, arms and legs wide open
"I'm sorry it has to be like this, sugar." He's so obedient, sitting there patiently as you lock the chains around his wrists. They have a bit of slack now, but once moonlight hits, they'll be snug. "I'm just not very good at behaving myself, it seems."
You give him a sympathetic look. He's a good guy, really: a sweet neighbor, a helpful hand around the yard, and not to mention nice to look at. He'd probably be your husband,
If you wasn't for the werewolf thing.
"We'll make sure you stay put this time," you sigh. "I can't have you running around the woods looking for me again."
"I can't help it." he whines. He's sat on the floor, shirt off, jeans on. His legs are spread wide enough for you to sit between and fix his bindings. His body is already starting its change: his chest has a dusting of hair, his shoulders are broadening, his cock is hard and heavy in his pants-
"I just want you so bad."
His eyes are heavy with lust- still human and controlled.
"I can behave when I'm just a guy-" he continues. "But the other guy can't help it, 'specially since you're always-"
He pauses. You shift away to study his face.
"I'm always what?"
"I'm keeping my mouth shut so you don't smack me."
"Tell me."
He hems over it for another second.
"I'm just saying that fuckin' monster in my head wants to make babies with the prettiest girl in town." He sniffs the air pointedly. "And honey, I can taste that you are fucking ready for it."
The closer to moonfall it gets, the more wild he becomes.
His dark brown eyes shine like honey and his gruff voice is just as sweet-
"Maybe you should stick around, sugar." His chest heaves with every breath, air forced through gritted teeth. "Maybe I won't go as crazy if I know where you are."
A dribble of drool runs over his lips. With his hands tied above him, he's forced to lick it away with his long, inhuman tongue.
"Or maybe-" he swallows spit down again. "Maybe you should use those sweet little hands and stroke me off, lemme get my scent all over you-"
The chains go taut as he reaches for you.
"Or just-- fuck, just come and fuck yourself on it already. You both know you fucking need it, can smell your dripping from here, sugar, lemme get a lick-"
The Radio Demon has a WIFE??? And She was a WHAT??? (Alastor x Fem!Reader)
Summary: Mimzy stops by and brings up a little detail that Alastor forgot to mention: he has a wife...oh yeah, and she used to be a nun. How the fuck did that happen???
-Or-
I was watching 'Call the Midwife' and got Alastor brainrot ideas while watching the romance between Sister Bernadette/Sheila and Dr. Turner.
Tags: Fem!Reader (for obvious reasons), She/Her pronouns, No Use of (Y/N), everything I know about being a nun is from a TV show (don't kill me pls), Husk is...so fucking tired, also I couldn’t find a midwife house in New Orleans so I made one up (don’t kill me pls x2)
TW: None, other than my possible terrible idiocy regarding nun shit and Catholicism, I feel like me being the author should also be a TW in and of itself ngl
Word Count: 2.4k
Read it on Ao3 <3
"WHAT?"
Husk winced as Angel's voice echoed throughout the lobby, loud and full of indignation.
"There is no fuckin' way tall, dark, an' creepy is married," he insisted, staring down Mimzy as she took another swig from her glass, "you've gotta be fuckin' with us, right Husk?"
Husk pointedly ignored the question, turning his back to the two idiots and their quickly gathering crowd of spectators—the other residents of the hotel. Alastor didn't like people talking about him unless it was with hate, fear, or admiration- (the arrogant fuck) -and he liked people spreading his personal business around even less.
He wasn't stupid enough to get involved in this conversation, even if Mimzy and Angel apparently were.
Mimzy laughed, "oh please, that's not even the best part! Alastor's sweetheart actually used to be a sister!"
"A sister?"
"Yeah-"
'Don't fuckin' say it-'
"-like a nun!"
'Motherfucker.'
That statement had Angel choking on his drink, everyone else letting out various exclamations of disbelief—all of which only made Mimzy's smile widen. She was enjoying the attention.
"Yeah," she continued, "the pretty thing was actually part of one of the few nunneries that were up and running back in our day—although hers also served as a sorta home base for the midwives in New Orleans before it all became a hospital affair."
"So not only did Smiles somehow manage to get 'imself a sweetheart, but he managed to bag a fuckin' NUN?!" Angel asked incredulously, "how the FUCK did that happen?"
Mimzy grinned mischievously, "well-"
"Mimzy," Husk said, caution and warning in his tone. It was one thing to drop a couple facts and then shut up—Alastor was fond of her- (as "fond" as the bastard was capable of) -so she might be able to get off with a warning—but to start telling stories about his life? Spilling all his carefully guarded secrets?
Yeah, that'd get her killed. Or worse.
Even so, Mimzy either didn't know how secretive Alastor was- (doubtful) -or she was just under the delusional belief that he wouldn't hurt her for her slight- (bingo) -because she just waved off Husk's warning.
"Hm...where should I start?"
---------------
What everyone in Hell tended to forget was that the cruel, bloodthirsty, "Radio Demon" they all feared...used to be a man, used to be human just like all the rest.
Quite the human he was, though.
Obviously he did his fair share of terrible things, he didn't end up in Hell for being a saint, but before any of his...transgressions came into the public eye, people truly thought he was. He'd come from a poor home, his father ran off when he was young, and yes he was an odd child—but all of that seemed inconsequential the older he got.
He worked hard in school and worked his way up in the world until he finally became a famous radio host, the crown jewel of the French Quarter. Even so, all of the attention never seemed to go to his head. His mother's son, always his mother's son, he was the picture of a true gentleman—always polite, always chivalrous, always helping others. It certainly didn't hurt that he was handsome too, and his charm was unmatched by any other man in the city.
As such, it was no shock that he attracted all manner of attention from people vying for his affection, but no one seemed to catch his particular eye. That was, until he met her...
---------------
“Now, keep in mind, I don’t know very much about his missus before they got together,” Mimzy admitted, “but, from what I can tell, she'd always been a mystery, so I don’t think it really matters-“
“Obviously it matters!” Angel interrupted, his drink and everything else long forgotten, “for someone to get together with Smiles willingly, they’ve gotta have some of their own skeletons in the closet! C’mon toots, you gotta know something.”
Mimzy circled a finger around her glass, playing coy, “well…maybe I might know a thing or two…”
Husk wanted to bash his head against a wall.
Fine, fine, fine. It was one thing—one really fucking stupid thing—to talk about Alastor, but to talk about his wife? Especially to fucking gossip about her?
Yeah, no, these morons were definitely dead as soon as Alastor found out.
“Well?” Angel pressed, looking downright desperate for more information.
“Well…”
---------------
Alastor's sweetheart had always been an enigma since the day she arrived in New Orleans, every bit of her covered in that modest black and white clothing—all except her face and hands, of course.
By all accounts, she was a sweet girl—kind, attentive, always willing to help—but she was also very…secretive, one might say. It wasn't that the other nuns weren't reserved, because they were, but she was especially so, and her brand of reservation came across as more underhanded than anything else.
She never talked about her hobbies, her family, her life before taking her vows—hell, she never talked about her life before she moved to New Orleans. So it was no surprise that a fair amount of rumors followed her around, no matter how sweet she appeared to be.
Some said that she was a runaway, trying to escape an abusive father; others said that she moved there to get out of a loveless marriage; and a few even claimed that she was on the run from the law. There was never any evidence to support any of those rumors, of course, but people loved to talk.
One might think that Alastor was drawn to her because of all of those whispers, just chasing down another story for his radio show, but it was actually a mix of pure luck and her work as a midwife that brought those two together.
You see, midwives didn't only deliver babies, but they also offered all sorts of medical assistance to anyone who needed it. These services eventually brought her to his mother’s home one day, and it just so happened that Alastor was also visiting his ma at the time.
The two started talking and, between his magnetic charms and her sweet demeanor, it was no surprise that the two got along like a house fire.
From then on, every time she visited his ma to take care of her, he was there too. Then he started showing up at all of the events hosted by Saint Charlene’s, always finding his way to her side. And there even came a time where he started visiting her frequently, always welcomed by her fellow sisters and the other midwives with open arms.
---------------
“Wait a minute,” Angel interrupted, “I thought nuns weren’t allowed ta be in relationships. It goes against the whole point of bein’ a nun, don’t it?”
Mimzy huffed, “I was getting to that part!”
---------------
Obviously nuns weren’t allowed to have relationships, romantic or sexual, and most people of that time didn’t believe that men and women could simply be friends—so the friendliness they both shared fell under quite a bit of scrutiny. Everyone that knew a thing about that sweet girl knew she would never betray her vows, and everyone that knew a thing about Alastor knew that he’d rather die than be anything less than a perfect gentleman.
But, like I said, people in New Orleans liked to talk.
Neither of them paid any mind to it, though. Alastor was already dealing with the bullshit that came with showbiz and his sweetheart already had a bunch of rumors circulating about her, so what did they care if a few more whispers were added to the pile? But eventually, a painfully long time after the two first met and became friends, there came a day when something that wasn’t quite platonic bloomed between the two of them.
Obviously the two of them were horrified by this; Alastor, because he would never ask her to forsake her vows for him, and her, because she was worried that she was betrayin’ her God by feeling that way.
Eventually she talked to the other nuns, though, and got some help figuring out her emotions and what she wanted to do, and Alastor talked things through with his ma—who was, frankly, overjoyed that he’d finally found someone who he fancied.
Let me tell ya, even with all of the others helpin’, it took fuckin’ forever for those two to finally get together. Between their shared emotional constipation, everyone’s expectations of them, the worry that the other didn’t feel the same way, and the fear of crossing each other’s boundaries…yeah, it took over a year after the two of them figured out they liked each other for them to actually say something.
By the time they finally got their shit together, Alastor’s mom and the other midwives were already planning their wedding. Hell, the nuns were just about ready to rescind her vows themselves, they were so sick of the pining!
Everything worked out in the end, though. The two confessed, his sweetheart did the whole dispensation thing, and the two eventually got married.
----------
“Blah, blah, blah…they got a happily ever after and a white picket fence,” Mimzy finished with a lazy wave of her hand, “some people came up with all sorts a’ crazy stories about how the two had a love affair and she was actually kicked outta the convent, but that’s all bullshit!”
Angel just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly, “huh, I didn’t know tall, dark, and creepy had it in ‘im.”
Mimzy hummed, “yeah, he might seem all big an’ scary, but underneath all that he’s a total doll!”
Husk shuddered as the prickle of static suddenly made his hair stand on end, signaling Alastor’s entrance into the room—along with Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer himself. His eyes immediately found the small group that had gathered by the bar, and it probably wasn’t hard for him to figure out what exactly drew everyone there.
“Now, now, Mimzy, what have you been telling everyone about me?” Alastor chastised, making his way closer to their group. His tone was teasing, but it had a subtle warning at the end—one that said he wasn’t asking for fun. It made Husk want to disappear into the wall, to get out of the way of what would follow if Alastor found out the subject of their conversation. Hopefully Angel and Mimzy would have enough sense to keep their mouths shut, but he doubted it.
“Oh, nothing you need ta worry about!” she said, waving him off playfully, “just a couple old stories from back in the day.”
“Is that so?”
Mimzy hummed her affirmative, finishing off her drink, and for one blissful moment Husk thought that the subject would drop and everything would be fine. He was wrong.
“Yeah, and I gotta say I’m surprised atcha Smiles,” Angel snarked, “who knew ya had a missus back home keeping ya on a leash.”
The room went dead silent.
The lights suddenly flickered, a dark red glow casting across the room as they did—mangled shadows dancing on the walls. Husk shrank back, trying his best to blend in with the bottles of alcohol that lined the shelf behind him.
Alastor’s voice was pure radio static, barely restrained rage filtering through, “w̶͚̫̰̰̟̌̆̓̚̚h̵̩̤̹͓̗̾̔͗̇̉å̴̱̩̝͚̎́̐̔̏͜†̸̡͔̲̠͔̔̎̆̀̕ ̸̲̠͔̟̗͗͑̾͐͘Ð̷̡̠̥̞͚̔̾̋̋͘ï̶̩̼̻̱̣̓̀̅͆̑Ð̸̣͍̞̬͖͋͑̽͗̚ ̶͈͙̤̺̲̒̒̒̎̀¥̷̭̻̥̘͈̇̓͑́́ð̵̢̲͕͈͇͐͊̓̀̓µ̴͕̬͕̟̟͊͊͂͗͘ ̵̪̲̫̳͍͑̑͒̔͐j̶̨̦̹̪̟̄̽̽̄͘µ̸̧̭͖͇̞̈́̔̀̒͒§̵̺̠͚͓͓̓͂̚͘͝†̷̛̖̤̰̗͓͋̄̇̑ ̸̢̩͙̙̫̊͗̃͘͝§̷̻̣̼̼͙̎͋̂͆͝ą̸̡̛̱̣̻̊̈́̈́̑́¥̶̢̟̼̘̲̃̿̐͑͠?̴͉̞̠̞̦̒͌̋͗̓”
‘Fuck.’
----------
You hummed quietly as you sat on the couch in your and Alastor’s shared home, sketching whatever came to mind in one of the small notebooks he’d bought you—working away the time and trying to ignore his glaring absence. It wasn’t often you were left yearning for your husband’s presence, finding plenty to do during the times he was gone, but today you wanted nothing more than for him to walk through the door. Luckily, you got your wish, although things certainly weren’t how you expected.
As soon as Alastor walked in, you could tell he was pissed. It was in his posture, his strained smile, the violent crackle of interference in the air. Even his shadow seemed agitated, flitting from one spot to another as if it simply couldn’t sit still.
“Al?” You asked carefully, “is everything alright?”
He turned to you, obviously trying to pass off the illusion of placidity, “everything is fine, my dear, why do you ask?”
“Well you just seem–” the lights around the house flickered, and you could hear a few of them bust in the other rooms, “...tense.”
He kept up the mask for a moment longer, still trying to fool you, but it dropped soon enough and he let out an irritated sigh.
“...certain people need to learn to keep their insignificant little mouths shut.”
You set aside your notebook and gestured for him to sit next to you, a request he obliged. Almost immediately your hands went to his shoulders and you began massaging them, trying to alleviate some of the tension practically radiating off of him—drawing an almost relieved sigh from his mouth.
You pressed a barely-there kiss to the back of his neck, “what happened, love?”
…
“Mimzy stopped by the hotel today and during her stay she decided to fucK̶̝̥̘̪͍̉͋́̈̅Ḭ̴̛̭̪͇̀͋̐̍͂͜ñ̷̡̤̩̖̰̈́͂̑̐͝G̴̞̯̭͈̘͋̒̑̅̚ ̵͇͕͓͕̗͆̃͛͊̂Ġ̶̝̱̪͈̘̽̌͗͝Ö̶̼̲̬̪̟̏̌̄̚͝§̴̺̱̲̫̝̍̈͆̃́§̶̧̞̣̼̮̂͊͋͌͠Ì̷̲̰̹̰͚͌̀̌̇̂þ̴̢̥̰̖̬͒́͌̏̿ ̸̝̺̪̟̈́͊̅̏̆ͅÄ̷͎̘͓̬͇̋̍͑̏͠ß̵̢̫͇̣̻́̊͆͆͝Ö̸̡̤̤̤͙̀̎̿͛͝Ú̸̟̯̺͈̪̇̓̊͐̊†̸̘̺͎͖̣̂̍̽̋̚ ̷̪̺̖̜͇̀͂͒̚͝Ö̴̮̯̗͙̑̆̽̄̚ͅỨ̸̫̯̰̺̼̈́̄̐͝R̸̨̢̧̭͓̒͊̋̇͘ ̵̧̥̗̰͖̅̌̒̿̃þ̶̦̞̫̙͕̈̒̀̿̚Ȩ̵̞̖̲͖̀͗̂̎͝͝R̸̢̪̟̜̮̉̌͒̉̃§̴̢̣͇̠̫̓̀̈͗̽Ö̴̟͕͓̤̀̈́̒͘͜͠ñ̶̛̙͍̼͖͔̎̓̐̋Ä̶̢̬͇͙̟̌͌̃̈͌L̴̨̪͎̟̦̄̇̈̓̿ ̶̨̧̰̼̮̈͒̀̒͝L̸͖̬̙̮̗̂̓̀͘̚Ì̴͙̠͈̺̣͌̓͊̓̓V̷̯̭̞̙͖͆̐̾͗̔Ę̴̪̻̤̀̾͑͆͜͝͝§̷̛͚̤͇̫̘̑͆̾͘.̵̡̥̪̫͇̽̋̑͝͝ §̶͎̣̝̳͓͋̊̀̌͆ð̵̢̼̖̝̭̏̇̕̕͝ ̵̘̜͚̠̫́͊̈́͐̽Ì̷̢̧͖͚͙̆̔̌̓̏ ̸̻̩̪͓̞̀͑͒̇͋†̴̧͉̯̻̳̒̽͋̾̋ð̵̟͙͍̳͈͒̈́̑̍̑ð̸̲̤̞̞̙̄̅͛̓͠k̷̖̪̩̭͇͋̒̀͘͘ ̶̢̛̗̞͍̱̒̅͐͘ï̸̢̢͕̩̰̍̍̽̈́̈́†̵̠̥̖̗̌̌̾̿͠ͅ ̵͙̹̦͎̬͆́̈͗͛µ̸̧̼̲̮̙͊͂̑̓͌þ̶̹̬̫̥̹̓̑̆͘͝ð̷̡̺͖̣̇̅̔͐͑ͅñ̸̼͙̦͕̼̏̐͗͘̕ ̵̢̱̺͖͋̄͌͊̊ͅṁ̸͉̜͙͖͍̓̍͗͝¥̶̨̠̜̮̜̑͑͗̎̌§̵̧̜͉̣̓́͛̇̓ͅḛ̸̠̲̝̤̂̓̎̓͌̈́ĺ̵̛̻̭͚̝̹̽͐̍£̵̠̫̲̹̬̍̊̾̍̕ ̴̧̭̘̞̀̀͋́̄͜†̵̨̰̠̫̖̎̋̃̂͘ð̴̨͍̭̤̙̄̑̎͝͠ ̴̯̟̟̖̜͒͂͌͒̉§̶̪̜̙͎͎́̒̍̾͝h̷̝̻̞̖̄̅̔̆̕͜µ̵̨̨̛̣̬͓̍̑͋́†̶̨̢̰̤͙̌̀̈̈́͆ ̴͔̟̻̫̐͊̓͑̉͜ĥ̴̢̯͔̯̈́̇̑͋͜ê̵̡̳̠͖̺͋͒͐̍̇r̸̝̘͍̙̂͑́̃͊ͅ w̷̸̼̠͓̟͍̣͓̪͚͊̈͗̉̄̊̍̍̇̀͜h̵̥͓͕̲͉̋̓͊́̈́ð̴̨̡͚̲̦̄̃̄̓͋r̸̖̲̮̮͐͌͑́̃ͅę̴͖͇͙̥̂̐͛͌͒̽ ṃ̷̨̱͈̭̀̃͂́͘ð̵̧̛͎̗̟̒̇̈̊ͅµ̴̨̛̖͈̱͈̑̋́̕†̵͚̝̜̟͍̔̈̀̈́̆h̵͚̞͔̗̖̀͒̀͛͘.̴̳̙̞̗̬͒́͆̂͂”
The sudden surge of static and shadow didn’t phase you, even as Alastor struggled to not shift into his demonic form—sharp cracks of green light appearing on the walls.
