Vitzi9 - 🇵🇸i Write Sometimes And Stand With Palestine🇵🇸

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Baby, I'm Home

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wrap yourself up as an early Christmas present for your boyfriend Eddie to surprise him as he gets home from work.

Word Count: 2.5K

Content Warnings: 18+ Only, Smut, Shower sex, Fingering, Oral m receiveing

You frowned in front of the mirror as you fumbled with the flimsy material of your lingerie, if you could even call it that. The ensemble was definitely for novelty purposes, and you suspected you wouldn’t be wearing it for long anyway but you were still uncomfortable nonetheless. It was Christmas Eve and you were waiting for your boyfriend to get home from work, it was the first one in your small shared apartment and Eddie had been working overtime for months to help pay for everything you needed to make your new home feel like home. You had told him he had no need to work so hard, to you, home was wherever he was. You didn’t need anything but him, but he was hearing none of it. He wanted you to have the fancy bedsheets you ran your fingers over last time you were shopping, he wanted you to have the expensive coffee that made you close your eyes in content every morning, he wanted you to be able to buy all the plants and candles and little trinkets you wanted no matter how many times you told him they weren’t necessaties. 

Your Christmas Eve had always been special ever since you were a child, always spent with family preparing for the festivities, huddled up with over indulgent hot chocolates and home baked goods and a long list of cheesy holiday movies. So when Eddie broke the news that he agreed to work the late shift you were more than disappointed, but you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled when you knew he was doing it for you. So you decided to do something for him in return, an early Christmas present. Your body being the present, and he was allowed to use it however he pleased. Your chest was wrapped up by probably the least supportive “bra” you’d ever owned, the huge ruby red bow barely containing your breasts. Ruffled panties of the same shade covered your nether region, held up by the silky ribbons tied on either side of your hips. 

You were expecting him home at any moment, after adjusting your bow one last time until you were satisfied with the way it rested you shuffled your way to the living area. Pouring out two glasses of wine you placed them in the centre of the coffee table before lighting a few candles to set the atmosphere you were going for. You knelt down on the rug facing the front door and waited, your thighs parted slightly, hands clasped together between them while you squeezed your arms to accentuate your breasts. You started to feel fidgety when you finally heard the jangle of his keys in the lock. Your stomach somersaulted as the door swung open, your beautiful boyfriend coming into view, his palm dragging down the front of his tired face as he sluggishly crossed over the threshold. 

“Baby I’m ho- ohhh my god,” he faltered, his keys slipping from his fingers and clattering to the wooden floorboards. “What- what is this?” 

You beamed up at him, not used to seeing him at a loss for words. 

“Merry Christmas baby,” you purred, lips pouting seductively. 

He stalked closer to you, his lip tucked between his teeth as his dark eyes roamed over you. He stopped in front of you and smirked, you gazed up at him with big round eyes, purposefully wide to try and make yourself look as innocent as possible. He reached out to grip your chin, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. He hummed and moved his thumb to your plump bottom lip, pulling down the flesh before demanding you to open your mouth. You did as instructed and opened, moaning as he slid his thumb in along your tongue. You closed your lips around the digit and sucked before biting down gently. 

“Naughty,” he scolded, retracting his thumb and smearing your saliva across your cheek as he cupped your face in his palm. 

He dropped to his knees to match your height and surged forward to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss. Your hands gripped his wrists where they held your head to steady yourself, you whined he sank his own teeth into your bottom lip and tugged. 

“Are you my present sweetheart?” Eddie asked, one hand toying with the ribbon. 

“Mmhmm,” you nodded in affirmation. “You can have me any way you want.”

Eddie got to his feet and took a few steps back, wanting to savour the sight of you a moment longer before he unwrapped you. When he had your every curve committed to memory he reached out his arms to you encouraging you to stand. You grabbed his hands and stumbled when he hoisted you up, your legs numb from being knelt for so long. He grabbed your hips to stop you from toppling over and searched out your lips once more. Open mouthed kisses dragged along your jaw and down your neck, latching onto your pulse point Eddie sucked an array of purple bruises along your throat and across your collarbones. 

Once the feeling had returned to your legs and he was sure you wouldn’t fall down his fingers traced soft lines up your waist and along your ribs, pausing as he reached the edges of the ribbon. He yanked the material harshly, eyes wide in awe as he watched the bow unravel and drop to the floor. You gasped as he wasted no time taking your nipple in his mouth, his hand palming the one which wasn’t getting attention from his tongue. He licked his way down your stomach to your hips, kissing his way across the waistband of your panties he simultaneously pulled at the bows holding them in place. 

You squirmed at the feeling of him pulling the silk from between your thighs, his kisses immediately travelling lower until his tongue darts out to swipe at your clit. Your fingers tangled in his curls as you leaned forward into his touch. He chuckled into your heat at how hard you were pulling his hair. He pried your fingers away from his head and rose to your height, tenderly pressing his forehead against our own. 

“Care to join me in the shower my love?” He was tired and aching from his long shift, wanting nothing more than to ravish you right there in the middle of the rug but also wanting to wash the sweat and grime from his body. 

You agreed and walked him backwards in the direction of the bathroom, tiny pecks of affection against each other's lips as you led the way. You helped strip him of his clothes and climbed into the shower behind him. Your earlier antics were halted as you helped wash away the tension he was holding in his muscles. 

Your nails gently raked against his scalp as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, a satisfied groan rumbling in his throat. With delicate fingers you cover his skin with body wash, the shower head drummed against Eddie’s bowed head, his palms resting against the cool tiles in front of him. Stood behind him you placed loving kisses between his shoulder blades and down his spine, your hands snaking around his front to run along his chest and down his stomach, teasing along his happy trail. You felt the back of your hand brush against his erection, wrapping your fist around him you gave his swelling dick a squeeze at the base. He lets out a soft moan at the contact, the sensation sending a tingle down his spine. Eddie grinded his forehead to the tiles as your hand stroked him at a slow steady pace, every nerve in his body lit up at your touch, your teeth scraping at his shoulder. 

“Gonna make me cum,” Eddie whined breathlessly and you smiled into his skin as he rocked his hips in time with your fist. 

“Good baby,” you assured him. “Tonight’s all about you.”

“Nuh uh, not yet,” he gripped your wrist stilling your motions and rotated to face you, his pupils blown wide. 

He cupped your neck and waist and pulled you forward to his chest, desperate to taste every inch of your tongue. He reached down to run his fingers through your slickness, enjoying the way you writhed against his touch. You moaned as he wedged his thigh between your legs forcing you to open wider, two fingers breaching your entrance and curling perfectly inside you. He growled as your nails sunk into his shoulders, he hooked his free hand beneath your knee hiking your leg up high on his hip. 

The air around you felt too hot, the steam from the shower combined with the ferocity he was pumping his fingers in and out of you was making you feel light headed, his tongue still caressed your own as you whimpered into his mouth. Your brow furrowed as you felt him smirk against your lips, his eyes darkening even more as he had a sudden idea. He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, firmly dragging them upwards over your clit and once again gripping your hip. He breathed heavily against your lips when he broke the kiss, the lust coursing through his veins making his brain feel cloudy. 

“Fucking Christ,” he sighed, the hand on your hip reaching up to unhook the shower head from its catch. “You make the prettiest little noises all for me don’t you?” 

“Uh huh,” you fussed, your stomach flipping excitedly as you watched him twist the head to set it to a harsher spray. “For you Eds, all for you.” 

He smiled at you wickedly as he brought the shower head between your trembling thighs, hoisting your knee back up over his hip to keep your centre exposed. You threw your head back when the water ran over your folds, the pressure of the spray making your toes curl and your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Careful angel,” he whispered as he heard the thud of your skull make contact with the tiles. 

“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your nails biting into his skin hard enough to leave crescent shaped indents as you fought to keep yourself upright. “Oh my god Eddie, oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Mmmm, that’s it pretty girl, let it all out,” he cooed softly into your ear as he nipped your lobe between his teeth. 

Your hips started to buck involuntarily as your orgasm drew closer. Your brows knitted together and your lips open to form a cute little oh shape. Eddie wished he could snap a picture of the moment, he always thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on but right now you looked like a fucking goddess. The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, you flung your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling over, the force of your release knocking the air from your lungs. He pressed gentle kisses to your temple as you came back down to Earth, hooking the shower head back in its place in the wall he wrapped his now free arm around your waist to hold you tightly to his chest. Slowly lowering your leg he rubbed soothing circles against your hip bone with his thumb. 

You could feel his cock rock hard and stood to full attention pressing into your stomach as he held you, a fresh wave of heat flooded your body despite your still trembling limbs, when it came to him you could never get enough. You pulled away from him tapping gently at his chest. 

“All good?” he asked a little breathless, his heart racing from how turned on he was. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, holy shit that was amazing.” 

He chuckled looking proud of himself, the grin falling from his face when you grabbed him by the hips and switched your positions, hissing as his back made contact with the cold tiles. You sank to your knees in front of him, nipping a path from his pulse point down his chest and stomach, your tongue soothing the sting left by your teeth. He whined as you licked a line from the base of his shaft to the swollen leaking tip, lapping up the bead of precum pooling at his slit. You were too impatient to tease him, wasting no time taking him fully in your mouth. The growl that ripped from his throat was primal as the warm, wet heat engulfed him, you bobbed your head hungrily swallowing the urge to gag as you took him deeper and deeper. 

