Having A Grocery List Filled With Fruits And Vegetables And Taking Your Trophy Husband Eddie Along Who

having a grocery list filled with fruits and vegetables and taking your trophy husband Eddie along who picks up every vegetable and says "is this *insert item on your list*?" and you just have to giggle and be like "no baby" and he pulls a "ah. i'm close though right?" signature smirk and cute little peck on the lips before he's onto the next display of veggies

Oh my god shut up shut up shut up. This is my fucking kink.

Eddie’s holding up an avocado and you’re like “babe we’re making Italian food tonight.”

“Does that makes a difference?” He asks, looking down at the unripe avocado in his hand. You smile at him so patiently that he laughs.

“Avocados are great with Mexican food…not so much for pasta. You know what, though? Grab some. We’ll make guacamole tomorrow.”

Eddie’s smile is so wide his face can barely contain it. He grabs a few avocados - but not before you explain how to pick out the perfect one, not too soft and not too hard - and gently places them in the cart. You move on to the next part of the produce section, trusty list in hand, but before you can select the perfect head of garlic Eddie’s arms are winding around your waist and his chin is resting in the dip of your shoulder.

“What is it, baby?” you ask, laughing at his tight grip. He places a fat, wet kiss on your cheek before speaking quietly in your ear.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Princess.”

The words send chills throughout your body. Chills that are 50% romantic and 50% deeply inappropriate for the current grocery store setting. You turn your head to do your best and look over your shoulder at him.

“You’re the one who takes care of me, Eddie.” You say it definitively and with a slowly spreading smile on your face. It makes Eddie’s knees feel weak, so he tightens his hold on you in order to stay grounded.

“So what you’re saying is we complete each other. Like some fairytale shit?” He leans down and drags his nose up the line of your cheek and you giggle, clutching onto him.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you agree, before planting a deep kiss right on his lips - a kiss that’s probably offending every grandmother and house wife perusing the produce beside you.

Eddie is the one to pull away first, chuckling when you try to put your tongue in his mouth. His fingers caress the skin exposed between the hem of your top and the upper edge of your pants.

“Okay, before I fuck you in this grocery store, please, for the love of god, tell me what’s next on the list.”

“Remember how I taught you to pick out onions?” You ask, rubbing a stray bit of your lipstick which has transferred to the corner of his mouth. Eddie straightens dramatically and with purpose.

“How many onions do you require, my lady?”

the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.

wc: 13.3k+

happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.

If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.

And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.

The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.

He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.

Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.

And then, there was Eddie.

Eddie fuckin’ Munson.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”

Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”

“Cut the pet names, Munson.”

You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.

Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.

Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.

And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.

You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.

“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”

You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.

“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”

You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.

It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.

That’s just how the friendship worked.

The friendship.

Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”

“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”

He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.

You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”

“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.

You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.

“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”

And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.

There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.

His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”

Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.

Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”

Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.

It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.

—

Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.

You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.

Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.

Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.

“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.

“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”

“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”

You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.

“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.

When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.

The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.

He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.

And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?

Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.

“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.

You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.

You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.

Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”

“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.

The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.

“You think I’m pretty?”

It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.

You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”

“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”

You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”

He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?

And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.

His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”

“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.

You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.

“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”

He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.

In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.

He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.

It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.

“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”

“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.

“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.

You should probably behave yourself.

“No.”

But this is more fun.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”

“No,” you confirm a second time.

And you’re done with this game of back and forth.

The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”

Damn right, you know about the hat rule.

You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Perfect.

You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.

“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”

And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.

You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.

Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.

You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.

When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.

Good.

—

The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.

Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.

You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.

Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.

Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.

Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.

“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”

“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”

Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?

He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.

“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”

Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.

Where the fuck is Eddie?

“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.

Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Fuck.

As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.

“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”

“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”

“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”

“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.

“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”

The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.

You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.

“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.

He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.

“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”

Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.

“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”

You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.

He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”

The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”

You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.

You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.

“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”

“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”

Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.

“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”

Over my dead body.

You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.

You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”

As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.

From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.

“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”

Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?

You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.

Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”

Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.