When you’d first found out about his…extracurricular activities, you had been afraid and confused, but now it was nothing more than background noise.
He was still the man you fell in love with, still your husband, even if he occasionally killed and ate the degenerates of the world and anyone that pissed him off. Besides, given the type of people he’d tended to go after, you viewed it as a public service—something honorable, even. After all, wasn’t it selfless that he’d murdered the truly terrible people of the world, sentencing himself to eternal damnation in the process?
All things considered, you were just glad that you’d ended up in Hell with him.
You wrapped your arms around him, nestling your head into the crook of his neck. A luxury that no one else enjoyed but you.
“That does sound stressful. Is everything handled now, at least?”
“Yes,” he drawled, leaning back further into you, “unfortunately I was unable to get rid of the other l̷̡͈̼̘̩̾͌̉͝͠ï̸̗̭̝̥̺̈́̓̐̿̚†̴̢̡͕͖̹͌͌̋̈́͗†̸̢̣͖͚͔̓̌̉̾̐l̶̡̪͙͕͗͐̍́̕͜ę̴̡̦͕̜̂͋̏̅͘͝ ̵̰̥̩̺̪̀̋̉͑̍§̸̖̥̦̗͓̏̋̉̈́̃h̶͓͙̯͔͇̎̏̾̕̚ï̴̧̡̱̗̻̈́͗͆̃̀†̴̣̖̯̭͉̂͐͒̍̀§̵̧̡̹̼̹͒̿̍̋͠, as Charlie has taken a liking to them, but I trust that I got my point across.”
“Good.”
You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Now…when do I get to meet these ‘little shits’ that get on your nerves so often?” you teased, drawing an amused chuckle from him.
How about some protective big brother Steve learning that shy reader has a crush on Eddie or Eddie asked you out.
tysm for ur request! ♡ fem!harrington!reader | 0.7k words
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Steve asks.
Despite his use of expletives, you don't think he's mad. He actually sounds pleased.
"What do you mean?" you ask, looking up from the note in your hand.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look happy. Really happy. It's weird."
"I don't usually look happy?"
"You usually look constipated."
You wrinkle your nose and check the note again. Meet me at 5 at the end of your street. E♡
He'd drawn a heart. He'd really drawn one. You press your thumb into the dark indentations and feel yourself smile again.
"What is that?" Steve asks.
"What?" you say loudly, in your younger sister tone. An unconvincing I don't know what you're talking about is implied.
"I can see your hand." Then, in a move you anticipate, he throws himself over the back of the couch and dives for it. You shove it under one of your thighs and glare at him, half-hearted.
"Privacy, Steve."
"That's what I said last night in the shower, too-"
"We have a curtain! I needed to pee!"
He flops dejectedly beside you and his hair falls in his eyes. You groan as he climbs over the back of the couch like a fish out of water, his feet kicking into your thigh as he gets comfortable.
"What is it, a love note? Secret admirer?"
"I hate when you do that."
"What, guess right?"
You shrug and hug your tummy, eyes averted. "It's nothing."
"It's totally a love letter." You sit in silence. He perks up, says, "Oh my god, it's a love letter from someone you like."
"Steve! Jesus Christ."
"Who is it? Do I know them? Did they go to Hawkins High?" Then, at your silence, "Are they older?"
You stand up and pull down your skirt, the note in your hand crumpled and now damp from clamminess. "Steve, please."
"Sorry!" He doesn't look very sorry, but his face does soften. You pull his shoes off of the couch and he rights himself with a huff to stand beside you. "Don't be shy with me. Just tell me who it is so I can give them the talk."
You check the time and grab your bag. "I'm going out."
"No, you're not. Not until you tell me who sent the note."
"Steve," you chide, pouting. "Please, I'll tell you. Just… Let me work it out for myself first. I think I really like him, and-"
"You like him?" he asks incredulously.
You bite your lips and sneak past him. He's still demanding to know who you're seeing as you close the door.
You take a deep breath and smooth down your clothes.
When you reach the bottom of the street, Eddie rolls down the passenger side window. "Hey, sweet thing."
You melt internally and wrap your fingers over the rolled down window, smiling shyly. "Hey, Eds."
"Are you getting in? Movie starts in twen'y."
You nod all bashful and beaming and pull open the door but haven't managed to get even one shoe inside when a loud voice shouts, "Eddie Munson?"
You climb in fast. Steve jogs down the sidewalk, his expression creased with unhappiness. Okay, that's understating things; he looks mad.
"Drive, Eddie!" you say with more volume than you've ever said anything to him with.
Eddie grins with teeth and turns the wheel. "You got it, princess."
You're too distracted by Steve's outraged shouting to feel embarrassed at the pet name, looking out of the window at him as you pass with an apologetic smile. "Sorry!" you say.
He says something too scathing to bear repeating. As soon as he's out of view you turn to Eddie with an apology on your parted lips and find him laughing. Silent, heavy things, his eyes wet with mirth.
"Oh god," he laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "Baby, if I weren't taking you on a date, I'd say that was the best moment of my life. I've never seen Harrington so mad."
You cover your face with both hands and sigh.
A big hand drops onto your shoulder. "You're fine. I'll let him give me the shovel talk when I drop you off."
"Thank you," you whisper, almost inaudible.
He squeezes. "Sure thing. Are you hungry? I brought donut holes."
You're not sure you can stomach anymore sweetness.
• Let’s get into the hard part first, shall we? The discrimination of Imps isn’t something Lucifer set into motion. They helped him build Hell into what it is today—! Which is… flawed. Fuck, there’s no excuse. Know that he doesn’t condone it and he’s ashamed to admit he allowed it get this far
• That saying “history repeats itself”? Yeah, Hell isn’t immune
• It’s an elephant in the room situation when your and Lucifer’s feelings come into play. Along with the enormous power imbalance. He would never take advantage of that, by the way, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there
• Those issues are in the beginning though. Yes, it takes a lot of time and many painful conversations but now? Undoubtedly worth it
• Lucifer is quite proud of himself for the charade he concocted. You pose as his employee! No one would question it and you could hang around as much as you like! It’s perfect, right?
• “It sounds like a shitty romcom plot.” You snort
Lucifer’s smile is unwavering, eyebrows high on his face as he awaits what he longs to hear.
“But?”
Sighing, you softly return his smile, “It’s perfect.”
• And like a shitty romcom, it is
• Naturally, there’s ups and downs
• For Lucifer, the worst is that he hates keeping you a secret. It’s not that he wants to dish it live with Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench, he’s rather private as is, he’s just so— happy! He wants to show how proud he is to be yours! Unfortunately, that would do more harm for all of Hell. Selfish as his wants might be, he wouldn’t do that. Especially if it meant putting you in danger
• Occasionally he takes you to meetings and events. You try and slip into the background, supporting him from the shadows. Even from the other side of the room, Lucifer’s eyes will find you standing amongst the other Imps. He accidentally ends up ignoring whoever’s trying to rub elbows with the King of Hell
• (Honestly, it’s a miracle no one has found you two out yet. His longing gazes are far from subtle)
• Sometimes those outings don’t end well. A blue blooded dickbag might’ve dumped their drink on you or shoved you because you were “in the way” or berated you in front of everyone. Lucifer sees red and the entire event is cut short via a demonic rage. On a positive note, his publicity goes off the charts! “King of Hell defends his people, no matter the race!”
• (A motherfucking miracle, I tell you)
• Lucifer likes to take care of you when those incidents occur. He feels guilty. For everything. Reassuring him has always easy for you in any other situation. This one just bleeds into something personal. A failure
• So, you let him take care of you. It improves his mood bit by bit. Could be pancakes! No matter the time of day, Lucifer’s go-to are pancakes. (He’ll simply die all over again if you let him feed you too) Could be a bath for the two of you to share, he loves washing you and putting a bubble beard on your face
• Sleepovers can be a tad difficult to pull off but no one disturbs him in the mornings. He loves having you in his arms all night long. Kissing your horns, forehead, eyes, nose and lips— yes, in that order— before wishing you only the sweetest dreams
• Lucifer has a rubber duck that looks uncannily like you sitting on his desk at all times
• Oh! And despite being an Imp, you’re still taller than your beloved short king. It’s slight but he adores the difference
♡ a/n: if i had a nickel for every time a blue blood fell in love with an imp, i’d have /three nickels HAHAHA
Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader
Flirting, Light Angst, Longing
Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It's easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can't pretend anymore?
A/N: This turned into a monstrosity. For my own sanity I need to break it up into three parts. I also apologize in advanced, the stuff in the preview won’t pop up until part 2. And please, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!
Word Count: 4.8K
The day really couldn’t decide whether it was going to be terrible or tolerable.
On the one hand, it had been pouring rain for hours, leaving you and your party drenched as you searched for some place dry to sleep. On the other hand, you were able to find an inn with more than enough rooms to accommodate all of you. On the other, other hand, rooms cost money, something that was in short supply.
“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile.
Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”
All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”
Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features.
“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”
A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.”
You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.”
“Teasing minx.”
“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained.
You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal?
It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious.
“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.”
Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile.
A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”
“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”
The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”
Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”
She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”
“Guilty.”
“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”
You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.”
Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do. Thirty minute set. You eat after.”
She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain.
It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining.
“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you.
“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.”
“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered.
“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach.
He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you.
Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.
A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him. You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more.
It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least.
Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you.
A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight.
With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room.
You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed.
As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience.
Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring.
Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.
Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room.
Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter.
Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared.
You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest.
He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink.
You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it.
A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song.
You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony.
You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.
Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended.
You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace. By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this.
As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin.
“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”
“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”
“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”
You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.”
The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”
The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.
“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”
He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips.
You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least.
“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”
You snorted out a laugh.
“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”
You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.”
He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.”
You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning.
He raised a tankard to you in toast.
You met the gesture in acknowledgment.
“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.
“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted.
You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun.
“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.
“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.”
You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same.
“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”
Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”
You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.
He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh.
“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”
Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.”
It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life.
You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds.
“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed.
You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.
“I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended.
Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.”
“Says you.”
“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”
“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”
“Oh yes, that’s much better.”
You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away.
Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be.
“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject.
“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned.
Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”
He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.”
Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.”
You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were.
“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”
You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder.
“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.”
You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay.
“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”
She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it.
“What is this?”
“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”
You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces.
With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings.
It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.
Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes.
It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.
The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest.
You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right.
Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond.
“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”
“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands.
The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”
Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”
She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”
You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions.
Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin.
You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons.
The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.
The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence.
You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries.
The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been.
You took another step.
The stones followed.
Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling.
A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench.
As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor.
The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music.
You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp.
You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music.
Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller.
No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream.
You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.
Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again.
You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes.
Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself.
An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else. Even the music had gone dead.
For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark.
A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin. No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.
The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe.
A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air.
You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles.
The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence.
With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own.
You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism.
The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.
He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle.
After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.
The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light.
The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you.
You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you. He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure.
His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.
He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.
The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin.
You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago. Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression.
They’d seen it. All of it.
Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think.
Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood.
You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye.
“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said.
To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head.
“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party.
There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction.
Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale.
“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat.
“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy.
“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently.
“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added.
Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything.
“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.
“What?” she snapped.
Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next.
“That was…me?”
You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.
In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible.
“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.”
You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you.
Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity.
The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing?
You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be.
Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet.
As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you.
You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.
With a steeling breath, you walked out the door. You could only hope Astarion wouldn’t hate you when it was all over.
summary: Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.
genre: fluff 'n stuff, and only slight angst, also borderline slowburn
warnings: swearing, bullying moments, implied that reader is in Slytherin, lots of teasing, flirting, kissing, Fred is completely and utterly whipped for reader, "your highness" nickname
a/n: not me in the middle of writing a neville fic and then having a shower thought of a fred x reader and writing this instead.
words: 6.9k
masterlist
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
You can hear them. And you know it's them, because of the sniggering and that laugh.
By now, when you patrolled outside of class hours you'd find yourself actively seeking out these boys. Today happens to be good day to continue your spotless Prefect record.
With a hand sliding to your hip, you smoothly round the corner of the door to your Potions classroom and as you suspected, Fred and George Weasley are there, huddled over a particular cauldron. Something's clearly already been brewed and Fred is holding a cork screwed flask with the mysterious liquid.
It takes a minute until Fred happens to glance toward the door and sees you there, nose in the air and hands now clasped in front of you. He's trying not to laugh when he sees you, and elbows his brother.
The said Weasley is about to say something, but as he meets your gaze his lips press together in a slightly curved line.
Successful in catching their attention, one eyebrow and then one corner of your lips gently raise. "We've really got to stop bumping into each other like this."
"I think you wanted to bump into us," Fred says with a prominent smile. He looks innocent, just like always.
You neither confirm nor deny his remark and instead stride closer to them. You take your time, head turning in each direction, eyes scanning for any other suspicious looking activity. It feels good, because you can feel their stares and how they wait with bated breaths for your next move.
With a last step you settle on the opposite side of their table. You look at Fred, head tilted softly, studying his expression.
His smile only grows when you reach his eyes and it's finally time to address the elephant in the room.
In a newly straightened posture you say in a slow and sarcastic tone, "did you know... that I can take away points from your House? From each of you, in fact?"
"Oh, come on. Our favourite Prefect. Can't you pretend you never saw us, like last time?" George answers.
"Sorry what was that? You'd like 30 points taken away?"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Fred waves with a chuckle, "let's not get hasty. What about... a-a compromise?"
George nods desperately.
Your eyebrow raises again, and you lean back, crossing your arms. "A compromise, instead of taking away your precious points?"
"Yes, we'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything." Fred glides a tongue over his bottom lip, speaking to you through his eyes.
For once he looks completely serious and it makes you smile in delight. An expression seldom found in your features. It's completely magical and Fred finds no regret to bargaining with you.
"There is something you can do for me," your eyes glaze over Fred's face and then you turn to George, leaning forward over the table on your elbows. "The next Quidditch Game."
"Yeah? Slytherin v Gryffindor. Need us to bug someone?" George grins.
You shake your head and smile again. You're frighteningly beautiful with that curve on your face as you continue. "I need you to make sure that Slytherin wins."
"What?"
Fred captures your attention, so you lean in closer to his side of the desk. "It shouldn't be too hard for you both, right?"
He squints, unable to hold back a smile of his own. In the previous times when you had caught the twins in the middle of scheming, you'd never been so coy with them. Ruffling your feathers a bit was always the boys' goal when getting caught by you, however now that you seem to be playing along, Fred can't get enough. "That's hardly something to wish for, your highness. You can have anything from us, really anything. Don't hold back."
You shrug, "well, that's what I choose."
"But if you think about it you cou—"
"I can take the points off now, if you like? It's really no problem."
"Fine. W-We'll do it." George huffs, and his brother follows with a playful bow.
"Your wish is our command."
"Please just don't take the points off. We'll be kicked out of Gryffindor if you snitch again."
"Me? Snitch?" Your voice drips in sarcastic innocence, and you push yourself off of the desk. Your feet turn to walk back outside first, but your eyes remain on Fred until it's physically impossible to stay focused on him. As you saunter to the door, you feel their gazes on you again and it's oh so satisfying to know that you get the last say. "You need to get better at not getting caught. Because, if I didn't know any better, it looks more like you want me to bump into you."
You turn around to face them again, and stare at the flask in between Fred's long fingers. By some miracle you'd never found yourself to be the butt of their schemes, unlike the other prefects. Even as a chaser of the twins' opposition in Quidditch, you've been the only lucky soul on your team to come out the other end. The question was why? Why spare you?
"Who in Salazar's name threw that?" Your captain shrieks, massaging the back of his head, small flakes of snow dropping to the skin of his neck.
How bothersome, you think, looking around at the rest of your teammates who're busy cooling down after Quidditch training.
"What?! A snowball just happens to gain sentience and hit me, huh? An owl maybe? Just come forward, admit you did it and I'll go easy on you—"
The spray of snow flies off of the captain's head again and you dodge the icy substance in time, some of it landing on your beater and chaser teammate. Everyone exclaims except you, you're too busy scanning over the field.
Suddenly, the burly boy of a captain huffs toward you, and you take a shove to the shoulder.
Stumbling back by a metre, you frown. Increasingly annoyed by your captain's baseless judgements. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you I'm a prefect?"
"I know a guilty person when I see one."
You're about to give him a piece of your mind until the idiot is hit again and you stifle a laugh at the noise he makes.
"Clever," he says through gritted teeth. Despite clearly looking at you just seconds before the snowball made contact with his thick skull, his pride is still hell-bent on accusing you. "I knew you were good at school, but I didn't think you'd stoop so low to use non-verball spells for something so stupid."
"Well, I knew you were delusional before, but now it's perfectly clear that you just don't have a brain."
As though your words were a signal, a tsunami of white ice balls appear in the sky and you don't hold back your smile as it pauses over your team. They each look up, faces with panicked expressions, and before they can even begin to escape, the snow crashes down over your peers. Figuring, it's the perfect moment to leave, you zoom out of the field on your broom and land to your feet once you can't see those angry faces anymore.
And that's when you hear him. That laugh, and he's looking at you and combing a hand through his ginger hair, all whilst adorning a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.
"Thanks." Is all you can say at first, then you realise his partner-in-crime George isn't right by his side. "Where's your brother?"
"On the other end of the field."
You nod. When you don't say anything more and turn to leave, you feel long fingers wrap around your wrist. He's warm against your icy skin, and your eyes shoot up, only to be greeted by a soft smirk.
"You're not going to snitch on us are you, your highness?"
"Me? Snitch?" You stop yourself from feeling so giddy about the previous event and instead focus on the fact that would you be doing your prefectoral duties correctly, you would have absolutely told a Professor about the twins. But the adrenaline rush feels too great and so you finally shake your head at the tall ginger. "You were just... watching us practice, right? I don't see anything suspicious about that."
His smirk twists into a genuine smile, and he allows your wrist to slide out of his grasp. A twinkle of mischievousness reaches your eyes, and then you're off, jogging into the distance. A few metres in, you take a chance to glance back to where you left Fred. And you don't know whether it was from training or the adrenaline, but you feel your neck and cheeks flare with heat at the sight of him lean against the frame of the entrance, steadily watching you run.
Clearing your throat, you push your recollection of the past away and take out your wand.
“You know you’re not allowed to use spells outside of class, your highness,” says Fred, his voice playful.
“That’s okay,” you shrug, “because I know you won’t tell on me.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” George chimes.
You nod immediately, the easiest question to answer. “I’m your favourite prefect, am I not?”
Fred’s expression is unreadable to you at first as he shakes his head slowly. He looks shocked, but at the same time pleased and a hint of something else that you can’t quite grasp.