You expected him to tangle his fingers in your hair as he usually did to guide your pace but instead he placed his hands on either side of your face. His thumbs brushing the soft skin of your cheeks tenderly as he tilted your face up to look down into your eyes. He shuddered as your gazes locked, the butterflies in his stomach flapping their wings wildly. You reached your hands around to grab onto his ass, raking your fingernails over the soft flesh and down the backs of his thighs. The sensation causing his hips to jerk forward, you gagged softly as he hit the back of your throat. 

“Sorry, m’sorry baby,” he croaked through a strangled voice as he continued to soothe your cheek with his thumb. 

You huffed a laugh through your nose and pushed yourself further forward again, your face almost buried in the wiry hair surrounding his cock. He was close you could tell by the divine little whimpers falling from his lips, you watched the muscles of his stomach clenching as his hip movements became jerky and uneven. He was done for the moment you reached up to lightly cup his balls, rolling them in your palm as his orgasm rushed to the surface. 

“M’gonna cum, oh- baby m’gonna cum,” he choked out hurriedly, warning you in case you wanted to pull away. 

Not a chance you thought as you braced yourself. Hot ropes of his salty pearlescent release coated your tongue, you concentrated on your breathing so you wouldn’t choke before swallowing every drop of him. You hummed dreamily as you released him from your lips. He slid down the wall so that he was kneeling next to you, his hands never leaving the sides of your face. He pulled you towards him to crash his lips to yours, the possessive part of him loving that he could taste himself on your tongue. Your breaths mingled when you broke apart for air, both panting heavily as he brushed the bridge of his nose against your own and laughed from the giddiness his high had brought. 

“Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, whose rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

Her reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

No, why do you say that? Your writing is amazing, I think it's more the fact that you don't have "request open" they probably think you write only your own writing and at your own pace. I didn't know we could send you requests until I saw you wrote the "he's a liar, open your eyes!" request so I sent you one🤭💓

Oh okay but how do we open the said requests ? Or at least how do I tell it's open? I just say it in the masterlist ??

Thank you for answering by the way! I'm happy you like my writing<3

Youth - Chapter 2

Ship: Eddie Munson/Reader Rating: Mature Warning: Vomitting & very brief non-graphic nudity Tags: Hurt/comfort, sickfic, touch-starved Eddie, pre-canon Summary:

You take care of Eddie when he's sick.

Text below!

Chapter 1 here.

You wait until he’s slept for a good three hours (roughly the length of Lord of the Rings) before you get up. Taking extreme measures to slip out from under him and replace your body with a pillow, you pause, watching him make sure he keeps sleeping. When he doesn’t stir, you breathe a sigh of relief. Rewinding the tape to roughly where he fell asleep, you put it back on for him before swiftly exiting his room. 

It’s late, you know that. So you head to the phone and dial-up your home number. It takes two rings before your mother’s voice is coming through the phone:

“(Y/N)!? Where have you been!”

“Sorry, mom, I know, I should’ve been home but…” you take a really deep breath, facing away from Eddie’s room so you don’t wake him. “Eddie got really sick at school. Throwing up sick. I was the one to get him home, and I thought since I’d been in close contact with him it was best not to bring whatever bug he’s got home. I’m gonna stay here a while until he’s recovered, just to be safe so I don’t get you contagious.”

“Oh thank God, I thought something awful happened to you. What with the disappearances not too long ago. Yes, hon, I understand if you want to stay there - I can stop by with something to eat for the both of you if you’d like.”

“That would actually be amazing,” you say with a soft laugh. “I know it might be too much to ask but could you grab the movies from my room? Just pick out whatever so I don’t go insane with my own thoughts. He’s not that big of a talker when he’s like this.”

“Will do. I’ll see you in about… how does an hour or so sound? I’ll defrost that chicken broth in the freezer and get you something proper to eat. Don’t want to overwhelm his stomach now.”

“You are seriously the greatest. Say hi to dad for me, I probably won’t be back for a few days just to be safe we’re not contagious.”

“I understand, sweetie. I’ll see you in a jiff.”

“Bye, mom,” you say, hanging up the phone. 

Taking a deep breath, you lean against the counter and stare at Wayne’s hat collection. You were lucky to have a mom who could see past Eddie’s whole… Eddie. Especially since she could bring you food as you didn’t have three days worth of takeout money. Eddie might, judging by the wrappers everywhere, but you weren’t about to make him put out while he’s sick. He can just pay you back later with some weed and jam sessions. 

You check on him every so often, leaving the door open just a smidge so that you can make sure he’s still in fact, breathing. He’s out cold (thankfully). 

So, you grab a bit of weed from his stash and your bong from his room. You left it here as it was easier than having it in your own house. Your parents were tolerant, but not that tolerant. 

With one final glance back at Eddie, you open the door to the trailer and take a seat on the steps. It’s still early evening as you pack the bowl and click on your lighter. It's not quite the same as smoking with Eddie. It lacks his signature conversation and excessive hand gestures. To be honest, it feels a tad too alone for your tastes, dragging down your mood and impacting your high. He’s barely a few feet away and yet he feels so out of reach.

You persevere anyway. You need something to take the edge off the flutter in your chest when he looked at you with those puppy dog eyes. Now was absolutely not the time to go about suffering over a crush.

Leaning back, your head hits the trailer door, a smoke ring drifting through the air. 

You sit on the steps until you see your mother’s car out of the corner of your eye. Forcing yourself to stand you set the bong on the counter inside the trailer and step back outside. She’s grabbing something from the passenger seat as you walk up to her.

“Hey, that didn’t take long,” you say, holding out your hands to take the containers. 

“It took an hour and a half,” she points out, passing you a thermometer. “Here, because I doubt he has one.”

“Thanks, thanks. Times kinda weird when you’re taking care of someone sick so forgive me -” she nods her head - “Anyway, should probably get this into the trailer. I don’t really want to get you sick so uh…”

“(Y/N) I’ve taken care of you while sick countless times. A brief moment in the contamination zone won’t affect me,” she chides. You swear if she didn’t have a box of VHS tapes in her arms her hands would be on her hips. Spiritually they’re definitely there. 

“Right, right,” you mumble to yourself, letting her into the trailer. 

You’re immediately reminded why you hate trailers when the sound of Eddie taking a leak provides “ambience” for the two of you. You set the leftovers down on the counter, shaking your head. To you, it’s normal. Not that you particularly want it to be, but there’ve been plenty of times where he’s paused a movie and gotten up to piss, gracing you with the sound as you try and ignore it until he’s back. 

“Forgive him, he was supposed to be asleep,” you dismiss, baffled that he even had anything left in his system to be turned into urine. 

“I’m a grown woman. I’ve changed your diapers. I’m sure I can handle hearing your boyfriend pee,” she says, setting the VHS tapes down on the coffee table. 

“He’s not my -”

“Hey, (Y/N), I know this is going to sound pathetic but could you make me some soup? I kinda… I don’t feel like vomiting anymore. Starvin’ actually,” Eddie says, cutting you off as he wanders out of the bathroom, using the wall as leverage. “Mrs.(Y/L/N)?! What are you doing here?”

Your mother simply smiles and nods her head.

“Sure he isn’t,” she chirps to you before heading for the door. “Eddie, dear, I hope you get better soon. If you kids need anything else I’m a phone call away. Oh, and remember to wait at least three hours after the last time you puke before eating.”

“Thanks for everything, mom!” you call as she shuts the door. “You’re welcome, dear,” she chirps.

With that, the trailer door shuts and she’s gone. Leaving you alone with a very confused Eddie. 

You sigh, shaking your head before turning your attention to Eddie. He’s deflated against the wall, scratching his stomach with his shirt pooling around his wrist. He can barely keep his eyes open and you're fairly certain if the wall wasn’t there he’d have fallen over. 

“Come here, let’s check your temperature,” you hum, taking out the tiny thermometer. “Then we can get some food in your system. My mom brought chicken soup.”

He grins at this, wobbly and lopsided:

“I always liked your mom’s cooking. Makes me feel like home.”

“You’re delirious,” you say as you shake the thermometer down. “Open wide for me.”

He grins and sticks his tongue out in a sluggish version of the Devil’s naked tongue. You sigh and shake your head, still shaking the thermometer down. 

“No this goes under your tongue you goof, come on, work with me and you get to pick out the next movie,” you insist.

“Thought next one was Indiana Jones,” he slurs, putting his tongue away.

“You have to corporate first. My mom brought a bunch of my old ones,” you inform him, setting the thermometer under his tongue. “There, now, stay here for two minutes. Think you can handle that?”

He nods diligently and you accept it, turning your attention to reheating the soup. You watch the clock to make sure that he’s not just standing there, though you hadn’t anticipated him to be watching it as well. It’s barely been two minutes when he rests his head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Someone’s impatient,” you laugh, praying he can’t hear your heartbeat as you take the thermometer out of his mouth. 

“Hungry,” he mumbles, watching you read it.

“Yikes,” you mumble. “One-hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit. One more and we’d need to call you a doctor.”

“Can I still get soup?”

“Yes, you still get soup,” you assure him, patting his hand. “Come on, let’s get you to the couch and so you’re not overexerting yourself.”

He allows you to lead him to the couch, settling him down with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders so he won't get cold. You leave him in a bundle to return to the stove, reheating the soup for him. You can feel his eyes on you as you work, unsure of what to say and knowing he won’t be much for conversation. So you let silence permeate the trailer until you settle down next to him, the bowl in your lap. He’s turned his whole body to face you, still snuggled in his blanket.

“Open,” you request, filling the spoon with broth.