“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”

“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”

“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.

You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”

It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.

“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.

A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.

—

You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.

You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.

A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.

You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.

That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.

You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.

You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.

When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.

“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”

“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”

“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”

You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.

Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.

“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”

Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.

“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”

With that, you make your grand escape.

Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-

“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”

You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.

“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”

You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”

“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”

“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”

“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”

“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”

Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”

“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.

And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”

You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.

Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.

“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”

At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.

The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.

He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.

And fuck, you really want this.

“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Another ding, another buzz of your phone.

Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.

“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.

You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”

“And you remember the hat rule?”

Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”

“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”

His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.

You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.

“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.

In that case, that’s my pussy now.

You hope he ruins you.

In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.

Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.

Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.

Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.

Eddie simply fucking your brains out.

Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.

The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.

It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.

Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.

You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.

He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.

You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.

“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”

He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.

His thigh.

Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.

You’re looking straight ahead.

There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.

You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.

“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.

His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.

“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.

And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.

By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.

You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.

And then he flips the script.

You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.

Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.

Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.

“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”

As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.

You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Still playing games I see.”

In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.

When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?

You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.

He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.

“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.

“Never.”

You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.

But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.

You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.

The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”

You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.

“I-”

“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.

“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.

A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.

You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.

“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.

“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”

You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.

Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.

You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.

You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.

“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”

That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.

It sends your clit throbbing.

You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”

He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.

You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.

One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.

Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.

Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”

A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.

Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.

“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”

Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.

His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”

Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?

Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.

And - oh.

Oh.

That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.

You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.

He wants this. You want him.

“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.

His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.

“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”

Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.

You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.

“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.

“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”

A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.

But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.

Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.

He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.

“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.

You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.

You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.

His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.

“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”

He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.

The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.

“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”

His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.

“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”

When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.

“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”

“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”

Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.

“What?”

Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.

He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?

Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”

“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”

Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.

“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”

“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”

He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”

“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”

His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.

That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.

He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.

“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”

You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.

Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.

“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.”

You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.

He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.

You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.

You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.

“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”

“Take off the vest, Eddie.”

Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.

“And the boxers.”

You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.

The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.

He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.

Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.

“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”

He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.

He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.

Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.

Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.

You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.

The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.

You don’t answer him as you both moan out.

You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.

It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.

“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Nice. And. Slow.

Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.

“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”

His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.

“Do it like this, sweetheart.”

He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.

Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.

The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.

This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.

At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.

You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.

Just like a cowboy.

“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”

You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .

A hand on your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.

“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.

You nod.

“Tell me with your words,” he commands.

“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”

When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.

“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”

“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.

It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.

Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.

You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.

Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.

It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.

“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.

Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.

Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.

Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.

“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”

You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”

His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.

Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”

You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.

“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”

“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”

And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.

“Get on all fours for me, baby.”

Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.

When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.

You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.

A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.

You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-

“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”

“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”

You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.

Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.

“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.

He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.

“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”

And let him hear you, you do.

Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”

Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”

You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.

More, more, more.

There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.

Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.

You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.

Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.

You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.

You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.

He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.

The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.

You cum hard for him.

You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.

He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.

Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.

“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”

One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.

“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”

“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”

You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.

“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”

Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.

The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.

All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.

He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.

“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”

“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”

You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.

Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.

Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.

5K notes View Post

vitzi9

1 year ago

i want him to fuck me until HE can't walk

496 notes View Post

vitzi9

1 year ago

watching someone in your notes go through your entire catalogue of work

60K notes View Post

vitzi9

2 years ago

meadow afterglow

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: fluff everyone !! pro hero bakugou, gender neutral reader, reader is a florist and owns a flower shop, reader loves flowers/plants/nature, swearing ofc, brief violence (attempted assault on reader from some strangers), awkward katsuki hours incoming- he’s super whipped but helpless, i switch povs from bakugou to reader often, tiny bit of angst.. some misunderstanding—both bakugou and reader are idiots that can’t communicate

wc: 5.2k words

analysis: bakugou fucking hates flowers—they’re too fragrant, too cliché, too romantic. and yet, he finds himself always coming back to the same flower shop once his shift ends.