Figuring you’ve stared at him long enough you send the twins’ a wink and the door shuts with a swipe of your wand.
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
Your robe is floating behind you, a spitting image of Professor Snape, as you walk with purpose to your class, books cradled in your arms and head held high. You round a corner of the halls smoothly and find yourself at your Potions classroom. It's been a week since finding the Weasleys in there, and you still haven't found out what concoction they had created.
In any case, your class has already begun, and Snape's voice is barely audible with the door in front of you. You let your fingers clench around your books for a moment, taking in a breath. Then you push your way in, and each one of your classmates turn their attention to you.
"How lovely of you to join us, Miss L/N."
Having already predicted the Professor's sarcasm-filled reaction to your tardiness, you hand out a small slip of paper. "A note from Professor McGonagall."
He barely skims over the words and indicates for you to find a seat. Fingers clenching around your books again, you let yourself look over your peers. There's a seat next to Ginger Jorkins from Hufflepuff, but after noticing your stare she's quick to put her belongings where you could have sat. You hold off from sighing, because to your relief there is one more free seat, all the way at the back of the room. Right beside the vacant spot is a familiar head of red hair, and the pain from your tight grip subsides upon seeing him. That sigh you've been holding lets free once you sit down and the class continues.
"Welcome to the back of the class," Fred whispers with his signature grin. "You're with the cool kids now."
"Speaking of..." You glance behind him and frown. "Where's your brother?"
He makes a face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." And then it hits you. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch Game. The compromise. The "make-sure-that-Slytherin-wins" game. The "George-has-been-completely-annihilated-by-a-bludger" and "won't-be-walking-around-anytime-soon" game.
"Oh... right."
Fred simply nods, finding the way you froze for a moment to be equally funny and endearing. The rest of your face doesn't show it, but he notices the panic in your pretty eyes and gives your arm a little nudge. "Hey. The git's okay. Says it was worth the pain because the girl he fancies paid him a visit."
You bite your lip and let yourself focus on Snape, who's mouth is moving, but you can't hear anything coming out. "It's still technically my fault. He looked awful."
Fred leans forward, his head turning to rest against his crossed arms. He studies your features as you attempt to listen into the class. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper again. "Come to Hogsmeade with me."
You give him a side glance. No one's ever invited you to come before and for all you know he could be making fun of you. It'd been hard in the beginning, though you eventually found comfort being in your own presence; drinking butterbeer while other people joked and laughed and shared stories and the gossip of the week. And talked about how they received a pointless detention after being told off from that know-it-all bitch.
"I-I don't..." You stumble upon your words, the crease between your brows growing deeper as you try to recollect your thoughts.
"Yeah, you're coming," he declares. And when you go to protest, he sits back up, sending you a wink.
"AND so..." Snape glares in your direction, "by the end of this class, I will be testing the quality of your potions by using a simple leaf. If it melts you've brewed successfully, and if not... you'll be in here on the weekend till you get it right."
To your surprise, Fred doesn't make a fuss, instead he beams at you with a clap of his hands. "Let's get started then, shall we Professor?"
The said man only grunts in response, so you all begin.
Forty minutes passes by in an instant, and no matter how well you follow the recipe, the liquid in your cauldron doesn't look like a liquid anymore and it smells differently to Fred's.
Wait. Fred's?
You frown down into his cauldron. His potion's immaculate.
You pull at the sleeve of his robe till his head comes down and his long hair tickles the tip of your nose. "How are you doing this?"
"I'm smart when I want to be," he chuckles.
"That's not an answer. I demand you give me an answer, or... I will take off points from Gryffindor."
He feigns an expression of shock which immediately gives way to a smirk, face just a few inches away from yours. "And what if I do tell you? You promise not to snitch?"
"Me? Snitch?"
That mischievousness is back into your dolomitic eyes, and Fred swears that the potion isn't required to melt the leaf.
"How about a compromise?" you whisper.
He shoots a glance toward the Professor and then hums when he feels it's all clear to keep talking. "I'm listening."
"I come with you to Hogsmeade, and I promise to do whatever you want to do. Deal?"
He doesn't need a moment, or even a second to reply. He's already nodding, slipping a hand into yours. "Deal."
You share a knowing look and shake your intwined hands. Compromise confirmed. "Now—"
Before you get to finish, he pulls out a very familiar cork-screwed flask, and in perfect fashion you keep from gasping or reacting at all, but Fred can see it in your eyes. He scans over the classroom, Snape's busy writing something on the board, and so he's clear to lower his head to you.
Your fingers graze as he passes you the concoction he had made with his brother. Electricity runs through the veins of your fingers till it hits your heart, skipping a beat.
"Someone might've tipped us off about this assignment," Fred murmurs. "So, naturally, we just wanted to be prepared. There was no way we were going to miss out on a Hogsmeade visit."
Not with George in the Hospital Wing, you think to yourself with guilt, pulling your robe sleeve down to hide the flask should your Professor stop by.
"Well... my beloved brother sadly will. I'll never forget his bravery." Fred makes a show out of a simple sigh and you feel like slapping his arm. He places his hand over his chest and sighs again, only it's a little louder this time and longer. "A girl we know threatened us to rig the Quidditch game so that Slytherin would win, if we didn't do as she asked she would've gotten us into trouble—"
"Fred." Images of the poor Weasley twin with a whole half of his body covered in the sickening colour of a bruise flood your brain.
"—and being the good man that he is, Georgie sacrificed himself, in order to satisfy the needs of this girl."
"Oi! I already feel horrible, okay?" You finally give his arm that well-earned smack, and when all he does is laugh, you huff with a pout.
He recollects himself, and makes sure Snape's still preoccupied. He bends down to your level again, and his breath fans over the strands of hair by your ear. "I would do the same for this girl."
There's that heat in your neck again and yet another electric feeling runs up your spine at his worlds. You don't meet his gaze and instead stare forward. To save yourself from embarrassment, you lift your chin and with one swift movement, the liquid from the flask falls into your cauldron.
Fred watches in delight as you stir until your previously horrible creation morphs and dissolves into that flawless fluid that you had just seen in the Weasley's cauldron. From such a result, you're unable to stop yourself as your lips curl into a smile, parting slowly to reveal your teeth.
You are the embodiment of this potion. Any person or creature of the magical world would completely disarm at the sight of your expression. And Fred's lucky enough to be your first victim.
"You seem very pleased, Miss L/N."
The black figure of Snape shadows yours and Fred's vision as he glides in front of your desk. He peers into your cauldron, nothing shows on his face and then he's examining Fred's, the same reaction of nothing.
The man then clicks his tongue and floats back to the front of the classroom, picking two leaves off of the plant on his desk. He returns swiftly, gesturing the rest of the class to join him by your table.
"Look closely." Snape says as his hand hovers over your creation, and then his fingers let go of the green object.
Hushed breaths watch as it hits the surface of the liquid with a ripple. There's no reaction at first and it fills you with dread. You even see Fred stiffen in the corner of your sight.
Then the leaf twitches with a change in colour, and soon it's no where to be seen, dissolved. Successful.
Someone mutters a 'wow', others share glances of contempt or roll their eyes. You on the other hand feel relieved and lean onto your hip, arm brushing against the tall boy beside you. He relaxes at your gentle touch.
"It seems you will have the fortune of freedom this weekend." Professor Snape mutters, and then with no time to waste, moves on to Fred. You barely have a chance to thank the man. His hand hovers, fingers open and a new leaf falls.
In a blink, the leaf has melted and you feel the Weasley straighten up in pride.
Snape however, isn't convinced and folds his arms. "How convenient that you should produce a successful potion - out of many failures - when seated beside Miss L/N."
Innocent until proven guilty, you think and look up at Fred, who's only smiling like a fool, his focused trained on Snape's. Your classmates murmur, and it isn't hard to place who they're talking about with their not-so subtle glares pointed in your direction.
"So I did a good job?" The boy's happy expression grows with innocence.
"Somehow. Five points... to each of you." The raven-haired man admits, his gaze lingers on the Weasley before he turns away, addressing you both and the rest of the class. "L/N and Weasley, seeing as you have completed the task, you may be dismissed. However, by next class I expect a 2,000 word written report of your method and findings. That'll be all. The rest of you... you have fifteen minutes."
Groans and curses hidden under breaths echo through the room, you and Fred, however, turn to each other with eyebrows raised and stupid grins plastered over your faces.
Adrenaline kicks in, and you both scramble to clear up the desk and snatch up your belongings. You sprint out the door not after sending the Professor a 'thank you', and then you're out the door and sprinting into the courtyard, crisp winter air nipping at your extremities.
You pause by the fountain, leaning against the tall structure and Fred follows suit, situating himself in front of you. "I can't believe I did that," you say in a breathless tone still grinning, books hugging into your chest.
He chuckles in between his own pants of breath. "Feels good doesn't it, your highness?"
"I hate to admit but... yes."
You watch as his gaze on you softens, as well as his grin subduing into contentment. "You make a good partner-in-crime. I think I might just replace George."
"Then he will surely kill me once he's recovered! That is... if he doesn't already."
Fred winks, "I'll make sure that won't happen. A princess such as yourself deserves a knight-in-shining armour."
"Oh yes." You give a curtsy and wave of your hand, your voice forming a posh accent. Well, no more posh than you already sound. "Then will you do the honour of escorting me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"
With a fist to his chest, Fred bows. "For you, my dear, anything."
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
It's irregular of you to be so fashionably late. Last night you'd found yourself restless, thoughts of sleep hidden behind scenes of you and Fred eating candy together, laughing, using magic outside of class to throw snowballs at your Quidditch Captain. Despite the chill of a winter night, being covered by your duvet and blankets was suffocatingly warm, especially when you kept seeing Fred pull you behind a tree, gloved hands drawing you into him by your hips, noses barely touching and lips parted with warm butterbeered breaths.
Your chocolate-brown screech owl whinnies by the foot of your bed and you flinch, adjusting your beanie for the hundredth time. "What do you think, Prim? Do I look tired? I look tired, don't I?"
The owl blinks and gives another whinny, a sound similar to that of a miniature pony. You check the clock on the wall of your dormitory and bite your lip, jostling through your belongings and retrieving a small purse of galleons to shove into your coat pocket.
One more look in the mirror, just one more. Your hair looks surprising lovely, strands of it squished against your thick scarf, and fortunately covering areas of your blemished face that couldn't be covered enough by your concealer. "It'll have to do!"
Prim purrs when you stroke her head and then you're off. You almost trip at the bottom of the stairs and as a result you pause, taking in a breath, calming the pounding in your chest. This Hogsmeade visit is just like any other. Just like any other. You’re just… not alone this time. That’s enough to get you smiling, as you saunter through the halls and finally out the gates, where you see a few groups of students still hanging around Hogwarts.
At the top of the steps you crane your neck in an attempts to find Fred amongst the small groups.
“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
You spin on your heels at the sound of his voice, and are greeted with a growing grin. Teeth sparkling and everything. It takes a toll on you not to tackle him in a hug right then and there. The thick hoody he’s adorning, as well as the adorable beanie all look extra cuddly. Those gloved hands that you’ve been thinking about slide out of the pockets of his jeans and reach for your scarf, gently tightening the fabric around your face and neck.
On the outside you seem unbothered by his action, but he already sees what you’re really feeling through those dolomitic eyes of yours. “A deal’s a deal,” you finally say. “But it was rude of me to keep you waiting so long, so I’ll buy you a butterbeer.”
He shakes his head, fiddling with the hem of the scarf. “You turning up is enough for me.”
You shake your head back, dipping your chin into the material to hide your smile. “I’m buying you one. Argument over.”
“Alright then.” He chuckles and gives your scarf a gentle tug. “No more time to waste, your highness, let’s go.”
“Lead the way, Sir Weasley.”
You’re perfectly giddy as you trudge your way to the little village. Fred tells you about his plans for Christmas and you tell him yours, not very big and not very exciting, but he adores listening to you speak. He tells you about George and his recovery, and teases you when he sees guilt written over your face. Then despite your many differences, you both bond over your love for Quidditch, especially the Irish team. Occasionally, your shoulders and arms graze, and other times your fingers, as you stomp through the snow covered grounds. With every touch your chest grows warm, and your belly flips. You almost forget that you should be looking out for any bad behaviour. You almost forget that you still have a duty to uphold to the school.
Hogsmeade is bustling with life when you finally arrive. More so now that you could share it with someone.
“Come on, let’s warm up first.” Fred tugs your scarf again and successfully gains your full attention. He pulls you into the Three Broomsticks, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth. He’s still pulling on your scarf so you swiftly ask for two hot butterbeers and allow him to lead you to a table at the far end of the room.
“Am I your pet? Leading me around like that.” You sit down opposite him, motioning to his hand still holding onto the end of the long material.
He hums for a moment, and doesn't look to have any intention of letting go. “More like restraining you from going into ‘prefect’ mode.”
"Hey! Some people need disciplining," you pout.
"You sound like a Professor..." he narrows his eyes at you, lacking the skills to stop smiling so big. "You're not Professor Snape using Polyjuice potion, are you? Trying to figure out my secrets for passing your class, huh?"
Slowly, meticulously you straighten your back and fold your hands over the table, and void any emotion on your face. Your voice is low and slow and articulating every syllable as you speak. "What a ri-di-cu-lous suggestion. However... while we are on the topic, you didn't... copy off me, did you?"
Fred is so bad at suppressing his smirk. "Bloody Norah, you found me out! You're so smart, Profess— I mean... your highness."
The clink of glass hitting your table interrupts yours and Fred's thoughts. Madam Rosmerta's standing over you and when you meet her gaze she winks. "Good to see you with company this time around, Y/N."
Your face squishes into the fabric that Fred's still holding onto as you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Desperate to eliminate the fact that she basically just called you a loner in front of him, you fish into your pocket and pull out some coins, placing them onto the woman's open palm. "Thank you, Madam Rosmerta."
"Pleasure, dears. Enjoy.” Another wink is sent your way and she’s off to tend the rest of her pub.
As you bring the hot beverage to your mouth, you peek through your eyelashes. Fred has removed one glove and is now using that bare hand hold onto his drink, allowing the warmth to transfer into his already warm skin.
"Thank you," he says.
Your brows press together, "what for?"
"For paying."
"Well... thank you too."
He raises an eyebrow as he takes a good sip of the butterbeer, waiting for you to elaborate.
"For inviting me," you say shyly, fingers sliding across the surface of the mug.
"Awh, that's nothing," he chuckles, gently swaying your scarf.
"It's not 'nothing'. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was so excited to come with you."
The ginger-haired boy presses his lips together tightly and then leans his face closer to you. "Wait, really?!"
How many times has it been now that you've felt your face heat up around Fred? You could play so coy and confident before, but now you felt like any other girl-with-a-crush in your year. "As a matter of fact, yes." You raise your chin and attempt to sit up straighter. "I know it may seem that I only agreed to come because of a compromise, but... I really did — do — appreciate you considering me."
"I don't think we'll need to stop by Honeydukes, your highness. You're so sweet, that my teeth already ache."
"You're so...!" You smack his arm.
But he's grinning like a fool, pulling at your scarf. "I'm so what?"
"I'm gonna take points off Gryffindor, just because you asked."
He guffaws, "what is this abuse of power?"
You take a swig of butterbeer and shrug, head high and smirk on display. "I like to call them perks."
"See?" You feel on your neck as he gives a tug-tug. "This is why you need to be kept on a lead."
Before you can retort, you notice he's pointing at his upper-lip and quietly chuckling. It sets off your heart.
"Brilliant moustache you got there," he says.
"Oh... thank you." How embarrassing. You really thought he was suggesting something else for a moment there. You glance around the room to make sure no one's watching before you slide a tongue over the sweet foam above your lip. "Is it gone?"
"Just..." at first there's a second of hesitation, but then he pulls you in over the table and meets you half-way, un-gloved hand coming up to cup your face. Why is he always so warm? Why is it that one of the most notorious rule-breakers of the school is taking your fancy? And so easily at that.
It feels like an hour passes when his thumb smooths over the left corner of your mouth and you hold in a breath, fingers clenched around your mug. You simply cannot help the urge to look at his own lips; pretty, pink and gently parted, calm breaths passing through.
His movements pause all of a sudden, so you glance at his eyes, but he's already looking at you. Completely under your spell, completely forgetting how to move, and completely forgetting that you're in public. You seem to have forgotten the same, still not pulling away from his touch. He catches your eyes dip to his lips again and he swallows thickly.
Then he's moving away and sitting back down, clearing his throat. "There, now you're good."
"Thanks," you wipe a finger over for extra measure and then look out the window, clearing your throat and straightening your back.
"You know how you mentioned that part of the deal was that we'd do anything I want to do?" He inquires, finishing his drink with a last swig.
"Yeah. A deal is a deal," you answer, finally turning back to him, surprised to see a confident smile carved into his features.
"Perfect. There's something I want to show you, but first I have a really good idea to help you unwind and forget about your prefect-ness."
"That doesn't sound good," you tease, chugging the last bit of your own butterbeer.
He's smirking now, "you won't be saying that when you see what we'll be doing."
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
You're both crouched behind a boulder that oversees the Shrieking Shack in the distance. The perfect spot to spy on anyone who visits the lookout point. The perfect spot to snog outside of school walls. And it also happens to be the perfect spot to stock up on snowballs and wait for one particular person to fall into your trap.
"I hate to admit, but you were right, Sir Weasley. Again," you mutter, rubbing your gloved hands together.
"The more you hang out with me, the more you'll find out just how right I always am." He peeks over the boulder for a moment and then his hand shoots up in alarm, speaking in barely a whisper, "he's here."
He is. You can hear your Quidditch captain now and a few of his buddies, chatting and laughing. Someone puts on a voice, and it makes the group howl, but makes your stomach churn. The closer they get to the lookout, the clearer their words sound and the more you're looking forward to breaking the rules.
"—thinks she's all that, just 'cause she's a prefect. Like, bitch, I'm older than you!"
Their laughter is equal to that of nails on a chalkboard. Pelting them with some snowballs might not be fulfilling enough.
"Nah, it's 'cause she's got Snape behind her, hah. Thinks she can say and do whatever she wants."
Fred is hearing all of this. You feel like screaming, and perhaps hexing the hell out of all of them. They need a proper disciplining.
"Yeah, that's probably what's happening!" The group laugh again, and the next thing they say is the last straw. "She only got prefect because she's fucking him."
The bottom of your vision is blurry, but you tell Fred you're ready and he only nods. You both raise your wands, and he counts to three.
One snowball hits the back of the captain's head and to your satisfaction he lands on his face. You and Fred are enjoying the scene a little too much that it isn't until one of the idiots shout your name, do you realise you've blown your cover.
"Shoot!"
"Quick! We need to unleash all we've got!" Fred takes your free hand and guides you up to stand beside him. "One, two, THREE!"