He looks from the spoon to you, nervously. 

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah… I just… is it weird that you’re feeding me? Shouldn’t I do that?”

“Think you can do this or do you want me to? I promise I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” you ask, offering him the spoon. 

He considers it for a quiet moment, curling in on himself in the blankets. You can see he’s still shivering despite the fuzzy fabric. 

“... you. Too cold.”

“Alright,” you say, keeping your tone neutral and level.

You’re actually hoping that he’s going to keep it down. He’s gotten three spoonfuls in, going back for his fourth. Even if he takes really long pauses in between, he’s showing promise. 

You know the instant he puffs his cheeks out a little that this isn’t going to end well. Quickly setting the bowl on the coffee table, Eddie groans. 

“Need help to the bathroom?” you ask tentatively, reaching to take his blanket. 

“Mmm,” he says while shaking his head. 

You arch an eyebrow, taking a seat back on the couch. You’ve barely sat down when he’s bolting for the bathroom. Without a second thought, you go after him, making sure his braid isn’t near his face while he rejects the soup. It feels like forever before he finally stops, and you’re not even the one throwing up. You rub his back, letting him rest his head on his arm currently wrapped around the toilet. 

“Please… make it stop,” he whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“I wish I could, Eds. Let’s get you a cold shower, see if we can bring the fever down and get some of ick off,” you say, standing up to turn on the shower.

“Again? I just had one though,” he mumbles without moving. 

“Eddie, you are super clingy right now and I am not letting you cling to me while covered in toilet germs and sweat,” you point out, reaching to help him stand. 

“Fair point,” he mutters, stripping out of his shirt. You pull the elastic out of his hair to let him wash it. 

“Mhm. Let’s get you nice and cool, then we can watch Indiana Jones,” you remind him, helping him to step out of his pants and into the shower. 

“You’re too good for me. Don’t deserve this,” he mumbles as you shut the curtain. 

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t whole-heartedly disagree,” you point out. “Now get clean. I’m going to go eat something and then I’ll come help you out.”

“Go eat, ‘can wash myself,” he dismisses you, waving his hand behind the curtain.

“Just call if you need me,” you say as you step out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. 

You opt to wash your hands in the sink before getting your own dinner ready. Thankfully you can just pop it into his microwave, wait two minutes, then have a hot meal. Your mother's cooking was always the best, even if you ate it quickly so as to not leave the smell lingering through the trailer when you got Eddie out of the shower. 

The sound of vomiting interrupts you twice, and you plug your ears until it’s over. Not once does he call for you, and you feel bad, knowing that he wants to let you eat. Or perhaps he just doesn’t want you to see him naked more than you have to. Which is entirely fair. 

Either way, you finish your food, knocking on the open door:

“Ready to get out yet?”

“Yeah,” he slurs as the water shuts off. 

“Think you can dry yourself while I get you some clean clothes?” 

“I got it,” he confirms.

You dip into his room, grabbing more comfy clothes and bringing them back with you. He’s slow to dry off, still trying to get his hair when you return. 

“I’ll do your hair after, just dry the rest of your body,” you encourage him, holding his clothes. 

He does as he’s told without a fight (which is so very rare for him it’s uncanny). Once he’s dry and dressed you’ve gotten him back to bed, Indiana Jones in the VHS player as you sit on the edge of his bed. There’s a bowl next to the bed just in case he vomits again.

“Can you braid my hair again?” he asks quietly, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“Are you just trying to fall asleep on me again?” you question, fidgeting with his hair tie. 

“... please?” 

You really need to learn how to say no to his puppy-dog eyes because they have you sitting behind him once more, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Your hair is an utter mess. Do you own a comb?” you ask incredulously, knowing he does, just not where. 

“Desk,” he grunts.

You grab it from where it’s pressed between a DnD module and a music notebook. You pick up the notebook, setting it down on the bed. 

“Oh, no, don’t look in that. It’s just shitty lyrics I’m working on,” he immediately says, piquing your curiosity. 

“Oh? Any new songs I should be aware of?” you question as you sit down behind him, taking a comb to his messy hair. 

“No,” he says quietly, tucking his knees to his chest. 

“Nothing?”

“Nothin’.”

“If you say so…”

You know he’s definitely hiding something from you, but, his hair takes top priority. So you comb out every knot you come across, letting him stay quiet and watch the movie. You know talking isn’t the greatest when you’re nauseous. 

He falls asleep before you can even finish braiding his hair, drooling on your shirt with his arms around your waist. You have a feeling this is going to become a regular occurrence, which you don’t exactly mind. He’s always cuddly when he’s high, no matter who he’s with. You’re not surprised he’s the same way when sick; even with a fever that high, he’s still shivering. 

So you let him sleep through Indiana Jones and Fantastic Planet, and the Outsiders, waking up part way through the Empire Strikes Back. He blinks a few times, squinting at the television as he watches the movie. You only notice he’s awake when he snuggles closer to you.

“Woke up for the good part,” he mumbles, watching the battle rage on. 

“Hey you, sleep well?” you hum, your attention immediately on him; brushing his bangs from his face. He still feels like he’s on fire, which isn’t surprising as it’s not even ten yet.

“Ask me tomorrow. Do… do you think we can try more soup?”

“You’re going to have to let me get up for that,” you point out, watching as he lazily redirects his gaze to you. 

“You gonna come back?”

“Just need to get the soup reheated.”

“Okay,” he huffs, shuffling off of you to let you off the bed. He pushes himself to sit up, resting his head on his knees with droopy eyes and a frown.

“I’ll be right back,” you assure him, patting his head.

You try to be as quick as you can. You know that he’ll be distracted by the movie, yet, you hate to leave him like that. Standing in the kitchen you press your lips together with a frown. You shouldn’t reheat soup if you’re not sure if he’ll waste it again. So, instead, you get some of the ice from the freezer and add it to a glass. Then you head back to the room.

“I know it’s not soup, but let's see if you can stomach this first,” you propose, sitting down next to him. 

“Okay,” he nods, opening his mouth.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you set an ice cube on his tongue. 

The whole glass is gone quickly. You wait fifteen minutes, letting him rest against your side as you watch the movie with him. When he doesn’t puke it back up, you get up and return with soup.

This time you only give him three spoonfuls, and you wait again. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. The soup stays down.

“Progress,” you hum, filling another spoon. “Think you can eat another?”

“Absolutely,” he grins, as proud of himself as you are.

Hi there. Would you be willing to write a fic where ethan landry and the reader (female) are friends? Ethan is obsessed with the reader and wants to be more than friends. Reader doesn't know that Ethan is ghostface and she walks down an alley at night just to see Ethan killing her boyfriend. He then witnesses her freak out while trying to call the police. He then kidnaps her and shows her how much he loves and that he would continue killing for her.

He's a liar, open your eyes !

Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

CW/TW: description of a dead body, kidnapping, mention of suicide(not you), manipulation, voyeurism, insults

I feel like it's too repetitive. I don't know why my things always end up being so long. (03/07/2023) (9062 words)

Damn, why does this lesson has to be so hard ? You don't understand a thing ! Hell, that's why Ethan's here. Seriously what even is economic policies ? Did you learn that ? The teacher keep telling everyone this chapter was taught last year. How ?

Ethan comes back ten long minutes later from the bathroom, a sheepish smile on. His cheeks are red and he wears an almost stupid smile. You never saw someone so happy to use the bathroom before.

You notice something poking from his pocket. Did he really take a piss with a pen in his pocket ? He can chill, you're not going to steal it from him... Though, you smile at him fondly, softened by his nerdy behaviour.

"Did you make progress ? He asks.

-You're really asking ?"

You notice that his hair are a little disheveled. It's probably time to pack your things. You've been talking for a while now. He laughs slightly at your irony.

"You really don't know how to wash your hands, do you?"

His face flash you a deep shade of red as he looks down at his pant. You weren't really making fun of him. You just found it funny how he had a single water stain beside his zipper. Embarrassed, he hide the spot with his hands.

He quickly sits back at his place. Immediatly abandoning your lesson, you put it away. Your whole attention back onto him. You were previously gossiping about this man in your class. Rumor has it that he sleeps with his teachers for good grades. Ethan and you were trying to figure out if it was true or not.

It wasn't that important but it allowed you to talk freely. Ethan and you were close but weren't hanging out together that often. But he was really nice and an excellent friend, you liked to talk to him mindlessly like now.

"But on the other side he could juste be a good student. I can't really tell... Plus, some teachers actually don't really like him. You ever saw him be weird around a teacher?"

You noticed it but had tried not to embarrass him by asking but Ethan was acting a little different. As if in his own world, in a bliss you couldn't quite understand. He was looking at you with a fond smile and hadn't uttered a word. Differently from before.

"Are you okay ?" You decide to ask.

You almost feel bad for getting him out of his bubble. He widens his eyes, stuttering things you don't understand before sighing.

"Actually I....

-Yes ?

-I just wanted to let you know that..."

You look at Ethan, smiling to encourage him to continue. You don't quite get why he's suddenly back to his shy demeanor. He was doing pretty well until then.

"It-its... Like... We, the-the both of us, we've known each other for a really long time now and uh..."

When he was finally going to spit his thoughts, the door of your apartement open wide. Ethan stops abrutptly talking while you divert your attention from him. Your boyfriend was here. He didn't told you he was coming but you were at a stage in your relation which you didn't need to. Your boyfriend of almost one year stare nastily at Ethan seated next to you. You sigh, he knew Ethan would come today, you had told him. Why is he being so mean about it ?