———

bakugou katsuki doesn’t like flowers. hates them, despises them—loathes them even! flowers just aren’t his thing.

when they came along with prizes (where he won first place of course), he’d always snort and throw them away in some trashcan once he could.

when kids back in his middle and high school days were brave enough to make a move on him, he’d send a spark from his palm and ultimately burn their flowers (and hopes) away.

he does the exact same thing to this day with his fans if they were perhaps lucky enough to encounter him during his patrols. (it looks bad when the press covers it obviously and that’s only one problem his pr team deals with.)

so yeah, in conclusion: bakugou isn’t particularly fond of flowers. it’s one of his many supposedly unpleasant traits—not that he really cares. now, he’s changed in these past years, truly, but he’s still maintained some of the roughness of his personality.

‘cause when you think of pro hero dynamight, number two on the hero charts (interchangeably with number one pro hero deku), you don’t think of flowers.

but… here he is. it’s just around thirty minutes past six in the evening, the ropes of dusk in the sky evident as the city prepares for nightlife. his shift had ended a while ago, but everyday, on the way home, he makes sure to stop by a small shop. a flower shop of all places. and bakugou katsuki hates flo- yeah, you get the point.

he doesn’t even know why he hesitates going entering the shop—he’s pretty damn sure you can spot him from outside. his visits are expected. the sound of the dainty bell ringing reaches his ears as he walks in.

“back so soon, dynamight?”

he grunts and turns his head away, sharply avoiding your gaze so you miss the squinting of his red eyes. you’re behind the counter as usual, fixing the arrangement of some daisies in their pots.

his cheeks burn but he’s lingering by the entrance, feigning his attention on the shelves decked with plants so you don’t see any blush. “yeah, yeah.. jus’ give me some damn flowers already,” he demands gruffly.

the sound of you briefly laughing has his head whipping back to you almost instantly. he catches the sight of you lightly shaking your head in amusement.

“anything like usual then, dynamight?”

fuck, he can’t help but wonder what his actual name would sound like off your tongue. it’s always been dynamight this, dynamight that—and while he certainly doesn’t mind, he just can’t help but wonder. when you tilt your head at him, he realizes he had been staring. he clears his throat. “yeah, whatever.”

finally, he walks toward the counter, moving around the small display tables topped with a pretty arrangement of succulents as you beam at him.

“alrighty then!” you clasp your head together, nodding for a bit. “i hope you don’t mind tulips then. we got a fresh new batch so they should just do fine!”

he nods in acknowledgement. “yeah, that’s fine f’me,” he huffs. and as you send him another smile and you dismiss yourself to the back to fetch said tulips, he can’t help but think about your first meeting.

it had been a week or two ago. a usual day of kicking ass was over and he was just on the way home until longtime friend kirishima eijiro called in a favor—he had practically begged bakugou to grab him some flowers for his date with mina since he was running late.

begrudgingly, katsuki had agreed, insisting only because the redhead was being so damn annoying. and so he pulled in to the first flower shop he saw—yours. he had stormed in and just demanded for a bouquet and the rest was history.

he found himself coming back even though he didn’t even need fucking flowers. (at first, he tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do. and then he convinces himself it’s just to ensure the safety of another civilian, since you close nearing nighttime and walk home. and then he can’t lie to himself anymore that he finds you a tad bit .. cute.)

when you return, he breaks out of his reminiscing and looks back to you, blinking expectantly. “here you go!” you chirp, presenting the tucked tulips in some wrapper.

he’s grabbing his wallet from his pocket with a huff. “right.” he can feel your gaze on him patiently and he almost fumbles with his hands. (how embarrassing—he’s done this so many times too.)

and when you exchange the amount of money for the flowers, the briefest of touches from your hands makes him stutter in his movements just subtly. once the flowers are with him, he can smell its scent and he wants to sneeze.

he brushes it off and raises a brow at you. he wants to say something, maybe tell how endearing it is to see how your name tag is lopsided on your shirt and your wrinkled work apron has some stains of dirt on it. but instead, he says- “go home, dumbass.”

he knows you’re used to his rather blunt comments and words, but he swears he can feel the tips of his ears burn with a scorch as you snort and giggle in amusement. “i could tell you the same thing, dynamight,” you say back.

the flowers shift in his hold and he eyes the counter for two seconds to regain himself as he clears his throat and scoffs. “i meant- it gets dark faster nowadays, ‘kay? go home.”

you salute him playfully. “of course. you know i don’t close up the shop until you leave. you’re my last customer, dynamight.” (he knows.) “drive safe!”