Adrenaline shoots through your veins, as together you swish your wands and the rest of your snow pile is sent into the air. One more flick of the wands, and the balls fly with the speed of a snitch. Straight toward their faces. Exclamations, grunts, yells echo through the woods and open winter air. They swipe at their faces and eyes, blinded by your attack. The captain's still trying to recover from the first hit, from head to toe the entire front half of him is covered in white.
You let out a laugh, and suddenly Fred takes your hand again and you're sprinting away from the crime scene.
"HEY!" The Quidditch captain shouts after you, pure rage in his tone.
But you couldn't care less, because that grin on the Weasley's face is too contagious as you run by him, gloved hand in gloved hand.
He peeks over his shoulder to meet your gaze, only resulting in a skip of his heart and a flip of his stomach. Losing that Quidditch match was absolutely worth it, and Fred had to remind himself to thank George later for taking the blow.
You share breathless laughter as the shouts increase in amount, but decrease in volume. You're both much too fast for them and manage to get back to the village where you could hide within the crowds.
Your feet slow to a walk, and you both check if any of the idiots followed. Fred spots two pass by a tree and squeezes your hand to gain your attention.
"In here," he jerks his head, and pulls you into a small alley between two buildings.
Finally having a moment to catch your breath, you realise that it isn't really an alley, and more like a small gap. The space is so narrow in fact that your body is essentially pressed up against his. Back against wall. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Feet and legs side-by-side each other as though woven.
You don't care to look to your left where those jerks could be looking for you. You simply can't. You can't because all you can see are Fred's parted lips again, and he's looking down at yours. After which, your gazes meet and you don't think you've ever felt so hot in the middle of winter before.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes. No grin, no smirk, no teasing, just facts.
"And you're..." Your eyes dip again.
His hand slides out of yours, and then you feel weight by your hips and he's squeezing against the material of your pants and sweater.
You crane your neck, and he dips his head, as those gloved hands of his pull you into him.
Your own hunger has your fingers smooth over his chest and grip the collar of his hoody, desperately tugging for him to come closer and closer, tension in the air building with each breath.
"And I'm... what?" He purrs.
Something stirs in the bottom of your abdomen as the scent of butterbeer fills your senses, just millimetres away now. And then he captures your lips. And it's like heaven, because his hands can't help but slide up under your sweater and hold you by the skin of your waist.
At first the kiss is gentle, hesitant, but then you open your mouth a little wider and Fred takes this as a clear invitation. He smooths a tongue over yours, the taste of the sweet foamy drink still lingering on your lips.
His bold action elicits a hum from you, and his grip only tightens, craving more and more of you and your pretty sounds. You go until you can't breathe, mouths parting reluctantly but eyes still closed.
Fred presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a feather-like touch. His thumbs caress your sides as he whispers, "you never answered my question."
"You wanna know what you are, right?” You murmur, hands sliding down over his collarbone and resting on his chest.
“Yeah. You’ve said it twice now and never finished your sentence.”
“Okay,” you lean in, lips feathering over his. “You’re…”
Good Godric you’re addicting. He pushes his head forward to meet you, but you pull back with the most attractive breathy laugh he's ever heard. Your lips stay brushing against his, but you won't give him any more than that and he loves it.
"You're..." you say again on his mouth, and he hangs on every single one of your words. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."
He watches your eyes for a moment, and leans into you once more, hands climbing up to lay flat against your back, your sweater pooling by his wrists. And you share the softest kiss ever, full of adoration, full of care, full of absolute affection.
"You saying that, you being here right now... feels like I've just won the Quidditch cup," he says when you part.
"I really mean it, Fred." You wrap your arms around his middle and squeeze him there, cheek squishing into his chest. "You've heard how people talk about me, but you don't seem to care about any of that stuff."
He returns your gesture, his own cheek landing on the top of your head. "You're right. I don't care about it, because I've seen how much you care for the school and care for keeping things in order. A little too much, but to each their own."
"Oi."
"I have to tease, I have to. Still, joking aside, if anyone says that kind of shit about you and you hear about it, find me and tell me. Me and Georgie have your back."
"Just don't get caught," you smirk.
"You won't take points away if you catch us, will you?"
You pull away from the cuddle and send him that beautifully, intimidating smile of yours. "Not if you promise to keep losing your Quidditch games."
"Low blow, your highness!" He laughs and then you're running away, giggling like a fool.
You manage to slip through the crowds and head toward the woods by the Shrieking Shack lookout, your giggles only getting louder and more frequent when you see Fred bounding closer and closer to you. Your cadence slows when the ground starts to feel icy under your boots, and sooner than you think, you feel arms wrap around your stomach and you squeal.
Fred's laugh vibrates against your back, and after a few pants of breath he speaks into your ear. "There's still something I wanted to show you."
"Oh?" You spin around in his hold. "That's right. What is it then?"
"Surprise. Follow me." He's hasty in his movements, as he takes your hand, running further into the woods. Then he rounds the corner of a large tree trunk, his fingers slip out of yours as he twists around to face you and then he's pulling you by your hips, grin on display.
Your heart flips when your back meets with the rough surface of the tree, bodies pressing into one another and then his mouth is hovering over yours. There's hunger in his eyes, yet he's waiting for your next move.
"Wow. 'I have something to show you'. That was so corny," you tease in a whisper.
He chuckles, feeling your lips just barely touch his, "but you loved it."
"I did. You're right again, Sir Weasley."
"Always am, your highness."
He squeezes your hips. You lift your chin and you kiss for a third time that day.
so listen i had this thought that i will inevitably never flesh out completely but in my mind....bakugou ends up being a young, single dad. and in the beginning it's terrible—he's a pro hero for god's sake, but he can't figure out how the hell to take care of a baby. his mother tries to help him but when you give him an inch he takes a mile, so he just kind of. makes himself scarce for a while. and mitsuki is so preoccupied with keeping his baby alive that she doesn't really notice at first. but when he's gone for a week straight, she's like. oh. oh no. he takes one step inside the house and she's immediately like. this is the type of man you are?
and that does something to straighten him out—but it leaves him with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. so he raises his little girl to be a soldier. she's always polite and self-sufficient, even as a toddler. it feels necessary, because he's still very much an active hero and he can't always be around—but then she gets older and he's not quite sure how to interact with her like he should and she has that same rage he knows like the back of his hand and he's like oh shit.
i imagine meeting you feels inconsequential at first—you're a neighbor or something, and you notice that it's just the two of them. you run into each other enough times that it feels weird that you haven't introduced yourself yet, so you do, and things progress from there. but it's slow—he's busy and guarded and so are you, really—you lived through that war too and under no uncertain terms did you intend to be someone's mother. and evidently his daughter feels the same, because when you meet her for the first time, it's the only time bakugou has seen his daughter cry since she was a baby.
and i think it takes years for her to warm up to you. open hostility turns to a numbed indifference, but you break her down slowly—you don't feel like you have much of a maternal instinct but there's a clear lack of something that she needs that bakugou just can't give. so you try your best to just be there—to be something new that she can take or leave as she pleases.
you don't think you're doing a great job and things still feel very strained for a while. except one day there's an accident. someone breaks into your place or something? and you're fine, but it's really poor timing, because bakugou's daughter gets home from school to find an ambulance and several police cars in front of the building. and she just loses it—some cop tries to stop her from getting through the front door and you catch her frantic eyes over his shoulder—
"move—that's my fuckin' mom—"
and even in the chaos, something in you settles. she finally gets around him—later you find out she bit him but bakugou's manager takes care of it before her dad catches wind of it—and nearly takes you out with the force of her hug. it makes you snort.
"i'm fine, kid," you press a kiss to her blonde hair, "and watch your mouth."
Summary — When it came to having a one-night stand with Jamie, you expected to be nothing more than an additional notch on his belt. Unbeknownst to you, he had other plans.
Warnings & Other Tags
➳ Walnut Mist Jamie; coworkers to lovers; a touch of idiots in love (mostly on the Reader’s part); friendly teasing from the Diamond Dogs; references to sex, but no actual smut.
Notes
➳ Word Count is 1,038.
➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them).
The way Jamie’s hand slowly traveled over your lower back sent butterflies throughout your stomach. You had woken up to find yourself wrapped in his soft linen sheets, limbs tangled up in his blanket with your face squished against a pillow.
Lying on your stomach, you admired him with a tired gaze. He was on his back next to you, eyes closed and blissfully unaware that you were no longer asleep. One hand rested on his stomach while the other continued creating patterns against your bare skin.
The gentle feeling nearly lulled you back to sleep. Jamie’s scent was overwhelming your thoughts. His bedding smelled of his favorite cologne. If it hadn’t been for his alarm, you would’ve felt as though you were drifting into a second heaven.
You quickly closed your eyes, not ready for the conversation Jamie might want to have about the previous night. Next to you, he turned off his alarm and let out a deep groan. You could hear every movement he made, thinking you were still dreaming peacefully without a care in the world.
He shifted closer until you could feel his skin against yours. His warmth surrounded you in an instant. He hovered over you with an arm on either side, balancing on his elbows. His chest was almost flush against your back. It took everything within you to not let out a surprised squeal.
His lips gently grazed your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek in a series of sweet kisses. He nosed at your skin before taking in the scent of your shampoo. You could feel him smile against your cheek before another kiss was layered there.
His affections traveled to your shoulders. He pushed himself closer. You tried not to smile at the feeling of him. His lips left a warm trail of open-mouthed kisses from your left shoulder to the right.
Finally, after one last kiss landed against your back, Jamie shifted away from you. The blankets rustled and, without him, you suddenly felt cold.
Opening your eyes once again, you admired the way the muscles in his back flexed with every tired stretch as he made his way to the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of water falling from the showerhead echoed through the open door.
With the knowledge that Jamie wouldn’t be back for at least a few minutes, you reluctantly shuffled out his bed. Within moments, your clothes were on and you were disappearing without so much as a goodbye.
You were busy sorting through some papers for Ted when Jamie slipped into your office. In an instant, you regretted choosing the workspace that was connected to that of the main coaches’, mostly due to the glass windows that allowed them to see everything.
As Jamie closed the door behind him, you could see several of your colleagues looking at one another curiously. It was the worst time for them to be having one of their Diamond Dog meetings. Not only would you be questioned by Ted and Beard, but potentially by Roy, Trent, and Higgins as well.
“Hey.”
Your eyes fluttered from your nosy coworkers to Jamie. He offered a bright smile, pushing back his hair with a black sports headband. He had already changed into his kit for practice. You leaned back against the front of your desk, waiting for him to carry the conversation.
“Missed you this morning,” he said, “wanted to tell ya goodbye. I was gonna make breakfast too, but you’d already gone, so…”
His voice trailed off, unsure of what else he should say. Your suddenly quiet demeanor was throwing him off. He thought about everything he could’ve done to make you upset, but came up empty-handed.
“I had to go home and get ready for work,” you replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Oh,” he nodded understandingly. “Well then, how about tonight? I’ll take ya out for dinner to make it up, alright?”
You blinked in surprise, “Jamie, you don’t have to do that. I mean, what we did last night was just a one-time thing.”
“It was?”
Within seconds, Jamie looked like a puppy who had just gotten treats taken away. His eyes dimmed and his smile fell, “I see.”
“Wasn’t it?”
Jamie shrugged. Your office had gone silent, save for the sounds of his boots shuffling awkwardly against the carpet. Through the glass, you could see Ted’s eyes going between the two of you.
“Don’t know,” muttered Jamie, finally breaking the long silence. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while. I kinda stopped all that one-night stand stuff, I guess.”
“Really?” you breathed, taken aback by his admission.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, hands fiddling with the hem of his jersey. “Look, I really like ya, but if this isn’t something—”
Panic built up within your chest. You hadn’t expected his desire to see you outside of his bedroom. Before he could break things off, you cut him off, “Pick me up tonight. We can go to Ola’s.”
His expression returned to its brighter self, “You’re serious?”
Heat rose beneath your skin when he grinned after receiving a nod in response. Quick as ever, Jamie moved closer. His proximity almost made you forget about the watchful eyes of the Diamond Dogs.
Once he was close enough, Jamie placed his hands on your cheeks. You could feel his smile against your skin as he leaned in to gently kiss your forehead. After giving you a tight hug as well, Jamie left your office with a skip in his step, leaving the door open as he returned to the locker room.
“So…”
You met the stares and poorly hidden grins of your colleagues, aside from Roy, of course. Ted, as usual, was the one who had spoken up first. He bounced excitedly in his seat.
With a teasing tone, Ted completed his thought, “You and Jamie, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, biting your lip in an effort to conceal a smile. Each of them began pursing their lips, dramatically kissing the air. This time, much to your surprise, Roy joined in. You scoffed at their antics, wondering what exactly you had gotten yourself into by agreeing to a date with Richmond’s star striker.
a/n: no warnings for this one except language, obviously. i just wanted to imagine having a fluffy little coach trip with jamie tartt so i hope there are others out there who want to imagine the same. requests are SO open for jamie/roy/sam/ted please do send some ideas <3
---
You weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to engineer this situation, but you were worried that if you thought about it too hard, you might end up losing it. Somehow, on a coach to Amsterdam, you’d ended up wedged between a window and Jamie Tartt and despite that being the stuff of nightmares only about a year ago, now it was something you couldn’t have hoped for in advance.
“I said I’d save a seat for ya, didn’t I?” he’d claimed proudly when you shimmied past him to sit in the window seat. He’d been smiling hopefully at you as he patted it when you’d walked down the aisle of the coach. You’d thought you’d be sitting with Rebecca at the back until he’d tugged at your wrist to stop you in your tracks.
“To be totally transparent, I thought you were joking,” you murmured to him once you were settled, bag tucked underneath your seat, “You also said the same to Roy yesterday, and I heard you saying it to Sam this morning.”
“Yeah, but I was fuckin’ with them,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Besides, we have a whole conditioner campaign to plan, right? Now’s as good a time to start as any.”
You tried not to let your heart sink a little. Of course it was work-related. You’d just have to be happy with the grin he was sporting as he nudged your arm.
“You’re on,” you grinned back, then, with a show of boldness, “But only if you promise not to complain when I inevitably fall asleep on you later.”
If anything, his grin grows wider.
“Shoulder’s all yours, love. I’m told it’s pretty comfy.”
“Who’s told you that? Roy?”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s too fond. You busy yourself trying to manoeuvre your laptop out of your bag, but a hand on yours stops you in your tracks. When you look up, Jamie’s face is soft and he’s tucking your laptop away again.
“Relax. The coach’ll take hours yet. We can get comfy first, yeah?”
“You’re right,” you concede, shuffling into the back of your seat again with a content sigh, “Don’t know why I’m pretending to be eager to work.”
He laughs and you join in. You want to tell him he’s got a downright infectious laugh these days, because its lighter than ever and always filled with genuine happiness, but you don’t. Too much. Instead, you push up on the back of the seat in front of you to tap Dani urgently on the shoulder, then sit down quickly and turn a fake-reprimanding glance at Jamie.
“What is it, amigo?” he directs his question towards Jamie who’s looking incredulous, “Or are you playing a cheeky prank?”
You tut and sink further into your seat as you shake your head at Jamie. He begins to point at you, but Dani is already ruffling Jamie’s hair and turning back around as he mutters happily in Spanish. Jamie turns to you, brows furrowed.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?”
You shrug, as playful as you can manage with your heart beating a little harder in your chest. He narrows his eyes at you, then settles into his seat, and you know he’s plotting revenge. You can’t wait.
---
It’s been an hour and a half, and you and Jamie have been going back and forth almost the entire time, the very idea of doing any work on his new ad campaign buried in favour of having fun. Jamie had snuck your phone from your lap and prank called Ted who was sat at the back of the bus. You’d then somehow managed to do the same with Jamie’s phone, but decided to send a rather inflammatory text to Jan Maas, which was followed by a half hour argument between the two men that was incredibly entertaining.
Most recently, Jamie had made a terrible noise putting his mouth to his elbow and blamed it on you, but luckily Sam had seen him do it and you’d been able to clear your name. It had been a stellar effort though, so you were giving it some time before you found something perfect to retaliate with.
“Can I ask y’ something?” Jamie spoke suddenly, but his voice was softer than you’d heard it on the journey so far. You turned to him and nodded encouragingly, “I was jus’ sat here wonderin’ - and please don’t take this the wrong way - but why y’ decided to come with us? I’m happy about it, ‘course I am, but-“
“I get it, Jamie,” you said quickly, because you could see how much he was struggling. It was heartwarming how earnest he was when he’d said he was happy you’d come with them though, and you were fighting an urge to lean in and kiss his cheek to stop his rambling, “I’m not exactly essential personnel for a trip to Amsterdam.”
“Fuck, that’s exactly what I was tryin’ not to sound like - wait, y’ don’t really think that do ya?”
“Jamie, seriously, stop worrying! It’s sweet but so unnecessary. Hannah, you know the one that usually handles socials? She couldn’t make it so Rebecca asked if I’d fill in. I’m not one to turn down a free trip with some of my favourite people.”
His smile was genuine until the last sentence, where it morphed into something cocky as he puffed his chest.
“You wanna name any of those favourite people of yours?”
You bit the inside of your cheek as you pretended to think about it. God, it felt like it would be so easy to admit that you’d jumped at the chance to come because you jumped at any chance to spend time with Jamie these days, but you couldn’t. There were hours of this bus ride left to sit in awkward silence if he didn’t take it well.
“Well, Ted’s gotta be right up there,” you began, shifting in your seat to look around the bus, “Sam, of course, and, god, Colin is a must. Rebecca, obviously-“
“No one who’s last name might happen to rhyme with a part of the body, or somethin’?”
You scrunch up your face in fake confusion. It’s easy to imagine doing this forever, just playing pretend with Jamie Tartt for the rest of time, and you’ll play along as long as he lets you.
“Ohhh you mean Jan Maas? Rhymes with ass, very clever. Didn’t know you were such a poet.”
“I dabble, me,” he deadpans, but neither of you can keep it up as you dissolve into giggles. Jamie pulls his cap further down his forehead to hide just how much he’s cracking up and you tuck your face down - no need to have the rest of the bus trying to get in on the joke. When you both calmed down, he turned, looking back up at you from under his hat, “Very quick by the way. Jan Maas, ass. You’re good, you are.”
“You’ve only just noticed?” you asked incredulously, intent on teasing him just a step further, but he takes his hat off to look at you properly when he answers, running his hand once, twice through his hair first, of course.
“Nah,” he replied, voice that soft whisper that you’d come to crave, “Y’ wanna know when I noticed?”
You swallowed thickly, leaning into him in the same way he had, all conspiratorial and close.
“I dunno. Do I wanna know?”
Jamie ignored you and continued, eyes flitting from your face to a thread on his joggers he was picking at.
“It was when I’d just come back to Richmond an’ everyone was mad at me. Rightly so, I know. But I was sat in me car, havin’ lunch cause no one would eat with me yet. You were walking past with Rebecca going to lunch and you waved at me, with this mad bright smile on your face y’know?”
“I may have a vague memory of that,” you said, as if seeing him alone in his car hadn’t broken your heart at that time.