You were supposed to be studying for a group project but when you started talking about a book you read, Ethan and you did nothing but study. Book talk turned into gossiping and finally nothing was done. You talked for hours about everything and anything. Then, there was a long silence before Ethan looked like he had something really big to tell you.

"Hi, didn't know he was still here. says your jaded boyfriend.

Here we go again... You clench your jaw, sensing he was going at it, for the umpteenth time.

-Do you need that many times to study? he says in a false disinterest.

-Yes, we do." you say coldly.

He was being rude and you didn't like it. Ethan was your friend. The least he deserved was respect. You invited him here. He was a guest. If anything, your boyrfriend should be rude to you.

"It's pretty dark outside, man. You should go. it was a fake advice, he wanted him to go.

Before you could lecture him about his rudeness, Ethan stands up. He gathers his things, eyes avoiding yours and cheeks red. You look disappointly at your boyfriend.

-Ethan you don't have to go, we can...

-N-no it's okay, it's late anyway, I'm... I'm gonna go. See you tomorrow ?" he tells you in a small voice.

You sigh out his name, embarrassed that your boyfriend would throw him out like that. So you decide to accompany him outside. You spent the few minutes of the route apologizing. He ketp saying it was okay, laughing lightly. But he was still meek. You were scared the bad behaviour of your boyfriend had made him distant. Bitterly, you let him walk away not without apologizing once again to him. You had to make it up to him later.

It was weird. Your boyfriend wasn't the posessive type, at all. You could go out butt naked that he'd tell that you're pretty. You could have as many friends as you wanted, male or female. He was normal, a normal man and your relationship was sane. But as soon as Ethan was mentionned, he was acting like this.

Your boyfriend thought he was playing the victim on purpose. According to him, Ethan wanted to separate you both. He was making your boyfriend the evil monster of the story when in reality, Ethan was manipulating you. You didn't know where he invented all that but it wasn't funny.

Ethan was an old friend. Old because you had known him for a long time. He wasn't exactly your bestfriend but you knew if you had some serious problem, he'd be happy to help. And vice versa. He was nice and never hurt anyone.

When you two met, his laces were undone and he fell on you. It was the 'worst day of his life'. You've know each other for years, now. But your boyfriend still wasn't trusting him.

When you enter back your apartement, nothing changed. He was stil in the middle of the livingroom, arms crossed on his chest. A scowl on the face. You slam the door shut.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you ? you immediatly start.

-I swear on my life I saw him smile. When you weren't looking he...

-Shut it, I'm tired. Don't wanna argue." you say, closing your eyes. Wanting to avoid a headache.

He says nothing, noticing your really tired expression. Compassionate, he opens his arms. Although hesitating at first, you dive right in. Angry but still loving him. You'd talk another day. Maybe understand where this hatred he hold against Ethan come from.

The next morning, everything was already forgotten. Well, not entirely. You were late and didn't have time to question your partner. You were both in a rush, grabbing breakfast to eat on the way and running to your class. Still, you knew you needed to have a talk with him. But it had to wait for now.

Frowning your brows in the bathroom, you tamper everywhere near the sink and the drawer but still can't find your toothbrush. You call out to your boyfriend in the kitchen. Asking him if he saw it or touched it recently. Though you don't understand why he would move your stuff.

"Where did you last put it? he asks, the question was silly but you appreciate his will to help. Why would you put your toothbrush anywhere else than in your damn bathroom ?

-On the sink, as usual."

It's weird though, you already lost it twice this month. Well, you got other one but if you could keep them as long as possible that'd be nice. You could've sworn you put it on the sink ! Where the hell did it go ? You really are tired.

Anyway, you think, you have to go. You and your boyfriend depart from the apartment and quickly arrive at destination. You kiss each other goodbye, and separate from each other. Thursday is usually a tough day since you can't see him much. But he promised you he was sleeping at your place tonight, too.

The day was a boring one. Nothing to entertain yourself. You went to your class, you took notes, you left class and so on. Even your friends were dying of boredom. Your boyfriend and yourself didn't get to spend much time with each other today as he was studying. But finally, you could go home. He sent you a text ten minutes ago, asking you to wait for him beside the entrance. And you did.

You only wanted one thing, go home and sleep. You stretch your muscles and sigh of tiredness. He usually is done studying at five on thursday. You juste have to wait five to ten minutes more.

You take out your phone to mindlessly scroll on it when a curly head appear in your field of view. Ethan already saw you, he's waving shyly at you. You smile happily and put your phone back in your pocket. Walking towards him, you observe how he seems so tired.

"Rough day ?" you ask him and he chuckles lightly, nodding his head. "You're okay, still ?

-Yes, don't worry. I'm fine. And you? Did you have a nice day ? It was cute how eager he was to talk to his friends, nervermind his state.

-I'm always fine when you're so kind to me. He smiles sheepishly, looking to the ground. You hope he understood you were joking and you didn't make him uneasy. Are you waiting someone ?

-Oh, yeah. I'm actually waiting for Chad to...." He trails off while looking at something behind you, his smile fading.

Worried, you furrow your brows before turning around only to see your boyfriend. Your smile instantly comes back. You would have hugged him if Ethan wasn't here. You weren't too much of a fan of PDA. Your partner's face seem closed, weird considering he's always happy when you're going home.

"Let's get home. he simply says.

Can't he see you're talking to someone ? You waited a few minutes for him, he can do the same.

-Wait a moment I'm talking to... he interrupted you, without listening to your words.

-I'm really tired, babe. Let's get home, now.

-We're all tired, I'm just asking you to wait a few...

-Just let's get home. he says coldy and you stop talking.

You look at him sternly. Since when does he give you any orders ? Since when does he forces you to listen to him? You have the right to talk to your friend, why does he deter you to do so ? You just want to talk to your friend two more minutes, is that too much to ask ?

-She doesn't want to, you can't force her... try Ethan, wanting to support you.

-Don't fucking talk to her, okay? he snap. You're not part of the damn conversation so just stay the fuck out of it. I know who the hell you are and what you're doing. Don't fucking talk to us you sociopath. you almost could see the smoke coming out of his ears.

Your heart stop seeing Ethan so humiliated and a ringing echo through your body. You were speechless. That's it, you decide. He doesn't have any right to talk to someone like that. He has to calm down because you are not staying with a violent man, whether he is towards you or someone else ! You step before Ethan to face your partner. You never saw him raise his voice at someone before but you don't like it.

-What the hell is wrong with you?

First he's rude to him when he's litteraly a guest and now he plainly insult him ? You were going to apologize to Ethan but when you searched him, you realized he disappeared. Fuck, you thought, he was that affected ? You can't blame him, you'd probably be as insulted as him in his case. But now you just feel like the worst person ever.

-Why do you hate Ethan so much?

He opens his mouth, searching his words as if not knowing where to begin. His eyes were screaming obviousness. As if for him, every reasons were easy to find to justify his hate.

-Because he's a creep. he agitates his hands to prove his point. Open your eyes, can't you see he's flirting with you ? He's trying to separate us !

-I guarantee you he's not. He's just shy! He's like that with everyone! You're seeing things ! You know what ? I won't tolerate your disrespect any longer. You ever saw me insult your friends ? No, never. Then why do you feel free to do so ? Seriously what is wrong with you ?

He is taken aback by the seriousness you take to discuss this subject. It's not even about Ethan anymore, it's simply about his rude behaviour. He needs to understand that you are not forgiving everything just because you're together.

-He's not just shy. He's really really creepy. He's constantly staring at you. He's on the verge of drooling ! He's sending me fucking death glare ! I tried to override it but it's been one year ! He did not change !

You almost laughed out loud. Ethan ? Sending death glare ? He can't even look at poeple in the eyes. Threathening them ? Just unimaginable. He's inventing things again and it's terribly annoying.

-Will you stop ?

-How can I stop ? He hates my guts ! he softens his tone. I love you, okay ? I'm incredibly in love with you and that's why this guy get me worried sick. He is not normal. If we were in a horror movie, he'd be the type to hide bodies in his basement ! I swear he hides something.

It's true that you don't know Ethan that much. But right now, he wasn't in your mind. You were only thinking about the fact that your boyfriend wanted to forbid you something. And that was the problem. He could tell you to be careful, to avoid being alone with him. But not ordering you to stay away from him. You weren't a child. And you're not stupid, you know the people your befriend. If Ethan was weird, you would have seen it by now.

-I love you too, you said heartly. Really. But Ethan is a nice guy. If he tries anything, I'll tell you right away. But I am not stopping from seeing him. You can't tell me what to do. You know that.

Your boyfriend clench his jaw but nods reluctantly. He doesn't like this deal but if he contradicts you, the argument will worsen and he didn't want that right now. You tried to share the wrongs, even if you find it difficult in your side as you don't know what you did, to ease the situation. You loved your boyfriend, you didn't want it to end on a stupid quarrel. Though, you knew you probably hurt him by doubting of him.

You'd ask him to apologize to your friend but it would be too much and you thought he'd do it himself when everything calmed down. Eventually. You came back home without him, crashing on your couch face first and breathing in it for a few minutes before getting up.

You were overthinking so much your head was hurting you. After a burning shower to ease your nerves (it didn't work), you decided to call Ethan to ensure he was okay. Guilt was eating you alive. You needed to apologize. He left before you could do so.

After the first ring, Ethan picks up. You panic. You don't really know what to say now, you hoped he wouldn't pick up so you could just leave a vocal message. You thought that a simple text wasn't enough and don't show the honesty of your words.