“An’ then the day after, when you ate in your car an’ invited me to join. I knew y’ were only doin’ it for me, but I didn’t care. I jus’ remember being so grateful. So, so grateful. That’s when I knew you were…”
He trailed off, but he was stuck staring at your face. You could feel the heat sparking down the length of your spine as he seemed to search your expression for something. His own was unreadable.
“…good?”
It was like you had snapped him out of a trance and somehow you wished you hadn’t said anything.
“Good, yeah, that’s what I mean,” he murmured, then seemed to let that cocky mask fall back into place, “You wanna tell me when you realised I was good now so I don’t just sit here like a prick? Or, let me guess, you’re still waiting for it to happen?”
Despite the teasing tone, you somehow knew this wasn’t an opportunity to joke. There was a newfound vulnerability in Jamie that you were always careful not to tread on; it was such a welcome change after all.
“Nope, I know exactly when it was. I walked past the boot room one day, a couple weeks before we had that first lunch I think, and you were making sure things were tidy enough for Will to sort. There was nobody to watch you do it, either. I just knew that you were a different Jamie. That you were…good.”
Good didn’t cut it at all. You’d sworn then and there that you were going to help him find his way at Richmond whatever it took, and eating lunch in your car just so that he could join you a few weeks later felt like a good start. It had been. As Jamie worked to gain the love of his teammates, he had you as a constant sounding board, willing lunch partner and occasional movie night holder. He wasn’t invited over often, not wanting to seem too eager, but he’d never turned you down.
Yes, that was the moment you’d realised he’d changed, but there had been a million moments since that had turned him into the first person that came to mind when he’d asked you for your favourite person on the bus.
Now he wasn’t meeting your eyes at all, fully trained on that thread he’d been picking at. You sighed and flicked his hand to stop him ruining his favourite pair, and he finally looked up at you, wide puppy eyes that always made you melt when they showed up.
“You really mean that?”
Rather than replying, you hold out your pinky to him and watch his smile grow as he twists his own around yours. You let it linger then lean in to kiss your own hand and gesture for him to do the same. He does it so tenderly you think you’re getting lightheaded.
“Every word,” you assure him, settling back into your seat and untangling your hands from each other, “Now that I’ve been so nice to you, think I can cash in that shoulder offer from earlier?”
It was easier to revert to the easy banter than continue down this sincere path. And even though it was only just beginning to get dark, you couldn’t look at him any longer. Maybe if you were resting on his shoulder, you could grin for a bit without him wondering what was wrong with you.
He patted his shoulder invitingly and you snuggled down into it, until your cheek was smushed into his jacket and you could smell the cologne radiating from him. You threaded an arm into the crook of his elbow without thinking, just because it was more comfortable, but when you moved to take it away, he rested his hand on yours to keep you there. That same hand then came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, staying to cradle your head for a moment.
You held your breath.
He quickly thought better of leaving his hand there, squeezing your head for just a moment before dropping his arm back to his side.
It took a while to breathe naturally again, especially knowing he’d feel every painstaking inhale and exhale against him, and it took even longer for your eyes to close and to finally drift off.
---
When you woke up again, you had to squint as your eyes adjusted to the almost total darkness of the coach. It had to have been a couple of hours. You wiped your mouth to ensure you hadn’t drooled on your very kind seat partner then risked a glance up at him without moving your head too much.
He looked asleep. His chin was tucked against the crown of your head, and his whole body was turned into yours in a way it hadn’t been when you’d fallen asleep. There was nothing that would make you want to move and disturb the moment, except for the unfortunate cramp in your neck you were simply going to have to stretch out.
You tried to gently ease your head out from under his but his eyes fluttered open immediately as he looked at you in concern.
“Y’alright love?”
That voice. Huskier and broader than ever in its newly woken state. You smiled up at him and whispered back, noticing that the rest of the bus were either asleep or resting as you stretched your neck.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry. You can have my shoulder now if you like, ‘s only fair.”
“Nah you’re alright. If you’re awake, I’m awake. What kind of seatmate would I be if I left you on your own, hm?”
“A normal one?” you offered, but he shook his head, holding a hand to his heart as if wounded.
“I will not have myself being described as anythin' but fuckin' extraordinary, please,” he insisted quietly, making you chuckle, “Did ya sleep well?”
“Very. Whoever told you that you have a comfy shoulder was annoyingly right.”
There was a note of jealousy in your tone that you didn’t expect to be there when you started talking. If Jamie noticed it, he didn’t say anything, even though you could have sworn you saw a smirk pass across his features.
“Well, I’ll let Colin know you agree with him,” he said matter-of-factly, and you wondered if he was telling you it was Colin on purpose. It was so difficult to second guess your every interaction with him, feelings getting stronger every minute you spent with him. Really, you were tired of it and tired in general and it was enough. Your usual caution had been left behind. You opened your mouth to speak, to maybe finally confess, but he was talking before you could begin.
“Actually, can I tell ya a secret?”
It took you a moment to recover from what you had been about to say and respond to him.
“Uh…yeah, of course. Anything, you know that.”
“I do, yeah. Yeah, that’s part of it actually,” he was so in his head, but he was looking at you like he had earlier, searching for something. Nowadays, he looked so soft all the time, but there was a selfish part of you that hoped maybe he was especially soft with you, “It’s about what we said earlier. I lied to ya, and I’ve been fuckin’ kickin’ meself for it ever since.”
“You lied?”
“Yeah. I said the day we had lunch in your car was when I realised you were good. That’s not true,” he admitted, as if he was saying something shameful, “I already knew you were good, way before I was done bein’ a full-time prick. Anyone could tell you were good.”
Your heart was hammering away in your chest, in your throat, in your ears.
“That day in the car park was actually when I realised you were just…fuckin’ incredible. Like, the most beautiful person I know. Not just fit, I knew you were fuckin’ fit, I’ve got eyes, but like- y’ were just somethin’ else. You are somethin’ else. Special, like.”
You felt frozen in your seat. It was hard to tell with how 'Jamie' the whole speech had been, but you were pretty sure there was a confession in there. It didn’t sound like something he’d say to any of his mates. Still, you had to be sure.
“Sorry, Jamie, I might be being thick here but are you saying you’re like…into me? Like, romantically?”
You cringed instantly at your choice of words but he didn’t falter. This time, when he laid his hand over yours, he kept it there, stroking a steady rhythm into the back of your hand.
“I’m saying I’m into you in like…all the ways y’ can be into someone. I’m fuckin’ mad about you, Y/N. The only one who doesn’t see it is you, but you fell asleep on me shoulder and I was in fuckin’ heaven so I’m telling ya. Look, I’m not expectin’ anything-“
“Well, you should. Expect things, I mean,” you cut him off, because you can’t go another second without reciprocating, “I thought you saved me a seat to talk about your conditioner campaign.”
He scoffed loudly then glanced around to check he hadn’t woken anyone as he lowered his voice again.
“I couldn’t give a shit about all that,” he said as firmly as he could whisper, “I give a shit about you. A lot of shits.”
You let out a breathy chuckle as you reply.
“God, I give so many shits about you, Jamie. Too many shits. Have done for fucking forever, I was just about to tell you.”
“What, before I did?” he said, making a face, “As if I’d let you steal my thunder.”
You take an opportunity and a boldness you can’t help but seize as you take his face in both hands and pull it towards yours until you’re both a breath apart. He closes his eyes and pushes towards you but you keep him just a moment away, stroking a trail along one of his eyelids.
“Well I think you’re fucking incredible too. Prick,” you mumble, without any venom. It sounds like the most loving pet name in the world, the way you utter it for his ears only.
“Yours,” he counters quietly, winding his arms around your waist until he can pull you fully onto his lap and you have to bite back a squeal. You both glance around for onlookers and find none, “Think the coast is clear, babe?”
“Crystal,” you insist, surging forward to press a searing kiss to his lips, gratified when he responds just as enthusiastically, pushing back into you, both hands clutching at you like you were about to disappear any moment.
There were still plenty of hours left on the coach, however, and you were content to stay exactly where you were as long as Jamie would let you.
And there was no chance of him letting you go anywhere.
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.
name: cherry
pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader
word count: 1617
summary: Steve's been thinking about kissing you all day. Technically a part 2 to this drabble. but you can read without
content/warnings: kissing, teen boy thoughts, dustin being a little shit, fem/sister reader
author’s note: Well I sat down to write Eddie and yet here we are.
-
Steve was sure your lips must taste like cherries, or bubblegum, or cherry bubblegum, because his face was bright pink from your kiss and surely something that could make him blush that hard had to taste red. Or pink. He was still undecided. It had to be something sticky sweet, too, because he’d been thinking about it for hours. Maraschino cherry bubblegum, then.
Dustin’s tantrum had lasted all of five minutes, following Steve from the car into the house, ranting outside his bedroom door as Steve changed into his swim trunks, only stopping when they got down to the pool where you distracted him with the promise of ice cream whenever the truck drove by.
He’d left the pair of you with a stern, “Don’t touch my sister, Harrington.” Before joining his friends on the other side of the pool.
You’d laughed, but Steve had just scoffed and claimed the lounge chair next to yours where he could steal glances at you as you sunbathed. Your denim shorts were abandoned by the gate, leaving you in a bright red bikini Steve knew he’d never seen before. He’d remember that on you, the way it contrasted your skin tone.
“You want to really piss him off?”
Steve had spaced out, thinking about the fabric resting atop your chest, and he nearly spilled from his pool lounger when you spoke. You had leaned in, lips quirked up in a wicked smirk, voice low and conspiratorial. You were going to be the death of him. He swallowed.
“What, uh, what did you have in mind?” He did his best to keep his eyes on your face, he really did, but when you leaned down to pick something up from between the two of you, he couldn’t help but glance down with the movement, his eyes greedily tracing the valley of your breasts that he was definitely not supposed to be looking at. He managed to look away before you sat up.
“Catch.”
He nearly dropped the sunscreen you threw at him, fumbling after his initial instinctive catch. He glanced down at his own hands, brow furrowed in confusion, and you laughed as realization dawned on his face. You were trying to kill him, Steve decided. There was no other answer.
“Get my back?” You were already rolling over, folding your arms under your face as you exposed your back to him.
Steve glanced at Dustin, who was already glaring, and then back at you. The bare expanse of skin did look vulnerable in the sun. What kind of friend would he be if he just let you burn?
He ignored Dustin, squirting the sunscreen into the palm of one hand. It was thick and sticky – definitely the extra coverage stuff you had grabbed for your brother – but he still warmed it between both hands before moving to your lounger, carefully spreading it over your lower back.
And if looking at you was difficult, touching you was an entirely different type of sweet torture. He wanted to memorize all of your curves, to explore your reactions to his touch. He wanted so, so much. He grit his teeth, narrowing his eyes to focus on applying the sunscreen so that it wouldn’t burn. How would he ever explain that he had messed up the coverage because he was too busy fantasizing about you and your maraschino lips. That’s what he had settled on, cherry liqueur is what you probably tasted like. He was still blushing.
A second squirt of sunscreen and he had you covered, biting his tongue when he had to slide his hands under the straps of your bikini. Something about the skin there felt intimate, forbidden.
“All done.” He announced, smiling at your back hard enough that you could feel it.
“Thanks, Stevie.”
“Yeah, thanks, Stevie. My turn!” Dustin demanded, appearing out of nowhere to stretch himself across Steve’s abandoned lounger in a mockery of your position.
“Dude.” Steve protested, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of having to touch Dustin.
“What? This perfect, lily white skin won’t protect itself, Harrington. Isn’t that right?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at your brother’s antics. He certainly had a talent for knocking the romance out of a moment. You pushed yourself up, nudging Steve so that he wouldn’t topple the entire lounger as you shifted your weight.
Steve wanted to complain again, but between the laugh and the smile that lingered on your lips as you reached for the bottle of sunscreen, he knew he had already lost. He huffed and begrudgingly helped you sunscreen your brother’s back.
“You’re on your own for the front.” You announced when the two of you were finished, though you took great pleasure in the anguished faces Steve pulled behind Dustin’s back.
“Yeah, yeah, give me the bottle. If I burn because you two can’t stop making heart eyes at each other, you owe me quarters for the month.” Dustin snatched the sunscreen from Steve and jumped up to head back to his friends.
“Yeah, whatever, twerp.” You flicked his shoulder as he passed you and he stuck his tongue out at you before hurrying away. It was the closest you’d get to acceptance.
Lucas and Mike were arguing about the proper etiquette of a splash fight while Max watched on, unimpressed. She could probably use the sunscreen, too. You were ready to shout to her to use some, but Dustin was already handing it to her after squeezing far too much into his own hand and slathering it on his torso.
You smiled and shook your head, glancing back at Steve who mirrored your expression.
Steve glanced back at you and caught you already smiling fondly up at him in a way that made his chest feel tight all over again. You nudged him with your elbow and he grinned back, rolling his eyes.
“What?” he asked when your smile grew, but you only shook your head.
“Nothing. Let’s get some lemonade for the kids.”
You hooked your arm through his and he followed you dutifully to the kitchen.
The house was much cooler than outside, and Steve could feel the goosebumps raise on your arm as you stepped inside, bare feet pressed against the cold kitchen tiles. This was the other reason, after the pool, that Steve’s house became the de facto hangout spot during the sweltering Hawkins summers.
You pulled Steve through his own kitchen, abandoning him at the island to pull the ever-present pitcher from his fridge. He watched you fondly, his mind whirring with thoughts about the way you knew your way around his house so naturally.
“Hey, Stevie.” He liked the way you said his name. Rarely just Steve, that wasn’t enough for you, but never Steven because that was too much. Just Stevie like you didn’t want to be done saying his name quite yet. Stevie like it was something just for the two of you.
“Yeah?” He tried to sound like he wasn’t absolutely smitten by everything you did as you stacked the outside cups on a serving tray next to the pitcher of lemonade. You glanced up at him through your lashes and if it wasn’t so cold inside, he might have passed out from heatstroke.
“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
Steve forgot how to breathe. You asked like it was a given, something simple, some bygone conclusion that Steve should’ve come to already and maybe he had, because he’d been thinking about kissing you all afternoon.
It took him a moment to get his bearings, almost shaking himself back to reality as he caught sight of you worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and he couldn’t have that, not when that’s where his lips were meant to go.
You smiled at him as he rounded the island to get to you, not nervous – anticipatory – and Steve wondered if you were waiting for this as long as he had been, but he couldn’t ask. Or he didn’t want to ask, not if he was just going to trip over the words anyway.
You seemed to think he was taking too long, reaching for him before he was close and leaning in to press your lips against his, eyes closing prettily before he had even closed the gap. His hands found your waist and part of him just wanted to stay like this forever so that he could remember the look on your face. He didn’t, leaning in to press his lips against yours, body catching ablaze like this was the kiss he had been waiting for all along.
It was hot outside, but that was nothing compared to the fire you started in Steve’s belly when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in deeper, kissing him like you could never have enough. Your lips tasted more like the sip of lemonade you stole than cherries, or gum, or cherry gum, but that didn’t matter when Steve could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, his skin burning where it touched the parts of you that were bear.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Dustin called from the door, arms over his chest. “It’s about time, but that doesn’t mean you can get all handsy.”
He swept into the room as the two of you jumped apart guiltily, grabbing the tray that you had prepared and heading back out without sparing the two of you another glance.
“Hey! Wait—about time?” Steve started to pursue Dustin, but hesitated, brow furrowing in confusion when he realized what the younger boy had said, “I thought you said—“
You laughed and grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back in for another sweet kiss.
Summary: Y/N Henderson’s relationship with Eddie puts her at odds with Jason Carver and co.
Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, bullying/harassment, slut shaming, allusions to sexual content (nothing sexual actually happens), Jason being a prick, swearing, Reader is Dustin’s sister but no physical descriptions are used and you can read it as an adopted sibling if you want, I think that’s it but let me know if I missed something
A/N: Alright, this is the first Fic I’ve ever posted on here. I’m honestly a little nervous, but hopefully you enjoy. I’ll probably end up posting this on my Ao3 too so I’ll link that at some point.
My Master List | Ao3
—
“I’m gonna miss you”, Eddie whines as he leans against the locker next to yours.
“It’s one class”, you reply as you swap out your English textbook for history, “that’s, what, an hour?”
“Actually I have Davis’s class next so it feels more like three hours”, Eddie says.
You snort. Mr. Davis has probably been around since the dinosaur era, and if there were to be a competition for most boring teacher at Hawkins High, he would win it hands down.
“It’s not funny”, Eddie teasingly pouts, “I might actually die of boredom.”
“As much as I would hate for that to happen, I’ve got my own class to get to, so unfortunately you’re on your own for now,” you reply.
“Alright well, please tell the rest of Hellfire I’m going to miss them”, he tells you, “and feel free to wear that black skirt of yours to the funeral. The tight one. It’s what I would’ve wanted.”
You roll your eyes affectionately before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“You’re so dramatic”, you say, “I’ll see you later.”
“If I survive that long”, he calls. You shake your head before turning the corner and heading into your history classroom.
“Okay, class”, your teacher, Mr. Price announces once the bell rings, “I’ve written some questions on the board. You’ll find the answers in Chapter 5 of your textbook. Write them down and turn them in by the end of class. You may work with a partner if you’d like.”
You pull your textbook out of your bag and flip to a clean sheet in your notebook. You don’t have any friends in this class, so you figure you may as well just do it yourself and get it over with. That is, until a voice startles you as you’re about to start reading the first page of the chapter.
“Hey, Y/N. Do you wanna work together?”
You blink up at the source of the voice and are pretty sure you must be hallucinating. That’s the only explanation you can think of as to why Jason Carver would be asking you to be his partner.
The two of you have been in the same grade since Kindergarten and you can't think of a single time in all those years that he’s directly acknowledged your existence. The closest thing you have to a connection with him is that your little brother is friends with one of his new Basketball recruits, but you kind of doubt he even knows or cares about that. There’s a few members of his little posse he could be asking to work with him, so you have no clue why he’d be asking you of all people. But, you don’t have anyone else, so you shrug.
“Sure, I guess”, you say.
“Great”, he smiles, moving to sit down next to you.
“I’ll get started on number 1”, you suggest, “maybe you can do number 2 and we’ll compare?”
“Sure”, he says sweetly. You’re honestly getting a little freaked out by how friendly he’s being.
You both do your agreed upon work, and then switch off to show each other your answers.
“So?” you ask when he’s finished reading yours, “does that seem right?”
“Yeah”, he replies, “you’re good at this. You ever thought about being a tutor?”
“Oh, no, not really”, you say.
“See, I just ask because our youth group has this program where some of us older members help the younger kids out after school and stuff.”
“Oh, that’s cool”, you tell him, not really engaged the conversation. It all sounds well and good, but you really aren’t interested in being a tutor at the moment.
“You know, the church has a lot of great programs”, Jason continues, and you’re not sure what any of this has to do with the Byzantine empire, which is what you’re supposed to be discussing.
“Okay”, you say.
“They do a lot of outreach, a lot of stuff to help people who have lost their way.”