"Hey. he says as awkwardly as in real life.

You didn't know where to begin.

-You're okay? you ask and you hate yourself for asking that so bluntly.

He doesn't answer. You were thinking back on the face he made after being insulted, the humiliation, the utter mortification he felt. Your words are nothing, the wrong is already done. But you hope they'll help him feeling better. Even if just a little. Ethan is silent.

-Listen, I... you start.

Better apologize now before he hates you too.

-I'm sorry about my boyfriend. Like really. I... I don't know why he's acting like that. I talked to him but...

-It's okay, I'm used to it by now, you know ?

Guilt wasn't even enough to express your feelings. He's used to it ? That's not reassuring at all. In fact, you want the ground to open under you, to chew and swallow you. You were a horrible friend for letting your partner lower his self esteem like this.

-God, don't say that... It sounds horrible.

He laughs but he's not amused.

-If he does it again, and I hope he won't but just in case, you can bite back. You can insult him, too. I can give you insults he doesn't like if you want !"

This time, he truly laughed. A real chuckle and you were happy. You were happy your friend didn't hate you. You continued to talk long time after that. Eventually, you hung up, feeling tired. But with a smile nonetheless as you knew things were slowly getting better.

The next morning, you did your routine. With your new toothbrush in hand, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You had bags under your eyes. You were happy the week end was coming. Tomorrow is saturday, the week is finally completed. You felt enough stress for a whole month after that. You needed to rest.

You spit in the sink and wash your mouth with water. Raising your head again, you look if you still have toothpaste on your face when your body freeze. Are you dreaming or is there something behind your mirror ? You swear you just saw a red dot flashes.

You stop moving completly, eyes glued to the mirror. Three minutes pass wihtout anything new. Are you really that tired ?

Maybe it's just the reflection of the twinkling fire protection system ? The point is red too, after all. In any case, you're tired. You don't need others problems for today. You'll have to ask your boyfriend about it. If he stops sulking. Either way, you're curious. You'll try to take off the mirror another time. Tonight maybe, if you don't forget about it until then.

Later this day, you still hadn't talk to your boyfriend and the mirror thing had disappeared from your mind. As if life wanted to keep you occupied to avoid thinking about your problems, the morning classes were only tests. You hoped you did good because it didn't fell like it.

It was already noon and you were searching for your friends. They told you they'd be waiting for you in the cafeteria. You came out late of your last class so you needed to speed up a little. The halways are already crowded at this hour, more than usually it is. You sigh thinking about the long journey you'll have to make to join your friends. You'll have to dodge every rushing students, find your ways through everyone and hope something is good in the today's menu.

You start searching for someone you know in the crowd to mentally support you on this long day and you recognize the tall curly man named Ethan going to the bathroom in the opposite direction of yours. Damn, you sigh, you wanted to ask him if he could send you his notes for econ.

You texted your friends, saying that you'll meet up with them later. Your boyfriend still hadn't text you. He was mad at you, after all. In your opinion, you did nothing wrong. He's the one who put a target on Ethan's back. You recognize one can be jealous but damn, he can't disrespect your friend like that forever. He can't make hasty assumptions on people and then forbiding you to talk to them.

That's why you wanted someone to accompagny you to the cafeteria. Now, you're alone with your thoughts and you're overthinking. You didn't allow him to explain himself, but on the other side he didn't really try to. His reasons are unfounded. He was quite closed up on the subject.

You do not have to appreciate someone but why does he hate him ? That's another level. He even called Ethan a sociopath ! Why ? The common area wasn't so far from you anymore. You grab your phone, ready to send a text to your friends when someone suddenly rush into you. Your phone fall on the ground and you curse under your breath.

Looking up, the person already left. You grab your phone quickly and search behind you to know who pushed you this hard, only to see some curly hair, again. Wait, if you saw him going in the opposite direction, how did he end up stumbling on you ? He ran or something ?

-Ethan? you call after him and he stops in his track. you approach him. Why are you in such a rush... Oh.

And then you see it, the pink spot stuck in his hair. Gum, Ethan has gum in his hair. Obviously, it wasn't supposed to be here. You understand his embarrassment now, you wouldn't like to be seen like this too.

-Oh, Ethan...

At your change of tone, he reluctantly moves his body in your direction and lift his gaze towards you. An embarrassed expression clearly on display. You're suddenly really close to him staring at his stuck hair.

-Its... It's nothing, really ! He laughs awkwardly. I'll get it off, eventually.

-No, come here. you wanted to make it quick as to avoid him being stared at by people.

Head low in shame, Ethan follows you to the bathroom where you wetted his hair as much as you could. You thought that if you helped him, he'd understand that you're really not okay with your boyfriend's ideas of him. By helping him, you show him that you're still his friend and you're sorry for the behaviour of your partner. Acts are louder than words. Ethan's head was heavy in your hands, as if he was resting it against your palm. He probably was but your hair were a calming area for you too, so you understand. When your boyfriend scratch your head, you're out like a light.

-How did you get gum in here ?

He doesn't answer. The worst was already on your mind; is Ethan bullied ? You're not in highschool anymore but people are still mean and Ethan is a perfect target, he's a shy guy with little friends. He's usually the kind of people meanie make fun of.

-Did someone do this ? you ask while untangling his curls.

Ethan lower his face, eyes staring straight onto your phone screen where a picture of you and your boyfriend was on display. His gaze staying a little too long on your partner's face. With a bitter laugh, he shakes his head.

-You won't like the answer."

Something deep in you was telling you your boyfriend had something to do with it. After all, it was as if Ethan was giving you hints at this point. But you still believed in the kindness of your partner. He was never mean, physically at least. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But at the same time, he changed a lot recently, surprising you and not really in a good way. Could it really be him ? Ethan saw your hesitation since he smiles sympatheticly, understanding you.

"Don't be too mean on him, it's not important anyway. It's just gum."

And it was all you needed to hear before calling your boyfriend as soon as gum was out of the way. You asked him to come to your place when his classes were done.

Ethan texted you later on with all the sincerity in the world, 'is he violent with you? you can talk to me, you know? He can't force you to do anything. i'm here for you.' His words triggered certains thoughts in you, thinking that yeah, he wasn't like this when you first talked to him. And that's how every violent man start. By establishing rules in a relationship. Rules only relevant to one person in the couple. By getting angry more often.

By manipulating you with your feelings. It was too soon to really know if he was in fact getting violent but at the same time you didn't want to stay long to discover it.

When he came home this night, he knew something was off. You were seated on the couch, staring at the black screen of the TV. Your arms were crossed over your chest. Tonight was the big talk time.

As soon as the door slam shut, you start.

"Where were you at noon ?

He rises a brow, laughing nervously at your sudden question. He didn't even get the time to place down his bag.

-At my club ? You know I'm always there at this time.

You were afraid he was lying to you. One of your friend, in the same club as him, joke to you about how your arguments got to him so hard that he didn't even bother to come. Well, she said that she herself didn't stay long today but that's all you needed to know. He wasn't at the club.

-I didn't see you, that's all.

-You came to see me ? I was late. I joined the club ten or fifteen minutes later. Something happened?

You wonder if you should just spit it out. It would take a weight off your shoulders and appease your nerves. Yes, you'll just spit it out. You need answers.

-Ethan, as soon as his name leave your mouth he sighs, yeah, exactly, him, again. Someone put gum in his hair today. It was impossible to get rid off. One day after you insulted him. Crazy coincidence.

-Are you accusing me ? he asks in disbelief. You invited me over to argue ?

-I just want to hear where you were at noon today.

-It's not me, okay ? he says in a defensive tone. I don't like him but I'm not an asshole. I know he's your friend, I wouldn't do that to him.

-I know, but recently you've been acting really weird around him so I'm starting to ask questions. I'm going to ask this once and I want you to be honest with me. you take a pause, gauging his reaction. he simply waits for you to continue. Are you the one bullying Ethan ?

-I'm not ! Hell, why would I do that !

He's hurt seeing you so little convinced. He shakes his head and frown his brows. He's standing right before you now. He's panicked as if he knows your relationship depends on this discussion.

-I get it now, he says seriously. He accused me, right ? I don't blame you for listening to him, he's a good friend to you, okay. I get that. But he's sabotaging your life, he's sabotaging our relationship. You can't just believe everything he says. I don't like him, that's a fact. But I never put shit in his hair. And I never will. Don't you understand what's happening ?

He kneels before you and takes your hands in his, his warmth enveloping your body. He looks up at you with pretty sad eyes and you know you won't last long.

-Each time we argue, it's because of him. It's because he's always stuck to you, because he always does or says something.

-Or because you hold a stupid grudge toward him for no reason.

-No reason ? He gives me the creep !

-That's what I'm saying, you have no reason ! contradicting him allowed you to avoid looking into his eyes. Because if you did, you'd forgive him far too quickly.

-Baby, please, listen to me. He's not what he makes you think he is. He's a vicious manipulator. I can't prove it now with anything else than my words but I'll prove it to you. I don't know how yet but I promise. He sounded so desperate he had you doubting about everthing.

-I have to think about it."

Even though he wanted to convince you more, he understood your state of mind and decided not to push his luck. Sadly, he let go of your hand. And that was it.

He did not sleep here tonight, either.

When you woke up, you felt alone for the first time in a while. A bitter feeling lingering in your throat. All day, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone. It was saturday, you usually go out with your friends but you were not in the mood today.