“Lost their way?” you inquire, a small part of you beginning to understand what’s actually going on.
“Yeah. You know. Made bad choices, got mixed up with the wrong people.”
“Um, I think we should just get back to the assignment”, you suggest, uncomfortable with the discussion and not wanting it to go any further.
“Look”, Jason sighs, “what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a nice girl. I’d hate to see you go down a bad path.”
Okay. You get it now, and it’s starting to piss you off.
“Thank you, but I’m doing just fine”, you insist.
“You’ve been hanging around with Eddie Munson”, Jason says, as if it’s some scandalous secret and not just you spending time with your boyfriend, “you really shouldn’t do that, you know…”
You stare at him, a little dumbfounded he would just up and say such a thing to you.
“You can’t be serious…”, you say.
Jason leans in to you, a deadly serious expression on his face.
“I’ve heard about guys like him before”, he tells you, “I know the stuff they’re into.”
Yeah, so do you. It’s tabletop role playing games, which is about the least nefarious activity you could possibly think of. Jason clearly doesn’t see it that way, though, because he’s still going on.
“And I know they like to lure innocent people like you into their little organizations. I’m telling you, Munson is bad news. You should stay away before you get hurt.”
You seriously have to hold yourself back from laughing right in Jason’s face. You’re not sure what reality he’s living in, but it clearly isn’t the same one you are. Last weekend, you and Eddie had watched Terms of Endearment and he’d started to cry (well started tearing up at least, even sniffled a little, though he vehemently denied it). There’s not a single situation in which you can ever imagine him causing you intentional harm.
“Okay, you know what”, you say, “I think I’m gonna finish the rest of the assignment alone, thanks.”
Jason grabs your arm gently but firmly. “I’m serious, Y/N. He’s dangerous. Stay away from him before you end up hurt or killed.”
You’re really not sure what the most offensive part of all this is. It’s either that Jason thinks that somehow Eddie Munson, your lovable dork of a boyfriend,is secretly an evil Satanist cult leader, or that you’re apparently too stupid or naive to make that kind of judgment for yourself. Maybe it’s that he volunteered to work with you on an assignment and acted all friendly with you just so he could get this opportunity to preach to you about your supposedly “dangerous” lifestyle. He’s never given you the time of day before, after all.
“I don’t know what it is you think you see in him, but I promise you it’s not going to end well.”
You snort. Is he, what, jealous or something? He’s got a girlfriend, after all, and plenty of other girls who’d be willing to take her place if she were to leave him. It’s kind of sad that he’s apparently so insecure that the mere thought of Eddie Munson getting female attention is enough to have him losing his shit like this.
“Whatever”, you spit, “just leave me alone.”
He glares at you, but ultimately turns his attention to his textbook and doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the class.
-
You happily shove the encounter out of your mind once the bell rings. You’re perfectly content with the social circle you keep, and you’re not going to let some jock with an inflated sense of self importance change that.
Jason apparently doesn’t do the same because he spends lunch glaring at you from his table. Granted, him shooting disgusted looks in the general direction of the Hellfire Club is a regular occurance, but today he’s making it obvious his ire is directed specifically at you.
“What the fuck is his problem?” Eddie asks.
“I dunno”, you shrug, “he’s just an asshole.”
Eddie peers at him for a moment and you can see a familiar glint of mischief twinkle in his eye. Before you can comment, he’s dramatically pushing himself to his feet and sauntering over to Jason and company.
“What do you want?” Jason demands.
“Couldn’t help but notice you staring”, Eddie says, “just wanted to let you know that I’m flattered, but unfortunately you aren’t really my type. Sorry.”
“Fuck off”, Jason barks, “disgusting freak.”
“Don’t take it too hard”, Eddie says, giving him a joking pat on the shoulder before making his way back over to you. You stifle a laugh at the indignant look plastered on Jason’s face. Eddie shoots you a proud grin and you shake your head affectionately. Jason clearly doesn’t know shit about “guys like Eddie.”
-
The next few days pass by uneventfully. Jason doesn’t try talking to you again, which you’re thankful for. Wednesday starts out normally, you go to history, and Jason roundly ignores your presence. Then you have to go to your next class, which is gym.
Definitely not a favorite of yours, and you don’t even have Eddie in your class to ease the pain. You make it through your warm ups, and then the coach has you split up to practice your volleyball serves. Everything’s going well until Andy, one of Jason’s buddies, approaches you out of nowhere.
“Hey, Henderson”, he says, a smirk on his face, “you think you could score me some weed?”
You look at him, confused. You don’t get involved in Eddie’s side hustle, so you’re not sure why he’d ask you.
“What?”
“Oh, I just figured you probably get a good discount”, he goes on, “I mean, that’s why you let Munson fuck you, right?”
You freeze in shock, your cheeks starting to grow hot. You can’t say you’re used to people making comments about your sex life, especially not to your face.
“I mean, I gotta say”, Andy continues, a cruel glint in his eye, “I didn’t take you for a slut. But come on. Spreading your legs for that freak? Jesus, that’s sad. You know, I’d be happy to show you a good time, since you’re so desperate for it.”
You can only stand there, mouth agape. Sure, you’ve gotten a gross comment or two from a male classmate before, but nothing like this. You certainly have never been called a slut before. You try to formulate a response, but you can’t come up with one. It doesn’t matter anyway, because the coach’s whistle rings out, signaling for you all to hit the changing rooms. You dash out of the gym, more than pleased to be away from Andy.
You hop in the shower in the locker room, take a few moments to shake off the discomfort of the interaction. You’re not entirely successful in that endeavor, because it keeps playing in your mind even after you’re dressed and making your way back into the hallways.
You have no idea where the hell Andy came up with all of that. At this point, it’s common knowledge that you and Eddie are dating, but you don’t know where this idea that you’re sleeping with him for drugs came from. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Hey, Beautiful”, you’re distracted from your thoughts by Eddie, who comes happily bounding over to you. His face falls when he sees the look on your face though.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine”, you say. Something about the idea of telling Eddie about what happened leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s embarrassing, and you definitely don’t want him to feel like it’s somehow his fault that Jason and Andy are giving you a hard time.
Besides, it doesn’t matter. Once again, nothing they say about you or Eddie is true. You can’t let some stupid jocks get to you.
-
Honestly, you probably could’ve been okay, if that was the end of it. Unfortunately, things only get worse the next day.
As you make your way to your seat in history, you catch sight of Amber and Samantha, two cheerleaders who like to hang around Jason and the others, whispering as you walk by.
You ignore them, figuring you’re being paranoid and they probably aren’t even talking about you, but when you sit down, Amber turns and looks you right in the eye.
She raises her voice then, clearly intending for you to hear what she’s saying.
“I hope she’s gotten tested”, she tells Samantha, “I can’t imagine what nasty shit the Freak is passing on to her.”
You take a deep breath, turning away from her.
It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself, it’s not true.
“I hope the drugs are worth it,” Samantha says.
You clench your jaw as you slip into your seat. It shouldn’t bother you so much. It's not true, and even if it were, who cares what Amber and Samantha have to say about it?
You’re dating Eddie because you like him. You like the way he’s always joking around and making you laugh, you like that he makes a point of looking out for Dustin and his friends, you like the way he looks at you with those big puppy dog eyes and flashes that mischievous grin. Cheap access to his drugs has never even crossed your mind.
You shouldn’t concern yourself with what they say, you know that, but hearing your name in connection with “slut” grinds at you.
-
During gym class, you do your best to avoid Andy, because everytime he notices you looking at him, he’s making some suggestive gesture at you. You don’t bother telling anyone about it, since Andy’s on the basketball team and the coach would probably take his side.
In the hallway, you accidentally bump into Patrick from the basketball team. You mutter an apology, which he accepts, but his girlfriend gives you the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen.
“Don’t talk to her”, you hear her tell him as you walk away, “she’s a slut.”
-
All of the gossip has put you in a foul mood by the time you get to your second to last period of the day, which happens to be study hall.
Like always, it’s in the cafeteria, with you and a bunch of other students of varying grade levels all sitting around doing your homework. Technically, you’re not supposed to talk, but the teacher in charge is way too underpaid to worry about enforcing that, so you can usually get away with conversation as long as things don’t get too rowdy.
You’re not taking advantage of that today, rather trying your best to distract yourself by actually doing your homework. You’re halfway through summarizing Act 3 of Hamlet when you hear someone say your name.
“Hey, Y/N…”
You’re confused when you look up to find Lucas standing there. Technically, you’ve known him for years, but it’s not like you’ve ever associated with him outside the time he spends with Dustin.
“What?” you ask, a little meaner than you mean to.
“I just thought you should know that…well, I think Jason has been going around saying things about you.”
Of course. You should’ve known Jason was behind this. Jason fucking Carver. Captain of the Basketball Team. Active member of the local church. Son of one of the most respected families in Hawkins. He’s clearly used to people listening to whatever he has to say. Apparently, his ego couldn’t handle you dismissing his comments about your relationship with Eddie.
Jesus, you’d always known he was a bit of an asshole, but this is a level of pettiness you’d never expected, even from him.
“Don’t tell him I told you”, Lucas adds, “but I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you”, you say. You’re definitely glad to have that piece of information.
-
The next day, you storm into Mr. Price’s classroom with righteous fury coursing through your veins. You bypass your desk and instead march straight up to Jason.
He pauses his conversation with Andy and Samantha when he sees you approach.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” You demand.
“Excuse me?” Jason asks.
“I know you’ve been starting rumors about me”, you tell him, “what exactly is your problem, Jason?”
“Me? I don’t have a problem”, Jason insists, “I just think it’s fair the men of Hawkins High get a warning about your ‘extracurricular’ activities.”
You can feel heat flood your cheeks.
“You’re a dick, Jason!” you hiss.
“You know, Y/N”, Jason retorts, “I actually feel bad for you. I mean, no decent man is ever going to want you when they find out you’ve been giving it up to some trailer trash freak.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about”, you snap.
“Believe me, I know exactly what happens to girls who hang around with filthy, Satan-worshiping scumbags”, he says, “and you know what? I’m not going to feel sorry for you when they’re finding your body dumped in the woods.”
“Get over yourself!”
“Whatever”, Jason shakes his head, “I’m not gonna take the attitude from some little slut.”
You’re not fully in control of yourself during what happens next. One second you’re standing there listening to Jason degrade you, the next your fist is connecting with his face.
He stands there, stunned for a moment, before opening his mouth to say something. He doesn’t get the chance though, because Mr. Price gets to it first.
“Ms. Henderson”, he gasps, “Mr. Carver, what on earth is going on here?”
“She punched me in the face”, Jason spits accusingly.
“I-I…I’m sorry I…”
“Enough”, Mr. Price sighs, “I want both of you going to the principal’s office right now!”
-
You’re in deep shit. That much is immediately clear. You punched Jason Carver in the face. It’s not like you even claim it was self defense, since he didn’t do anything physical to you.
“So”, Principal Higgins sighs, “tell me what happened again?”
“She punched me in the face”, Jason hisses.
“Is that true?”
“Yes”, you sigh, “but he called me a slut.”
Principal Higgins rubs his temple, processing the information. Meanwhile, Jason’s gaze is fixed firmly on you, his eyes full of hatred.
“Mr. Carver”, Higgins says finally, “that is not appropriate language to use in regards to another student. You may go back to class, but I better not hear about something like this again.”
Jason stands and marches out of the office, as if he has a right to be pissed about Higgins’ scolding. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he gets a slap on the wrist. Nobody wants to punish the star basketball player. You’re certain that if it were anyone else, Eddie or Dustin or one of the other Hellfire Club members, they definitely wouldn’t be getting off so easily.
“Now, as for you Ms. Henderson”, Higgins says, “we do not allow for any sort of violence in this school. However, in all your years at this school, you have never had to receive any form of discipline. So I’m willing to be flexible here. Normally, something like this could be grounds for suspension, but since this is your first time, I say it’s two weeks detention after school starting next Monday. Does that sound fair to you?”
Not really, no, but you can’t say that.
“Yes”, you reply instead.
“Alright. Good. Now go back to class. And Ms. Henderson, I sincerely hope I won’t have to see you in my office again.”
-
You’re in a bad mood when Mr. Price’s class finally ends. You’ve gone your entire high school career without getting a detention and now you’ve ruined that over some pompous dick bag. Speaking of, Jason has been staring daggers at you since you returned to class, and is continuing to do so even now as you’re leaving.
There’s a tense, awkward moment where you both stand there in the hallway, glaring at each other, but it’s broken when the force of a body colliding with your back almost takes you off your feet. Jason is forgotten when a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.
“Eddie”, you huff playfully.
“How’d you know it was me?” he asks as you turn around to face him.
“Cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself, Munson”, you reply.
“Don’t blame me”, he replies, “you know I’m powerless to resist your charms.”
Before you can reply he’s pulling you close and beginning to press kisses to your cheek. You know the two of you are making a scene, and on any other day you might be a little self conscious about it, but today you’re just glad to have him around.
His kisses stop suddenly and you realize he’s stopped because he’s finally noticed Jason’s hateful glaring. Unfazed as always, he just flashes a cocky smile and gives Jason a mocking impression of a friendly wave. Jason makes a face like he’s wishing for both you and Eddie’s violent deaths.
“Geez”, Eddie comments, “he looks pissed.”
“Um, yeah, probably because I punched him in the face”, you mutter.
Eddie’s eyes widen in obvious surprise.
“He had it coming”, you add, “he was being a Dick.”
You know you don’t have to defend yourself to Eddie. He knows better than anyone how nasty Jason can be.
“My, my, Fair Lady Henderson”, he smiles, “I dare say that was very Metal of you.”
“Yeah, well, Higgins didn’t think so”, you reply, “I got two weeks detention for it.”
“Ol’ Higgins never did have a sense of humor”, Eddie says, “but from where I’m standing, you’re basically a hero.”
“Really?”
“Hell yeah”, Eddie tells you, “Jason and his goons have been making our lives miserable for years.”
You can’t help but smile at that. You’re definitely not happy with the day’s events, but knowing Eddie’s on your side makes it a little more bearable.
-
On Monday you begrudgingly make your way to Mrs. Cline’s room for your first day of detention.
“Ms. Henderson?” she asks when you walk in.
“Yeah”, you say, a little embarrassed.
“Wonderful”, she says, checking your name off of a list in front of her, “please take a seat.”
There’s only two other people in there with you, so you just pick a seat as far from them as possible and sit down.
“Alright”, Mrs. Cline says, “looks like everyone’s here except…”
“I’m here.”
You look up in surprise to see Eddie come walking into the room.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Munson”, Mrs. Cline says dryly, “what a surprise. Please take a seat.”
You know that Eddie isn’t a stranger to detention, but it’s weird that he didn’t mention anything to you when you’d told him about it. He walks over to the desk next to yours, looking way too pleased for someone who’s about to serve a stint in detention.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
“Oh, you know, got caught vandalizing the boy’s locker room during free period”, he tells you.
“What? When?”
“Friday”, he says with a satisfied smirk.
You frown. This must’ve happened after the whole Jason thing on Friday which means…
Which means Eddie did it knowing that you were also going to be in detention.
“Eddie”, you say, “did you get detention just because I did?”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” he grins.
You can’t help but smile along with him.
“Mr. Munson, Ms. Henderson”, Mrs. Cline calls from her desk, “no talking during detention.”
Eddie mimes zipping his lips and waits until Mrs. Cline looks away before giving you a playful wink. You stifle a giggle.
You don’t know Jason all that well, but you’re pretty sure he would never dream of landing himself in detention just to keep his girlfriend company. You’ve never seen him make a scene in the middle of the hallways to get her to smile. That’s the thing about this that really gets under your skin. Jason and the others don’t know shit. They think that just because Eddie doesn’t fall into their narrow definition of “acceptable”, he must be scary and dangerous. They think that just because you’re not afraid of him, you must be dirty and corrupted. They’re too close-minded to look closer and see that Eddie is the sweetest boyfriend you could ever imagine, that you spend time with him because he makes you happy. They’d rather write him off as a freak and you off as a slut than accept that maybe their perception is wrong.
You’re far from being a violent person, but you can’t say you regret what you did. Jason deserved to be put in his place, and it’s not like you did any serious damage to him anyway. You’re glad you stood up for yourself, for Eddie. You’ve probably tacked “psycho bitch” onto your already unflattering “whore” reputation, but at this point, you’re not sure you care. If being a freak means you get to spend your days with the love of your life, you will gladly accept that label.
-
After the designated two hours are up, Mrs. Cline dismisses you all.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad”, you say as you and Eddie start making your way through the hall.
“Nah”, he replies, “I mean it’s boring but it’s not bad.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely not planning on having to do this again”, you continue, “but it’s bearable.”
Eddie nods.
“I’m sorry, by the way”, he adds.
“For what?”
“Jason and the others. They’ve been giving you a hard time, right?”
“Yeah”, you shrug, “it is what it is. Not your fault.”
“I mean it kind of is”, Eddie replies, “they’re only doing it because you’re dating me.”
“Eddie”, you say, “Jason’s an asshole, okay? That’s not on you. If he can’t handle our relationship, then fuck him.”
That gets a grin out of Eddie.
“You know, you’re getting to be quite a rabble rouser, Henderson”, he jokes.
“I’m learning from the best”, you tease back.
Eddie’s smile widens. He follows you out to your car and then presses a soft kiss to your lips.
“See you tomorrow, Sweetheart”, he says and then heads off to his van. You watch him go, butterflies still lingering in your tummy from the contact.
If you’d actually had any doubts about Eddie, they would’ve disappeared in that moment. That feeling, it’s a one of a kind thing. No one’s ever managed to give it to you before, and you’re not sure anyone else ever will. You love Eddie. He loves you. He’s sweet, and silly and he treats you right. If your peers want to believe a bunch of bullshit about you two, then let them. You know what you have, and you’re not going to let them ruin it for you.
Grinning to yourself, you hop in your car, put the Black Sabbath tape you borrowed from Eddie into the player and head home.
The Metalhead and the Material Girl (Eddie Munson x Reader)
Masterlist All Parts
Eddie Munson x Reader (She/Her)
Warnings: none
Synopsis: When a super fem new girl joins Eddie’s class he thinks he’s got her all figured out, but he soon finds out that the popular kids aren’t the only ones who judge people’s first appearances
Y/N notes: none
Okay I don’t usually do writers notes but I gotta say thanks to these four: @carolinaflicker @iamsiriuss @hauntingtherosebush @lindsey3300 for helping me out on the lil bit of D&D stuff I mentioned. Some of you guys had slightly different answers for me so if I’m still wrong let me know! (And other D&D playing peeps)
summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue sleepy kisses, baby kisses, cheesecake and cherry ice pops, and dinner with uncle wayne. [8k]
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a girl dad (<3), tw for mentions of not having much money, new established relationship! idiots in love!! and junie being the sweetest baby ever
𓆩❤︎𓆪
You don't think you've ever seen Eddie asleep before. You rack your brain for a memory, even the suggestion of one, and come up blank. Maybe I dreamt it, you think to yourself, hesitating with your hand held aloft above his peaceful face.