After emptying your head and forgetting your feelings on social media for hours, you decided you couldn't stay angry at your partner for an eternity. So you sent him a text offering him to come tonight to discuss. He accepted surprisingly quickly. You spent the rest of the day cleaning your apartment. As if it was your first date and you wanted to make a good first impression.

You just wanted to spend a chill night with your man.

A movie was already planned for his arrival. You had cleaned every spot of your house. You were wore and now wanted to relax. Weirdly enough, something in you was telling you that the night wouldn't be as relawing as you wanted it to be. You didn't really know why. Maybe you'd be arguing again ? Maybe he'd leave you ?

You couldn't quite pinpoint the feeling you had.

You check your phone one last time, 'i'm almost there' he texted. But his message was sent already fifteen minutes ago. And the way to your apartment clearly wasn't that long. You decided to waste time until he eventually arrives by going to the nearest store. He had your keys anyway, if you arrive after him. You'd buy snacks to eat together there. And so that's what you did. You bid bye to the cashier and went back on your path. Suddenly, you realized how late it is. The alley was really dusky. Was it that dark when you left ?

You grab your phone, still no responses. What's taking him so long ?

Walking slowly in the dead of the night, you hear nothing but car in the background. Your own feet echo in the alley, you hit a bottle that's sent against the wall and you jolt before cursing. You're paranoid. Nothing's here. You grab once again your phone, no answer. He still isn't here ? Okay, maybe you're impatient here. But twenty minutes to arrive ? It's usually fifteen at best !

Deepening yourself slowly down the alley, you start to hear muffled voices. Two people. You hope it's not creepy men who'll follow you. Though, you're sure it isn't when the voices seem to be arguing.

You stop walking, trying to understand if you were in danger or not. It would be really stupid to get involved in a gang fight or simply in a fight. You though the two men would be drunk, since people arguing in a dark alley in night isn't that common for sober people(well, in your opinion), but they were not.

Approaching slowly, you realise you understand every one of the words they're echanging. Though, it's not reassuring.

"I always knew you were a fucked up little bitch..." you hear someone hiss.

Now what's happening ? It's getting scary. The more horrific part was probably that the voice sounded familiar to you. But it was distored and far away so you weren't sure. Either way, you needed to cross this alley. Your home was just a few meters further.

Holding your breath, you look at the ground, eyes glued to the pavement below you. You have nothing to do with this and you don't want to deal with it. But when you heard a scream of pain, your body jolt. Shaking from head to toe, you stop on your track. Your heart is beating too fast for your own good, your blood is pulsing. Slowly, your head turn towards the alley. What you saw at this moment was probably the worst sight you could have encountered in your life.

On the ground, a dead body. Eyes staring straight at you. His back was against the wall, blood dripping from his neck which was cut clean. He was shirtless and even though you didn't want to look at it, you knew his chest was covered in scars. But what's finally killed you is that you recognized his face.

It was your boyfriend.

Breathing becomes hard, you tug at your shirt, pupils slowly drowning in your tears. You couldn't look away. But you had to when someone step on a piece of glass. You jolt, searching for the responsible. Your senses on high alert. Everything in you were yelling at you to run but your legs were like jelly. It was a miracle you were still standing.

And that's when you saw it. Someone. You couldn't see their face but for some reason you knew they were watching you. Without diverting your gaze from them, you grab your phone from your back pocket, stepping back to put distance between you. The person calls your name and unfortunatly you recognize his voice.

"E-Ethan?" you ask with a watery and cracked voice.

You shake your head, slowly stepping back while he comes closer. You finally see his face. There's blood splattered on his face and he own a shiny knife in hand. It's straight out of a horror movie.

"Baby, it's not safe to wander around here at such a late hour. he laughs, surprisingly brightly for the situation.

-Ethan did you..." weakly, you point at the body in the alley behind him.

He's just smiling. He tilts his head to the side, staring at you longingly. Blood was dripping from his knife. Fuck, you need to run, right now. Sensing life coming back to your body, you bolt to the opposite direction. You hear him yell your name but you don't look back to see where he is. You rush to a place you hope will be full of people. There, you coud call for help.

Your rush, feeling every one of your muscle giving the best they have. You're out of breath, you already fell on the ground twice and hurt yourself but didn't bother stopping. Ethan was still yelling your name in your back, his voice getting progressivly more angry and desperate.

You weren't stopping, you couldn't. You were running haphazardly with your blurry vision, you couldn't see much. He's dead, you think. He's freaking dead. He killed him.

A violent side stitch takes you and you whine from the pain. Your muscles are burning so do each one of your breath. You see a building nearing and accelerate one last time to reach it.

But Ethan is seemingly trained for chasing people as he jumps on you and pin you against the ground. You try to scream but he doesn't allow you to as he maintain your mouth shut with his hand. You can feel his front against your back as you struggle to escape. Ethan hold you firmly against him, his weight on you guaranteeing you stay put.

"Why are you running? It's me. It's just me." you could hear the smile in his voice even though he's out of breath.

He was far too happy ! Did he plan this all along ? A million thoughts were racing in your head. Was that what your boyfriend saw in him ? Was that real ? Were you going to die ? You're crying all the water of your body at this point but Ethan doesn't say anything about it. You know he's ravished in the imbalance of power.

"It was supposed to be for the damn parasite, but I never could stand him anyway."

You don't have time to think about who or what he's talking about that a faint sting in your neck make you wince. A burning liquid propagate in your veins. Your vision soon become watery and blurry. Your body stop struggling and everything in you is numb.

"Sleep well now." was all you heard before black out.

When you woke up, (hours, days later ?) everything was pitch black around you. Even though you knew your eyes were open. What's happening ? Last night, you were at the local store buying things for your boyfriend and now you're here. Here, but where ?

You slowly start to realise something hides your view from the light and that your hands are tied up in your back. You couldn't move them at all, they were tightly attached with both scotch and cable tie. It was a miracle blood was still flowing. Or the person who attached you knew exactly how to do it. This thought was terrifying.

Your head aches trying to remember the last event but eventually you get the answer you needed. Ethan fucking Landry. He was in that alley with you. Tears brims your eyes at the reminder of your boyfriend. Your dead boyfriend. What will happen now ?

In your desperate state, you don't hear when someone enters the room. It's when a hand is put on your thight that you jolt and struggle to move. Trying to escape, the cable tie shear your wrists.

"You're gonna hurt yourself, love. Don't do that please."

The voice stops you. It was the same tender voice Ethan used to talk to you before. Ethan, shit, you spent the last few weeks arguing with your boyfriend over him, just for him to fucking kill him. Why is he doing this ? What did you do to him ? Can't he just kill you ? Is he so twisted that he needs to torture you ? It's all your fault, you should have listened to him. Ethan is a monster.

Tears are running down your cheeks, they're salty and sting a little. Ethan sees them and dry them with his thumbs. He tries to shush you but it don't work. Then, he decides to take off the cloth hiding your view. Upon seeing him, you burst into tears. You struggle, moving your whole body, trying to move the chair on which you're on. Crying more when he tries to touch you.

-No no no babe it's me! Don't freak out ! He laughs happily. It's just me, okay ? Everything's fine.

You were going to scream if he didn't interrupt you by roughly clading his palms against your lips. Your tears are no longer staining your chin, now flowing onto his fingers. You don't really understand the situation to be honest. Yesterday, Ethan was a really nice and polite friend. Why would he be otherwise ?

"That's it, calm down. Stop crying, please. It's okay. I'm here." he slowly part his hand away from your mouth.

You are terribly tired. Your body is numb. Your eyes are sore. You have difficulty breathing since you have a stuffy nose from all the crying. You sniff, blinking trying to get rid of the blurry vision you're having. You're sure you look pitiful but Ethan is looking at you like you're a damn art piece. He's analyzing you.

Ethan smiles. Sitting comfortably in front of you. On a chair he specifically placed here for you to talk. Or him to watch. You seem to be in a kind of garage. There's tools scattered on various worktable. Ethan tilts his head to where you're watching to catch your attention, when your eyes are on him again, he smiles brightly.

"You're comfortable here ? I'm sorry the chair is a little old, I wasn't really prepared. Don't worry I'll give you an armchair, soon. So you'll feel better.

You don't say anything. What does he want from you ? You have nothing left. According to his words, he plans on keeping you here for a while. Why ? He smiles, lifting his hand towards you, you flinch and turn your head.

-Don't look at me like that. he says angrily, his tone suddenly more serious.

Your eyes are back on him. You try to keep your gaze as neural as possible as to not angry him but your real feelings talks for you.

-Like you're scared of me. Like you're angry at me. I know you're not.

Why did you bother defending him. He's dead because of you, fuck, it's your fault ! You should have listened to him ! He told you Ethan was creepy, you should have fucking listened.... Tears are coming again, you try to keep them hidden but fail miserably and start crying all over again. Ethan sighs. He archs his back and lay his elbows on his knees.

-Ok, I guess I owe you an explaination. I'll try and make it quick, I have to go back to the kitchen soon after. I made pastas. Because I don't know if you can eat a lot right now, the medicine I injected you is quite strong. he seems to realise his words as his eyes widens and he agitates his hands agitatedly. It's strong but because it wasn't for you in the first place ! You weren't supposed to be there, don't worry. I'd never hurt you. I just improvised ! But you're gonna be fine. If not, it's okay too ! I can kill myself so we'll still be together !

What was his plan ? He wanted to kidnap your boyfriend ? Why ? What would he have done to him ? What would he have done to you ?

-But uh, love aside, if you feel like you'll throw up, warn me. There's probably a basin here or something. Anyway. I did what was best for you. you burst out crying and shake your head, denying his words. Yes I fucking did ! Okay ? He was a damn loser. I didn't have a choice, you know ? You should have just stayed loyal to me in the first place !

You were terrified. He changed emotions in a fraction of seconds. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you couldn't even move. You couldn't comprehend his words. It was as if he had invented a link between you two you weren't even aware of. As if for him, you've never been friends but much more.

-Stop crying, he's dead. It's too late. Seriously, stop. You didn't even love him ! Why would you keep defending me like that otherwise ? And he humiliated me, that fucker humilated me before you ! You know I can't let that pass. It just had to end.

You were still seeing his face in the alley. He was looking into your eyes, you swear. You just know his face will haunt you untill your death. Never would you have thought Ethan Landry was a fucked up man. Never would you have thought Ethan Landry was thinking about your kidnapping and your boyfriend's death.

You didn't know what to feel. Too many emotions were in your heart. Hate, fear, disdain, grief, anger and sadness. All caused by him.

-It's not my fault, okay ? Stop looking at me like that !

He passes his hand through his hair. He's agitated. Too much for your own good. His hair, you're now sure he puts that damn gum himself. What kind of fucked up manipulator you have to be to do that ? To take your sweet time in creating arguments between two person ?

-I was supposed to come and pick him up. Thus, I would have sent you each one of his fingers in pretty pink enveloppes. I'm sure you would have loved it. But it's even better that you're here. We're always stumbling on each other, right ? Isn't that so cute ? The way we're so magnetic ? he smiles bashfully, like a schoolgirl confessing her love to her crush.

His grabs your legs, you struggle to get away from his hold. Ethan is not amused. His fist tighten considerably around your ankle and you whine from the pain. You're sure he could break it. He stops, laying simply your leg on his tight. The palm of your feet was too far from his tummy for you to hit it. He smiles in seeing you so compliant. You still feel the burning hold he previously exerced on your ankle. How strong is that man ?

He slides his fingers dreamily from your ankle to the highest part of your leg he could touch without bending in two. You were utterly disgusted by his touch knowing it was these same hands which killed your boyfriend.

-It really is fate.

And suddenly he starts using his nails instead of his digits. Not quite hurting you but it was enough to make you understand he was able to. His smile turn bitter.

-It was fate until you decided to betray me by picking someone else. his tone is dark, threatening. Like a murderer. Then it go back to his usual tone and his digits are back on your leg. But I forgive you, you know ? At first, I cried a lot. Because I thought that you didn't love me. But I soon realised that you wanted to test me. You wanted to see me jealous ! And it's okay ! You probably wanted me to make a move on you first... he smiles sheepishly, cheeks red.

What the fuck is he talking about ? You never loved him ! You never tried to test him ! Why does he keep inventing things ? Did you two have the same discussion ? Where does he gets these interpretation from? You're pratically sure it's impossible to declare your love to someone by accident so why does he thinks you're in love with him ?

-Though, I gotta admit I was really sad when you decided to fuck him. Because I understand your testing, but it didn't need to go that far, you know ? You wanted to practice ? Because it really hurt me.

You don't answer. You certainly didn't want to talk about that to him.

-For practice, right ? Tell me it was. You just wanted to practice for when we'd be together ? the death glare he sent you was enough to make you nod, even if he saw it was fake he didn't care. Good, good. I was scared for a sec ! he smiles happily, as if he didn't just threaten you. I'm still a little disappointed, though. We could've learn together but I guess I can't condamn your eagerness.

You needed to get out of here, right now. He could do so much more than just kill you and that thought was terrifying. You were helpless, stuck at his mercy.

-I'm glad you saw the camera I put in your bathroom. Felt like a creep watching you showering. But when you saw it and didn't say anything, that mean you allowed me to do it. Thanks for that. It helped me on the loneliest night.

What the fuck ? You try to remember when you ever saw a damn camera when suddenly it click. Everything click. The thing you thought was a pencil in his pocket when you invited him over, it was your toothbrush. The red point in your mirror, it was him, too.

Every time you brushed your hair, every time youu showered, every time you just lived your damn life, he was here.

You felt like a fool. He had played with you all along. You never saw anything when it was so painfully evident.

-Though once again, you didn't have to bring him in.

He was watching you from the very beginning. There wasn't a moment where you have been alone. Were others cameras in your apartment ? Probably if he knows you made love to your boyfriend.

-Ethan, you start with a shaking voice. His head snap to you, visibly excited to finally hearing you talk to him. Ethan I loved my boyfriend.

-What ? he laughed. No, silly. You do not. I'm the one you love. I'll marry you and everything, you know that.

He was smiling but you knew it wasn't genuine. You needed to talk to him calmly or this could be dangerous for you.

-I don't know you Ethan. I can't love you.

-But you do know me, sweetheart. he smiles while putting your leg back on the ground. Can I give you an advice ? he whispers then lays his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing it. his eyes were empty of emotions while drilling into yours. You should really stop pushing me off because I'm starting to lose my fucking temper over here. Okay my love ? I'll go get you your food. I'm such a good househusband for you, right love ? You stay all pretty here, I'm coming back really quick."

With the unknow time he let you alone, you scanned your surrondings. All the tools could help you but they were too far away from you. You needed to change plan. At one point he'll have to go to sleep ? Or let you go to the bathroom ? As soon as he lets his guards down, you attack.

Ethan wasn't lying when he said he'd come back really quick as he was already here. He calmed down. Much better for you. He had a garnished plate in hand. He pushes his seat closer to you before smiling to you.

"It's gonna be fun. You'll be my beautfull wife whom I'd kill for. By the way have I told you about.. ? Wait, they haven't been discovered yet... Well, we don't care. Just a background character. he sits back down on his chair.

What ? Did he just told you he killed someone else ?

-Open your mouth, love. he says while taking a spoon full of pasta.

A spoon ? He probaby thinks you're gonna try to hurt him or yourself with a fork. He really think of you as a kid. He approaches the spoon near your mouth. You don't budge, staring at him dead in the eyes. you weren't even hungry. And if you were, you'd much rather die than to eat his food.

-Oh, I didn't even ask if you were hungry. Well, I'm putting that aside and when you need something you tell me. I won't leave your side anyway."

Him who was so nice and polite before, him who helped you with your homework. Him who killed your boyfriend, him who stalked and kidnapped you. Who was he ? Who was this man ? He sighs before your blank stare.

"Listen, I know you wanted to play that little game between us longer but he was turning violent, my love. I just... I couldn't stand to see you suffering with him. It was for your safety.

He stares at your thight on which he draws circle with his pointer. You don't even listen to the lies he tells you anymore. You're just trying to find a way out of here. Ethan sits on the ground next to you, his head now at the same level as your waist.

-He couldn't love you like I do. Nobody can. I'm going to take good care of you.

He lowers his head, his lips grazing against the clothe that separate him from the top of your thigh. You shudder. You feel his hot breath hitting your skin through the fabric. He lays his cheek flat against the fat of your thigh. He smiles. You want him to get away from you but any of your movement can angry him and you don't want that.

-I'll kill my dad after the plan, okay? So that he cannot oppose our union, our marriage.

Strangely, you wouldn't have thought someone like him had a father. Or any parent for that matter. His dad must be as fucked up as him, you're sure. You don't bother to try and understand him. A plan ? Yeah, good for him. You don't give a fuck. You just want to leave.

Though, he'd kill his dad ? He's even attacking his own family now ? Does this man have limits ? Your questionning must be visible from the outside as he laughs brightly at you.

-Why are you shocked pretty girl ? Didn't I show you how devoted I am to you ? he laughs again. And that's not even a quarter of what I'm ready to do for you.

His rub his nose against your skin covered thigh and sigh of contentement. Are you really stuck here ? No, no of course not. Someone is going to find you. Someone is going to find your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. He tried to warn you. You hate yourself for that. It's too late now. You can simply hope he didn't suffer a lot in his death. That's all you can do. Tears are coming again, the few leaft in you anyway. You're tired. Terribly tired. You'll probably pass out soon.

Ethan kiss your thigh after taking a good sniff out of you.

-I could do so much more for you, my love. So much more. You have no idea what I could to for you."

bread dough

quite like this.

request: Haii uhm for the ff7 requests ! I don’t know if you have played rebirth but since there are the golden saucer dates, i was maybe thinking you could do a reader x cloud having a date? Maybe the two have feelings for each other but they are completely oblivious that the feeling is mutual, and they both think their feelings aren’t reciprocated. Maybe the others know about this and so they make it as if to leave them alone during their time there, and you know it all goes from there? Obviously if you don’t like the request that’s alright! by: anonymous.

a/n: eeeeeeee second ff7 imagine :))) i planned to write for zack next tbh but i couldn't pass up this request. it's so cute!

tw: obviously spoilers for rebirth! don't read if you haven't gotten to chapter 12 of the game

pairing: cloud strife x f!reader

It was the most colour you’d ever seen in your life.

And everyone looked so happy.

You could barely contain the excitement bursting through your chest, eyes wandering across with the brightest smile plastered across your lips. You’re blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes watching you, lost in your own thoughts as your feet shuffle beneath you, antsy.

But not sure what you’re antsy for. Or what you want to do.

“Me and Aerith are gonna go look at the chocobo racing.”

Blinking, you’re pulled from your thoughts at the sound of Tifa. When you turn to look at her, she’s already looking at you, a warm smile on her lips as she gestures behind her to Aerith. 