He looks like a dream.
What he'd said last night — before the kiss, and after — echoes. You can feel his hands on your face if you close your eyes, the heat of each gentle palm, the scratch of a silver ring. He's missing his jewellery now, because he takes it off before bed. You can't believe you hadn't known that. All these details. His lashes kissing the delicate skin of his under eye, the way his lips thin in sleep from being pressed together. You reach toward him with a shy hand and brush a bundle of curls from his cheek, exposing the ridge of his cheekbone, begging to be kissed.
You'd been tired, so tired, and then he'd come back, and he'd crashed hard. You understand it. It'd been the most exciting moment of your life, and on top of that, he'd taken care of Junie for most of the day beforehand.
You've slept sparingly. The sun leeches in through the window one small ray at a time. Junie makes a small sound behind you, stirring in her toddler bed. You nibble your lip guiltily, wanting one more minute, just one, to look at Eddie uninterrupted.
You turn around and your reluctance melts, Junie a picture of a good long sleep. Her hair is a mess, her lips still pouting, and her eyes are partly open. She sees you're awake too and smiles, and the guilt of wishing she'd sleep in intensifies. She climbs down from her bed and rushes up to yours.
"Hey, baby," you say softly, holding out your arm.
She grabs the sheets and you help her up, folding her into your chest with a contented sigh.
She's tired, and she lets you move her around with little protest. Which isn't to say she's despondent: her hands latch onto your t-shirt, and her tiny chin rises as she stares you straight in the eye.
"How did you sleep, bubby?" you whisper-coo, hand spread over the breadth of her shoulders, the other crushed under your own weight. "My hand's going numb."
You pull you arm out and hold her face. "That's better. Good sleep? Do you feel happy?"
"Good," she says. "Feel good?"
You huff out a delighted sound and drop your nose to hers. "I feel super good, Junie baby. I'm so happy, because you're happy, and you're so smart."
She smiles more.
"Can you say that, baby? Say, 'I'm so smart."
Junie wiggles against your torso, hands at the neckline of your sleep shirt. "Smart," she says.
"Yeah! Yes. 'I'm so smart.'"
"I'm so 'mart."
"Yay!" you cheer again, your inflection celebratory even though you're still speaking in hushed tones. You don't want to wake Eddie, but maybe you do — is this the kind of thing he's interested in being a part of? "You're so smart. So so smart, and pretty and kind and soft."
You stroke her cheek with the back of your index finger, hoping to tickle her into giggles. "So soft," you murmur, "my lovely soft girl. You know why you're so soft? It's 'cause you're such a good girl, and you let me wipe your cheeks after dinner even though you hate it." You're speaking quietly enough that some of the words sound worn, syllables lost.
Junie doesn't need to hear them to know they're dripping in love. She rests her cheek against your upper arm, chub against chub, and you sink down with her, closing her in for a cuddle.
Your fingertips brush over the nape of her neck.
"Love you," you say, kissing her head absentmindedly.
"Love you," she says back.
She'd been a slow-learner, and she's still behind the majority of her age group, but none of it matters. Hearing her say anything at all is a gift. Hearing her says she loves you?
You laugh. There's nowhere else for all the happy to go.
Your hopes of sleeping again are dashed when she sits up and sees the lump of a body behind you. If she's confused she doesn't show it, hands pressed to your tender side as she climbs over you and onto Eddie's stomach.
He doesn't rouse at first. He sighs, his arm lifting where it's trapped under the sheets, your faded cornflower blue quilt that he'd praised unnecessarily. It's pretty, he'd said, back flat to your mattress as you'd imagined him a hundred times before.
You're pretty, you'd said. He'd opened his arms to draw you in for another hug. They'd felt endless all night.
Junie gets to his chest and her face fills with recognition.
"Eddie," she says happily.
He hums but still doesn't wake. Junie pulls down the blankets, and he raises his arm. Eyes closed, he wraps it around her, pulling her to his chest with a contented sound. She giggles, tiny baby giggles, and starts to play with his hair.
“June,” he mumbles.
“Eddie,” you say, apprehensive, forcing a lightness, “we have company.”
“I can feel that,” he says.
To your — your pleasure, your elation, he turns onto his back and his free hand finds you. His fingers curl around yours and he holds them, thumb pressed to the knuckle of your index finger.
His eyes open slowly, his lashes parting, his face dipped down to take Junie in.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he repeats with a laugh. “Aw, Junie, your hair! I’ve never seen you before mommy gets you dressed. Uncle Wayne would say you look like me when I wake up, when I was a kid he,” —Eddie talks through a yawn, smoothing the baby hairs out of Junie’s eyes— “used to say I looked like Linus from the Peanuts strip.”
“That’s so mean,” you say. You're relieved. You should've known Eddie wouldn't care. He loves her.
"You know who you look like?" he asks her.
She shakes her head. His face lights up.
"Animal! Grown up Animal, not the baby."
Your stomach rumbles. Eddie looks at you with concern, though that concern is a mild, soft thing. He sees you properly for the first time since he woke up, Junie held to his chest, hair as messy as hers, as yours probably is, his t-shirt neckline rolled from wear, and he visibly melts.
"D'you wanna go out for breakfast?" you ask.
He shakes his head. "Come here."
"What?"
"Just come here. Lie down."
You ease off of your elbow and slide toward him. You rest your head very carefully beside his, and are immediately delighted when he kisses your cheek.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, pulling his arm out of hiding to steer the side of your face to his. Your noses smush together, eyes closing on instinct. "Hey, how are you?"
"How are you?" you ask back. He sounds super tired.
"Y'always do that. You can't just answer me? You're–" He kisses you, then, softly but with a sluggish imprecision. "Impossible."
"I'm impossible?"
"You're impossible," he promises.
You try not to squish Junie as you wrap your arm around her and bring a hand to his cheek. The tiniest rebirth of stubble scratches your fingertips as they rove up his cheek to the smoothest plane under his eye. You turn your finger until the nail is flat to his skin, stroking a fascinated back and forth.
"I can't believe you're real."
Can't believe you're real, and you chose me, and you're here now letting my baby pull at the sweat curls tight at your neck.
"Do I look bad?" he asks.
You roll your head back enough to see his smile. It makes your heart skip in the best way, how handsome he is, and you have to dive in again to kiss the line between his lips and his cheek. He's really warm. Before him, you'd forgotten how this could feel, the heat that another person can give you and how protected it leaves you.
"You look really nice," you say, your finger rubbing up and down his cheek. A teardrop to his chin that falls and climb over and over.
"Eddie," Junie says, weaselling under your arm.
"What, baby?" he asks.
She tucks herself up under his chin and lifts her head. It's awkward, but babies are like that. Always wanting to be where they aren't.
"Junie?" he asks.
She looks up, dishevelled hair especially fierce.
"You said my name, remember? Did you have something to ask me?"
She giggles at his tone but doesn't answer. Your stomach makes some more aggressive sounds and Eddie shoots up like bamboo, baby held to his chest and hand behind your head.
"Mom's dying."
"Eddie."
"Mom's super duper hungry," he says, stroking your forehead apologetically. "Now move, mom, so we may enter your kitchen and make super duper breakfast."
"Oh, no, let me change her first," you say. "Poor girl, I slept through the entire night."
He passes her over to you and you stand so he can slide out of bed. His smile grows. "Hair fairy got you both," he says.
You glare. "You are not exempt."
"Can I use the bathroom?"
"Don't ask! Since when do you ask?"
"Do you want to go first?"
His caring is sweet but unnecessary. "No. Please go, and spend like ten minutes in there? I promise we'll be much prettier when you get back."
"You're beautiful now," he says, though he obeys your ask and treks out of the bedroom with a wanton groan and a stretch that shows a lot of back. It's more than likely on purpose.
"I'm with my baby!" you yell, laughing.
"Don't know what you mean."
You strip Junie down to her smalls, change her diaper, and rub a nice lotion all over. She loves the skin to skin and stays still until you offer her today's options, two dresses, one blue and one a lighter green. She chooses the green, so you put green butterfly clips in her hair to match, and white socks with lace in black shoes. She looks awesome.
"Girls?" Eddie shouts. "Can I come out now?"
"I was kidding," you murmur to yourself, laughing.
You comb your fingers through your hair and meet him in the bathroom doorway with Junie's hand held in your own, glancing at each other through the gap.
"I wasn't serious."
"Sweetheart," he says, bending at the waist like he's been punched, "look at you. Juniper the Beautiful, holy sugar."
She only smiles.
"I can take her, yeah? I'll make breakfast. Do you want to get dressed?" he asks you, concern again softening the lines of his face.
"Sorry," you say.
"For what?"
He takes your face into his hand, cupping your cheek. You meld into it like you're one and the same, two pieces of the same puzzle clicked back into place. Junie’s hand in yours makes three.
"Alright, Junie, breakfast," he says, pulling apart and away with a humorous brevity, stealing her little hand from yours.
They walk together down the hallway, hands swinging.
"We'll go get breakfast!" you call. That's why you'd put her shoes on.
"I can make it," Eddie says, voice carrying in the quiet. He shoots a smug look over his shoulder. "I can make it, seriously. Just have a minute for yourself, why don't you?"
You wonder if that's code words for you look like shit right now, but you firmly believe Eddie wouldn't tell you that even if you did. You wash up in the bathroom and then get changed into a new-old skirt that you sometimes wear to work though you're not supposed to and a nice shirt that doesn't go. You take it all off and try again. And again.
You pull on a pair of tight sweatpants and the band t-shirt he'd bought you all those weeks ago. For a moment you stand there, face in your hands, and then a big hand presses to your shoulder blade and scares you into flinching.
"Oh, shit," you say.
Eddie laughs a storm and gets his hand under your armpit. That's worse, and you squirm, but he doesn't budge, pulling you toward him for a tight-boned hug.
"You're taking for ages," he says, parroting one of Junie’s newer phrases.
"Well." You shove your face into the top of his shoulder. "I think I'm nervous. Do I look stupid? Nothing fits me."
He hears your embarrassment and your panic and hoists you backward, hands curled around the tops of your arms as he gets a good look.
"You look pretty, and like you need something to eat." He presses his lips together, a funny picture of nervousness to mirror your own. "I know we should probably talk about it, but I don't really know how to do that. Just. Are you still– You don't regret it?"
It sounds clunky in his mouth.
"I don't regret any of it," you say sincerely.
"Good," he says, recovering quickly from this show of vulnerability with a good heaping of bravado, "'cause I was really hoping to get to do this again."
His hands climb your shoulders, settle neatly in the curves of your neck. He holds your face. You wait for him to kiss you.
"What? I brushed my teeth."
He presses his lips to yours all wonky with laughter. It's fleeting, not nearly as long as you want it to be, but Junie shouts something from the kitchen and draws both of your attention.
"It wasn't about you brushing your teeth," he says, back of his hand rubbing yours as he overtakes.
Junie stands in the kitchen with a spatula, a whisk, and the rolling pin, an array of items from the bottom drawer she's in the middle of relocating.
"Sorry I left her, I just wanted to make sure you weren't, like, trying to think of ways to let me down easy. I put the TV on. Not that you can't let me down easy," he says, bending to face Junie.
You shake your head as he starts to help her take things out of the drawer. You don't keep anything sharp in it for this exact reason, Junie's enthusiastic upheaval.
He catches your look. "I'll put them back! Promise."
"It's fine, you know she does it all day anyways."
And really, he should know you won't mind because whenever he's here he helps. Cleans, cooks, soothes her small tantrums and her bigger distresses, like when you won't let her eat laundry powder with the tiny shovel that comes in the box.
He's even started playing the bad guy sometimes. It sounds crazy, but having someone who's willing to say no for you is a sharp relief. To get to be the comforter rather than the nag, and to share a smile over Junie’s distraught head.
"This is positive reinforcement."
"I know both of those words, and yet," Eddie says, closing the now emptied drawer with his foot.
"You helping her take stuff out teaches her that those things should be taken out." You pull open the fridge. "But it doesn't really matter, I'm just saying. Do you want orange or apple juice? June?"
You hold out the carton of apple juice and the gallon of orange. The orange juice is awful, a concentrate with too much sugar, and it's delicious, so Junie picks that one without hesitating. You give her half juice half water in a sippy cup.
"Is mine watered down too?" Eddie asks, accepting the glass you press into his hand.
"I even mixed in some pedialyte. You're welcome."
He nods with more genuineness. "Thank you. Now sit down! I'm making breakfast. I'm gonna make it. What do you want?"
You look at him, fresh but still sleep rumpled, and you think about how hungry you are, and you really like him so much and you get why he wants to do this, but.
"Listen, let's go out. Let's get waffles and syrup and strawberries and nobody will have to do the dishes."
He buckles way too fast. It feels like a big compliment, how quickly you can erode his resistance.
"Alright. Fine, but not because I couldn't have made all of those things."
"Of course not."
"You look crazy pretty when you ask for things, you know? All this time I've been begging you to ask for things and now I'm a little worried. D'you always smile like that? I could be in trouble."
You boo at him and he smiles all the way to the car. He's still smiling as he drops his hand onto your thigh, pulls out of the driveway, and starts down the street leading out of the trailer park. It takes you a minute, but eventually you realise you can touch him back, laying your hand on top of his experimentally.
"Do I look stupid?" he asks.
He's stolen one of your hoodies to hide his slept on shirt. His jeans look messed up from sleeping in, but they're baggy.
"You don't… You could start leaving clothes at my house, you know? If you wanted to– stay again." You swallow a nervous giggle. "I mean."
"Of course I want to stay again. I'd love to. I love being with you."
He squeezes your thigh. If it weren't for his pinking ears, you'd assume him unaffected.
"Okay. Good. You can stay the night whenever you like, handsome, 'cause I love being with you too."
You wonder and worry if your declaration is too close to an I love you he doesn't want. You do love him, have loved him for a while, but you have no clue what you even are. Last night, you'd said best friend. He's more than that, he has to be.
You're in sync, or he can read your mind. He says, "We'll talk about it. After you get some breakfast in you. Your stomach's so loud they just put a weather warning on the radio."
"They did not."
—
Wayne puts a beer down in front of his nephew and doesn't pull any punches.
"If you get that poor girl pregnant, I will disown you. Not her, mind you. Just you."
Eddie thinks this is a very weird thing to say, but he also knows that Wayne is mostly kidding.
"I'm not going to get her pregnant."
Satisfied, Wayne sits down next to Eddie on the couch, the two of them tired from a long day at work, the TV on quietly in the background. It's the same thing they do everyday, or everyday before Eddie met you and your baby.
"I get to meet her, or we just gonna meet at the wedding?"
"Funny," Eddie says. "You can meet her whenever you want to. I kind of didn't think you'd be interested."
Wayne sighs, scrubs his jaw.
"Son, I want to meet her. Her and the baby. I didn't know if it was gonna work, but…" He smiles at Eddie. Eddie thinks that it's a mix of pride and love, and it has a lump forming in his throat near instantly. "I should've known, huh?"
Eddie makes himself scoff.
"Yeah, you should've."
"Only thing you ever half-assed was high school."
"You had to get that one in there."
Quick wit and nipping comments aside, Eddie knows Wayne truly does want to meet you and Junie, and that he should've a long time ago. It had been a cop out to say he didn't think Wayne wanted to meet you, because he knew his uncle had been curious and — he's family. Wayne is Eddie's family, and you and June have become the same.
When he brings it up to you, he does it carefully. With flowers.
You open the door and throw your arms around him, smashing the flowers unapologetically. He chuckles into your neck, pulls you tight to his chest. You smell like the diner.
"How come you never used to do this before?" he asks.
"You never did either."
You take his face into your hands and kiss him, before your usual shyness takes over and you pull away. He's having none of it, grabbing your wrist before you can escape to offer your flowers.
"Here. You'll have to give me one back for Junie, though."
You give him the biggest flower of the bunch, a huge pink carnation with perfect petals and a thick stalk. Your fingertips brush his as you do, and his eyes are drawn to them, your hands, the bump and bone of your knuckles. You still have a scratch from work down the length of your pinky, and they're scrubbed raw as usual from cleaning. He worries you're a little compulsive about cleaning, but he supposes you'd had to have been, all by yourself. He resolves to treat them kindly at the next possible opening.
"Thank you."
You don't blink at his bag from Bradley's. You try not to look at it; Eddie won't accept a thank you and you're trying to let him give you things, as per the arrangement.
As in, you, with Junie in your lap and fresh cream on your cheek, had agreed to be his girlfriend three days ago in the booth of a diner that wasn't Benny's. He hadn't been as brave as he could've been. It felt unreal to him to be with you, to have kissed you more times than he could remember, and to have you smiling back.
"Listen, I know you said we're best friends, and we are, you're my best friend, but I– we're more. I want to be your boyfriend." He rolled the word around so you'd know how strange he though it was. "But if you've… changed your mind–"
You'd reached across the table, pads of your fingers stroking the back of his wrist. "Why would I change my mind?"
"You realise, if we're together, you have to let me take care of you all the time?" he'd asked, full of nervous energy and really, really pleased. Proud to have you.
"I think I can deal with it."
He'd rubbed the toe of his shoe against your ankle and finally told you about the cream on your face.
"Junie?" he says now, eyes searching for your lovely daughter.
"She's in the bedroom."
"What for?"
You squeeze your hand through the crook of his arm, press your cheek to the top of his shoulder, and laugh. "She's making Eddie's bed, apparently. I tried to explain that you won't be sleeping here all the time but I might have made it worse."
Did you make it worse, or had your toddler misunderstood? He hates how even in the small things you'll blame yourself. This feels like a completely blameless situation, and, if anything, it's his fault, he's the one who stayed the night, and then another night, and another. He'd gone home between those days, had even gone to work, and really didn't mean to spend the night each time. It's addictive to get to sleep with you so close by. Getting to kiss you with your arm slung over his chest, your tired eyes staring up at him lovingly — he's a good person but he's weak, too.
He knows it's a little improper to stay this close so soon. If he thought for a second you weren't okay with it he'd be out the door.
"Eddie?" you ask.
"What?"
"You're staring straight through me," you say, sounding both amused and concerned. "What are you thinking about?"
"You, mostly. You and June. You know, Wayne wants to meet you."
You shake the bouquet at him, brows furrowed accusingly. "Is this a bribe?"
"'Course not… Are they working?"
"I don't need flowers. I want to meet him too. It's weird we haven't met before. You keeping us apart?"
"I absolutely am. I was a gross kid, I don't need him to tell you all of that now I actually got you."
Eddie draws away from you reluctantly to put his bag on the table, as well as June's flower. He pulls out the dinner he's brought for tonight and his most important purchase, a vase big enough for your flowers. It's simple clear glass with dainty enamel flowers around the circumference.
"For you, my sweetheart, a vase for the flowers. You want me to cut the stems?"
You beam at him, a shining smile that makes his chest feel fizzy, a can of soda on a rollercoaster as the sound of thumping comes from the bedroom, small footsteps racing to the door.