You glance in the direction of the Chocobo racing and think that it could be fun. You’re overwhelmed with the amount of options at the Gold Saucer and you were happy as long as you were with your friends so you step towards them, lips parting to say you’ll join the two girls but then Aerith is grabbing Tifa’s wrist and the two girls are turning around before you even have the chance.

“We’ll see you later!”

Hand held out in front of you, you frown.

“I’m off too!” Yuffie calls in the next second, already shuffling backwards as she sends you a wink and a slap on Barret’s shoulder.

“Oh, but Yuffie–”

“I’m gonna try to get some rest,” Barret calls out gruffly, nudging Cloud who is standing beside you and sends you a nod. “I’ll be at the hotel.”

You blink, lips curved downwards and move to step towards him but he’s already turned his back to you.

“Me and the laddie are gonna look at the battle arena,” Cait calls out, perched on Red’s back as he tips his head at you. You meet his eyes before drifting down to Red’s who is staring up at you in return. “Red showed some interest, you see!”

“Thought I could take some notes,” Red nods at your questioning look. “We’ll see ya.”

And with a speed only Red seems to manage, the two are off before you can offer to join them.

Once they disappear from your sight, you slump back, a huff leaving your lips as you glance around, suddenly realizing that everyone except for Cloud had left, none of them giving you a single chance to ask if you could join them. Realistically, you’d expected to join Tifa and Aerith, but you would’ve had fun with any of your friends.

Well, you guessed Cloud was still here, but you’d imagined he wouldn’t necessarily want to go sightseeing with you; even if that reality hurt your heart in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Sighing, you turn to look at Cloud only to be surprised when his eyes are already on you.

“Did you have plans to?” Cloud asks, voice soft as he raises a brow in question.

Frowning, you shrug, turning away from Cloud to glance around you. “Not sure. Everyone ran off before I could ask to join them.”

“Well.”

And when Cloud doesn’t say anything else, you turn to him in curiosity, wondering if something was wrong, only to be surprised when you see he’d taken a step forward and his arm was held out towards you for you to grab. You blink, once, twice, eyes flickering from his outstretched arm back to his eyes that continue to stare at you in question, silently inviting you in a way you never would’ve expected.

“You want to?” You ask softly in return, feeling your cheeks warm as you lower your gaze, suddenly feeling a whole lot more bashful than you had seconds before. It was one thing to constantly feel Cloud’s presence beside you, a dominating aura that never left you in the way you loved.

He was always near, and it was hard to sometimes pull your gaze away. And the two of you had talked before, you felt that you actually got along well with the boy in the scheme of things given that the truth was he wasn’t all that chatty. But you’d never been alone with you. Not like this. And not in a place like this either.

A quick glance around you told you that you weren’t crazy for assuming this place felt more intimate. There were couples everywhere, holding hands, smiling at each other, kissing, in their own worlds with all the lights and chatter and the warmth of each other.

Being in a place like this, alone, with Cloud made your heart race in a way that made it hard to focus and the worst part was that he probably didn’t even realize it.

“If you want,” he answers gently, nodding, arm still held out towards you. “You looked disappointed that everyone else ran off. But… you don’t have to hang with me if you don’t–”

Feeling guilty you’d made him think you didn’t want to hang with him, and knowing that was quite literally the far opposite of the truth, you hastily shake your head, cutting off his words. You step forward, ignoring the lurch of your heart as you wrap your arm around his own, your hand falling against his bicep. You try to ignore how strong and toned his arm feels beneath your skin, and how instantly you feel a lot hotter than you had seconds ago, keeping your gaze strictly ahead of yourself.

You pray Cloud can’t feel how fast your heart is beating.

Cloud shuffles on his feet for a moment before he glances down at you; “where do you wanna go?”

-

You ended up wandering for a good while.

Nothing particularly caught either of your eyes but you didn’t mind. If you were being truthful, it was enough to just be able to spend this time with Cloud, alone.

Even if it didn’t feel the same to him, which you’re sure it didn’t. Even if this was just a courtesy he’d done for you because he’d seen how sad and pathetic you’d looked after everyone else had run off from you. It didn’t matter. Not at that moment. It was just enough for you then that you got to be with him, close to him like this.

“Do you wanna go on?”

It takes you a second to realize Cloud is speaking but you feel him shift and watch as he points before the both of you, your eyes following the point of his finger only to fall on the Skywheel. 

“Oh,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks grow warm. “Don’t we need tickets for that?”

You glance around, trying to find the ticket booth, secretly hoping there were even tickets left before Cloud speaks up again.

“No worries,” he calls and your eyes fall on him as he holds two tickets before you. At your wide expression, he lets out a tiny smile. “Tifa handed these to me before her and Aerith ran off.”

Your eyes widen and suddenly it clicks.

Clearly, Tifa and Aerith hadn’t purposely left you like you’d worried. This had all been a plan from the beginning! A plan because you’d told them of your feelings for Cloud when the two had cornered you for the truth. Tifa was hard enough to dodge on her own like you’d grown to learn over the past few years but with the added addition of Aerith, the two were like an unstoppable force and your confession had practically been pulled out of you.

Your chest tightens with worry.

Poor Cloud. Being wrapped up in those twos’ schemes… You’d hoped he maybe did want to hang with you after all, but it was probably more likely that Aerith and Tifa had forced him to take you on the date and had left him no choice when they’d run off.

Which meant the others were probably in on it too…

Oh, you were so going to kill them.

“I’m so sorry,” you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself. Your hand falls to your forehead, pulling away from Cloud’s arm and you miss the way he frowns at the loss of your touch. Brushing back your hair, you meet his eyes. “Tifa and Aerith forced you to spend time with me tonight, didn’t they? That’s why they gave you the tickets… I’m sorry, Cloud. I know you probably would’ve preferred to do your own–”

You're cut off but his hand on your arm, holding tightly enough to pull your attention on him. He’s stepped towards you, closed the distance between the both of you, close enough that his chest presses against your own. Your eyes widen when you realize how close he actually is, feeling your breath get caught in the back of your throat as you stare back at him with parted lips.

“No,” he calls out, the words rushed. “I wanted to spend time with you! I mean, yes… Tifa and Aerith gave me the tickets but they didn’t force me to. I was actually trying to find the way to ask you but I didn’t know how and they saw that so they… Well, um, helped, I guess.”

Cloud desperately avoids your gaze, cheeks warm in a way you’ve never quite seen before and he actually seems genuinely embarrassed as the both of you stand there for a moment longer. His words are still processing in your mind, lips left parted as you feel your heart start to race all over again and the warmth floods you tenfold as his words finally click.

Cloud… Cloud wanted to spend time with you.

“Oh,” you finally manage, glancing at your feet. “Well… me too. I-I mean, I, um, wanted to spend time with you too…”

Cloud’s lips part, and then the two of you are staring at each other.

“Last call for the Skywheel!”

Both of your eyes snap to the attendant standing at the ferris wheel, and with one final look at each other, you both step forward. Cloud hands the ticket to him and then a cart pulls up a second later. You step in first, sitting down and Cloud follows a moment later, and when you expect him to take the seat opposite of you, he instead chooses to sit next to you.

The door to the cart shuts and the attendant wishes you well before you feel yourself moving, slowly going higher and higher. Hands resting at your sides, you try to ignore the nerves bubbling through you, letting your eyes drift across the fireworks dancing across the sky, taking in all the colours.

Then, at first faintly, you feel Cloud’s left hand ghost across your right one. You feel yourself freeze, but you hesitate glancing at him, letting your fingers shift slightly in return, inviting him, and a second later he obliges when you feel his fingers thread through your own. You flip your palm, letting him press his own against yours and smile when you feel him squeeze.

Finally, you let your eyes fall on him and he’s already looking at you, expression soft, not guarded in the way it usually is, and you smile, just faintly, swallowing your nerves.

“Cloud,” you find yourself whispering.

He’s leaning forward, inch by inch, hand never leaving your own. “You’re… beautiful,” he whispers in return to his name and you blink, that flutter returning.

That was the last thing you expected Cloud to say. You never knew he could be so… romantic when he wanted to. But you can tell he means the words, his sincerity floods his tone and it makes your heart burst with the warmth of the feelings you’ve desperately tried to ignore.

His lips are a breath away and all it takes is one more hesitant glance at his eyes before you close the gap and press your lips against his. Cloud doesn’t hesitate to respond, the hand holding your own holding tight as his eyes flutter shut and his free hand falls to your waist, pulling you closer.

You lean into his touch with ease, feeling his warmth envelope you in a way it never quite has before.

And then, as he leans back, and you both pull away, his forehead rests against your own, and you breathe in his scent and his presence, relishing in the way it feels to have him so close.

“I like you,” you whisper in the silence, eyes still shut. “I… really like you.”

Clouds hand twitches against your side and he nudges you with his nose. “Me too,” he mumbles, “if that wasn’t obvious.”

You let out a laugh, letting your eyes flicker open as you pull back, hands still intertwined and shoulders still touching but enough that you can see his face properly. He’s smiling, just faintly, in a very Cloud way but it still touches your heart to see you’d been able to make him smile, and the lights of the fireworks dance across his pale skin and butterflies flutter through your stomach.

It’s exactly and nothing like how you’d dreamed this moment would be.

And you love every second of it because no one has ever quite looked at you the way he does in that moment.

stranger things fans after the illegal events of vol. 2

wild child, i want you.

playlist | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.