"Think she heard you," you say. You smile, take the vase, and kiss his cheek in a silent thank you.
Sure enough, Junie appears down the hall and Eddie's barely taken three steps when she's laughing and pawing at his legs, having raced all the way.
"Eddie," she cheers, arms up in the universal sign for 'grab me before I start screaming'.
He's more than happy to get his hands under her arms and pull her to his chest, your mini me breathing hard as she settles. Her hand presses into his collarbone, her lips puckered up for a kiss. He doesn't usually kiss her, doesn't really know where the line is, but denying her feels cruel. He kisses her cheek and feels her lips press to his cheek at the same time.
"Thank you," he coos, "thank you for the kiss, baby, I'm happy to see you too."
"See you," she says, patting his neck.
"How do I look? Handsome?"
She tangles her fingers in his hair.
"So, Uncle Wayne, does he like me?"
Eddie leans against the countertop you're facing so he can see your face. "He's never met you."
"Duh, but does he like me?"
"Probably. He has a bunch of reasons to like you and none not to like you."
"Doesn't hate me for stealing his baby boy?"
Eddie wonders if he's going red. "No, god, he'd thank you for it. Man hasn't had a quiet night in a decade and a half." You laugh softly, fingers weaving through flowers to arrange their leaves and stalks, and he catches a flash of uncertainty as it twists your mouth. "Seriously, he'll like you. I know everybody says it 'bout everyone, but Wayne's a good man."
"I know he's a good man, just…" You frame the flowers with your hands and step back. You smile at him to unsuccessfully hide an insecurity he can spot a mile away. "I'm not the girl people would pick for their son, you know?"
He raises his eyebrows, feels bad and drops them. Eddie lives in a trailer park, and has done for most of his life, it's not like the people around here are prudent about love and partners: Eddie's obviously not the first guy to ever date somebody who already has a kid. He doesn't wanna brush it under the rug, though. Your worrying worries him.
"I think you're exactly who he'd pick." He smiles at you in warning. You asked for this, sweetheart, buckle in. "Gorgeous girl with a perfect body," —you snort— "'n' a heart of gold." He pats between Junie's shoulders where she's oh so quiet in his arms, an affectionate slump over his heart. "And her pretty baby, too. I'd choose you for my kid. You know, if I was old. And I had one."
You wrap Junie up with one hand, the other placed sweetly over his shoulder. Your thumb strokes into his skin. "Thanks, Shakespeare," you say, letting your head dip down until your lips are flat to his shirt.
He drops his head into yours.
"Do you think he should come over for dinner?" you ask quietly.
"What, today?"
"It's gonna make me nervous thinking about it otherwise. What did you bring? Or maybe I can get pizza?"
He encourages your head back, palm to the side of your head. He strokes down until his hand covers your ear and curls around the curve of your neck. Insanely, he thinks it is a privilege to get to see you upset and to get to try and fix it.
"I can ask him, and he's not fussy. You're sure you want to do this today? I could host, you know, or we could go out."
You shake your head, looking grim. Dread clear in your eyes, you say, "I'll obsess over it. Can you call him before I lose my nerve, please? Do you think that would be alright?"
You ask like he genuinely might say no. He hasn't had the power to say no to you for months.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I can call 'im."
You offer to take Junie and it's funny because she doesn't need to be held right now and yet neither of you want to put her down. She's relaxed and Eddie doesn't see why she should have to be anywhere else but in his arms, hiking her up his chest in one arm to use the phone. He slots the receiver between his shoulder and his head and types in Wayne's number without having to look. He's typed it hundreds of times, at friend's houses, at the school nurse when his Mom's didn't work anymore, at the Hideout. Just to say, I'll be home late, but don't worry.
He extends the invitation with a teasing tone. "You wanna come around for dinner? Old lady's asking."
"You can't call her your old lady, son, not yet. That's a privilege you gotta earn."
Eddie laughs down the line. "What's wrong with old lady? I'm keeping it respectful, classy, aren't I? She's making burgers."
"You better be helping her."
"How can I help her? I'm on the phone to you."
"What time am I expected?"
"Let me ask." He pulls June back up where she's slipping, mouth lifted from the phone to grab your attention. "What time are you thinking, sweetheart?"
"It can be done whenever he wants it," you say, elbow deep in ground beef.
"Give us an hour, okay? Don't fill up on shit."
"Yeah, boy, I won't. Better leave me alone to wash up, or I can come in my overalls–"
"Alright, Wayne." He hopes it sounds like 'love you'. "See you in an hour. Don't forget."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm that old," Wayne says, followed by the sound of the phone on the hook.
Eddie passes it to Junie where she'd been dying to have a turn. He can't let her play too long, guilty already watching you chopping and dicing and washing. He sets her up on your couch with her army of teddies and a peach juice box from Bradley's. He'd picked them up thinking they were weird, and that he'd wanted Junie to try them if she hadn't before. She seems pleased with it, back and legs straight across the pillow, head bent in a way that would give a grown up a sore neck for the foreseeable future, socked feet wiggling along to the music playing on her show.
He returns to find you washing your hands. Eddie wants to kiss your neck but doesn't have a clue in the world if he's allowed to do that now or ever, so he folds his arms over yours like a hug.
"Can I get some of that?"
You squirt dish soap into his palm. He's expecting grumbling and complaining at his weird position, but you say nothing, only laugh. You wash his hands for him, thumb rubbing down the small hills of his fingers until he has to wash off the suds, squishing you to the countertop edge with a feigned apology.
You squeal with laughter. "Get off," you plead.
"I'm so tired, suddenly, I don't know what it is."
"Eddie," you moan, well and truly sandwiched under his weight.
He pecks your neck and stands properly in search of a hand towel to dry off your dripping hands. He towels his, passes it to you, and uses his dry hands to cradle your face. He thinks you look beautiful but admittedly very tired, and lowers his voice to an adoring murmur.
"You can go sit down, if you want to."
"Oh, no, there's too much to do," you say, and though you're denying him, your face lists heavily into one of his hands. You close your eyes for a moment before looking up at him through your lashes. "I can do it."
"I know you can do it, I just don't want you to have to."
He pulls you closer, his elbows pushed into your shoulders.
"I'm really good at making burgers. S'like, my signature dish. That's why I got stuff for burgers, 'cause I wanted to cook tonight."
You still don't budge.
"Go on," he murmurs, "go get your cuddles."
Junie, upon realising Eddie would be sleeping in your bed, has taken to climbing on top of him and insisting she get to stay in the big bed. She's hogging him, and it's clear you're not unaffected. Not jealous, not bitter, but missing your baby.
You're in mild withdrawals, and it makes sense. After all, she gets her extreme need for affection from you.
"You're sure?" you ask, frowning softly.
"Yes," he says, laughing and pushing you away gently, "trust me, sweetheart, I can make dinner. You gotta take my flower for June, though." He picks it up off of the counter and twirls it under your chin. "I forgot all about it, you distracted me."
You take the flower but hesitate in front of him.
"Kiss?" you ask, eyebrows popped up.
He bends backward, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You have it bad, huh?"
"Forget I asked," you faux-threaten, spinning on your heel to leave.
Eddie follows, spins you right back around with a hushed, "Where do you think you're going?" and kisses you, hand sliding up your cheek.
One kiss turns to two, your lips parting slightly under the pressure. He grins and goes in for a third.
—
You don't sit down for long. You steal a Junebug cuddle, in which she insists on sharing her juice box with you and kisses you upwards of twenty times. You giggle giddily, the petals of the flower you've tucked behind her ear almost blinding you with each one. They're drooly and gross and lovely to begin with, less wet when you leave to find something for her to wear.
The dress she wears now is dirty from daycare, and the applesauce, crackers, and peanut butter you'd given her earlier stain the neck. You pick out a simple matching set of not-quite pyjamas. You want Wayne to know you dress her well, but you'd feel bad if she had to suffer any longer in clothes with buttons and zips.
Once she's changed, she's somehow even happier than she was. Now she's settled into daycare and your routine, she's over the moon all the time. She's finally settled in, and you have Eddie to thank for a good chunk of it. He's a great part of her routine, another person who wants to love and dote on her. While you know you'd been doing a great job by yourself, any extra love at all is welcome. You could love him for how he loves her and nothing else, only there's a thousand other things about him to love.
Like his singing. You can hear him humming, then riffing, spatula scratching the frying pan as he rocks out to a song you can't hear. You're playing with Junie's toes, as strange as it sounds, wiggling and tickling the sole of her feet.
"Mommy?" she says breezily.
"What?" you ask, leaning to her eye level, fluffy bed socks in hand.
"Special treats for dinner?"
You can't believe the improvements in her speech, though it's natural, and it would've happened eventually. And it blows your mind because you'd known she was in there, she's a great listener and she's so patient for a toddler, but knowing she's having these thoughts and then having her voicing them now is something else completely. It's amazing.
You tuck the sock under her pant leg and beam at her. "Yeah, baby, we're having special treats after dinner. Eddie's making burgers with the cheese," you hum, offering your open hand for her to hold. "And… his Uncle Wayne is coming by for dinner. So we're gonna meet him and say hi to him and be super nice, okay?"
"Okay. What's for treats?"
"I don't know, you'll have to ask Eddie. Should we go ask him?"
She nods enthusiastically and slides off of the sofa, gand in yours. She walks with a wobbly confidence into the kitchen, where the smell of searing hamburgers and black pepper is cloying.
Eddie turns with the spatula, slouched with one elbow on the counter. He perks up when he sees Junie in her fresh clothes.
"Hey, bub, look at you!"
"She has something to ask you."
Eddie crouches down. "Anything. What do you want to ask me, Junie?"
"What's for," —her voice is small, high-pitched and clumsy but sweet— "... have for…"
"Dessert," you whisper. "For treats."
"What's for treats?" she asks, smiling.
You sigh with pride and Eddie mirrors your expression. "Well," he says, reaching out to readjust the flower peaking in front of her hair, "I brought two things, cherry ice pops and cheesecake."
"Oh," Junie says, "my gosh."
You leave them in their love bubble and change into your nice (bleach stained, agonisingly bleach stained) jeans, rather than meet Wayne in your waitressing skirt and blouse. Eddie wolf whistles as soon as you emerge, Junie now happily perched on his hip as he moves the burgers onto a plate to wait in the oven. Junie turns and drops the slice of cheese she was holding, startled at the noise.
"Is this awful?" you ask, pointing to the thin line of bleach across your thigh.
"'This' is killer," Eddie says.
"No, but can you see the bleach?"
"Not really. If you need new jeans, we can go get some."
The I can't afford it begs to be said, though you know exactly what he'll say in response.
"Not right now," he amends. "They look fine, okay? He won't notice. I had my first tattoo for three weeks before he saw it."
You lean over the sink to open the window and let some clean air in. Eddie goes back to the plate, and Junie drops another slice of cheese.
The knock at the door startles you. You're unprepared, terrified, and you haven't wiped down the dinner table yet. Eddie sees your panic and shakes his head at you.
"It's fine. You want me to answer?"
"We should both answer," you say, with a confidence you are not feeling.
You hold your hands out for Junie. She's a safety blanket.
Please like me, you think, letting Eddie pull you to the door.
—
You have nice shoulders. Eddie feels like he's had this thought before. Often, he looks at you, and he finds something new to catch onto and to obsess about. This hasn't changed in the few days you've been together. It's gotten worse.
He can see the top of Junie's head against your shoulder but not her sleeping face. You sway her from side to side and he can see you arms shaking with the effort it takes to have been holding her for this long, your quiet humming now a whisper of sounds. The gentle thudding of your hand against the bottom of her spine stops, and you turn to look at him, a question in your eyes.
He nods. Looking good.
You ease her down into her toddler bed and spend some time pulling the blankets over her legs, tucking her small army of teddies in beside her.
Finger to your lips, you and Eddie creep out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. There's nothing to clean. His Uncle Wayne is a stickler who couldn't not help clean up.
Wayne had definitely liked you. You're still glowing with it. It had been a great time, not nearly as awkward as you'd feared, and Eddie's feeling pretty content right now. You waste no time collapsing on the couch. A sippy cup under your hip, cushions in disarray at your head. Eddie grabs the half of the cheesecake that's left and two spoons and sits right next to you, thigh to thigh, no need for friendly space anymore. He forces the spoon into your hand, slides the cheesecake onto your thigh, and moves the sippy cup out of the way.
"My arms are too tired," you mumble, dropping back into the cushions. Junie had piled them all up behind Wayne's head. She was extra, extra nice.
"Want me to feed you? I can baby bird you."
"Ew. That image never gets any less disgusting, Eddie."
It's been Eddie all day. What's a guy gotta do to get a 'handsome'? A 'baby'?
He laughs around a spoonful of cheesecake and twists his foot behind your calf, linking your legs. You've managed to finally get cable, and an episode of Jeopardy plays on mute across the room. There are toys everywhere, the kind of mess that you'll spend three hours putting right, sorting and spritzing and wiping with Junie behind you pulling things back out.
Eddie's already got the clothes here to stay, and Wayne had said, "See you tomorrow," when he left, but Eddie asks anyway.
"Can I stay over?"
You sit up to drop your face heavily into his shoulder.
"Please, handsome. Don't want you to go home."
There's the pet name he'd been searching for. A warmth climbs all over, a twinge in his stomach. He heaps cheesecake onto your spoon and presses the handle into your fingers. You eat it slowly, tip of your tongue making an unexpected appearance when a crumb sticks to your lip.
You make a sound that should probably be illegal and drop the spoon into the cheesecake casing, freeing your arm to wrap it around his chest. You nuzzle your nose into his skin, sniffing.
He laughs from happiness and nothing else, making good work of the cheesecake while you doze. He's not an animal, leaving some for you and June if you want more tomorrow, but he isn't temperate, either. He's thinking this might be the perfect life, you and your baby, Uncle Wayne laughing at your kitchen table, Junie in the high chair beside him trying to make a babbling conversation. She'd managed a couple of proper words and an impressive sentence, much better at answering than asking but trying either way.
"You're a ringer for your mom, kid, you look like twins," he'd said softly.
"Ring-ring," she'd said happily, excited to have understood. She'd offered her hand to him, pinky and thumb stuck out.
Wayne, grinning, had answered the phone.
"June loved Wayne," Eddie says conversationally.
"Junie loves everybody," you say through a yawn, hand soothing up and down his side greedily. "Not like she loves me and you, but she does. She keeps hugging all the other babies at daycare and they don't know how to stop her."
"What? You've never told me that."
"I didn't know 'till this morning." Your fingers find and breach the hem of his shirt, pads tracing to the small of his back.
"God, you're cuddly tonight. Here, let me–" He moves the cheesecake. "Come here."
You groan, "No, this is fine."
"Sit on my lap, loser."
"I'm heavy."
True or not, Eddie wants you in his lap, and he's selfish, pulling at you like a kid not getting his way. You end up flopping over his lap to stop him, curled into an uncomfortable but darling position. He gets his hand behind your ear and turns your face, wanting to see your eyes and your nose and your lips.
Your eyes are bright in the lighting.
"Wayne liked you," he says, stroking down the shell of your ear with his thumb.
"I can see why you're so kind," you say.
You smile at each other.
"I don't know what I did."
Eddie leans down, tilts his head to line up with yours, his eyes flicking between the lightness softening your gaze or the curve of your top lip, calling him in like a siren. "What did you do?" he murmurs.
"To get so lucky," you say. "I don't know. I must have been a saint, in a past life."
"A past life," he repeats.
Your eyes find his and narrow. He knows where you're looking, that little dot of dark hiding beneath his eyelashes. You move over his lap carefully, hands behind his neck to anchor yourself. Your thighs against his thighs, ankles locking him in, your hands always so gentle where they play in his hair.
He thinks there's a kind of melancholy to moments like this. He panics, in his way, in his head, because there are no guarantees. This perfect night with a perfect girl could be it. There are many bad things that could happen, unspeakable, and he gets this trip in his chest like a fuse shorting out.
He should slow down and tell you what he feels. How you're his and he's the lucky one, goddamn, he's never had luck like this in his life.
He smooths his thumb across your lips and stops at the corner, momentarily ashamed of his big, clumsy hand, and permanently in awe of your softness, your goodness, how it lines every feature on your brilliant face.
You lean in for a kiss.
Your lips are parted, and he thinks you might've read his mind, the hunger and the fear he'd felt, the heart-pounding reverence, that split second of wanting to say something he shouldn't yet. It feels like you read his mind; your lips kiss and kiss and your hands tremble minutely behind his head. The heat of your tongue shocks him like the first drag, has his hand bawling in the fabric of your shirt, a low sigh smothered by your attention.
Your nose touches his. In the days since his confession you've endured a frankly overzealous amount of his kissing. He's had you in bed, in the kitchen, just outside the front door. Some heavy handed, some sweeter than sugar, none ever for anything but kisses. Your ardency surprises and excites him — his pulse is a freight train, pounding in his veins as you yield. Your head tips back slow, your gasping breaths a golden sound he endeavours to keep forever.
When you lay back, it's quietly, hand at his front and encouraging you to lay with him. He props himself up on his side, one hand feeling for your upper arm, wishing you'd worn something with shorter sleeves so he could feel your skin. The other covers the column of your throat. He can feel your too-fast breathing in his palm, your shallow gasps.
Your eyes close again as he ducks in. He rubs a line with the tip of his nose next to yours, the heat emanating off of your skin thickening the air. Or, that's what it feels like.
"Kiss me," you say under your breath. This close, you might as well have shouted it.
He kisses you until not one of you can breathe properly, and a little after that, too. His thumb ghosts under the curve of your breast and he can feel the tightness of the question between you, a string pulled taut by your hand and his.
"Sweetheart," he says, trying to pour all of his affection and something deeper into the word, "do you want to…"
"What?" you ask.
He lifts his head off of yours and waits. You open your eyes in confusion, though that confusion quickly turns when you hear what he's hearing.
Movement. Little feet.
He pulls his weight off of you and helps you up, brushing down your hair, your hot cheeks. You move away from his hand without malice, and when he turns he's not at all surprised to see baby Junie in her pyjamas, the ear of a teddy clasped in a small fist.
You press your arm to his.
"Sorry," you whisper.
He turns to you, blinks three times quick. "Baby, it doesn't matter." It's unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as your mortified expression. He holds his hand out to Junie where she's meandering toward you, exhausted steps unsafe but determined.
She reaches his knees, and Eddie helps her up to sit between you both, his arm behind her head.
You stroke her hair. The look you give him is pensive and loving at once. You lift your chin, and he presses a saccharine, chaste kiss against your kiss bitten lips.
Junie falls asleep again near immediately. Eddie finds your hand in the mess of limbs and gives it a good squeeze.
"Bed?" he asks.
You slouch down. "In a minute?"
He slouches down with you, letting his temple drop against yours over Junie's sleeping figure.
"Whatever you want."
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thank you for reading! im so happy they’re together this is my fave part of every fic, aimless adoration <3 im not sure what to write for part sis so I’d love to hear what you want to see there, thanks so much
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