“mhm.” he grunts and decides to take his leave before he makes a fool of himself. you wave him goodbye enthusiastically as he exits your shop and gets back into his car.

and when he returns to his apartment, he places his tulips with the rest of the flowers safely.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

the morning is just creeping into the starting hours of noon—it gets a bit busier around this time with people in the city. peak business hour because sometimes, there’s always that one person who’s looking for some flowers or the perfect plant.

but right now, your shop is empty. the wafting scent of roses newly perched on the side counter fills the air but you don’t mind it as you sweep some fallen leaves from the floor.

you had turned on the small tv hooked up in the corner of the ceiling for some background noise, humming to yourself to pass time, but its current broadcast catches your attention.

“pro hero dynamight is on the scene of the ongoing shionosu bank robbery with the help of some sidekicks and-”

you abandon your sweeping to watch the small, short-lived clips of the robbery the news station has to offer, but seeing the familiar red-eyed blonde on screen has you feeling all fluttery.

you fingers tighten around the broomstick and you shake your head to yourself. you had somewhat gotten attached to the explosive hero throughout his daily visits—his honest and brash presentation may be off putting to others but you don’t mind. he’s like a literal explosion in your little life. you like to think that your plants enjoy his company.

besides, it’s sort of cute knowing that such an aggressive man had the time to stop by your shop nearly every single day to buy some flowers. and then you shake your head again—he was buying flowers, most likely for someone he was seeing.

you can still remember your first meeting with him like it was yesterday. man had strutted into your shop like he owned it and ordered you to give him some flowers. something along the lines of “oi! you still open? get me some shit for a date or something!” and that’s how it happened.

you wouldn’t change whatever this.. relationship you had with the pro hero for the world but it did hurt a little, knowing he was coming to your shop for your flowers only to give them to someone else. why else did he buy them?

the sound of his voice from the tv has you perking up and you’re quite embarrassed of yourself by the the effect he has on you, even on a damn screen.

“hah? just some fuckin’ d-list criminals who chose the wrong day to rob a bank,” he barks at the reporter, “you really think i couldn’t handle those shits?” of course, his words are poorly censored and you can’t help but laugh.

yeah, you’re okay with what you have. you’re happy that you can somewhat see another side of dynamight through your little exchanges.

the bell ringing then diverts your attention away from the tv and you politely greet an elderly lady walking in. you place aside the broom and head back behind the counter, content with knowing that you’ll see him later today.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou comes in during his usual time, casual clothes only slightly rumpled since he had been in a hurry to make sure to make it before you closed up the shop.

and there you are as always, behind the counter with a sweet smile. “good evening, dynamight!”

he sighs quietly, taking in the calm and scenery of your shop. it’s a welcomed contrast after the hectic events of today—annoying criminals thinking they could take him down and even more annoying reporters with nosy questions.

“hey.” he grunts, then asks curiously, “how was your day?” he decides to ignore how pleasant surprise flicks over your face by roaming through the shelves on the side.

“it was pretty good,” you hum in reply. there’s a pause and then you add, “i saw you on tv today. a robbery, huh?”

the realization that you saw him in action on screen makes his cheeks heat up for some reason but he plays it cool, peering at you from behind one of the shelves. “oh, yeah,” he chuffs, “impressed?”

you giggle to yourself, crossing your arms as you observe him. “impressed by how they somehow managed to censor you, that’s for sure.”

katsuki winces only subtly and rolls his eyes as he comes out from behind the shelving to approach the counter. “yeah, yeah. pretty sure my pr team is gonna try ‘n whoop my ass again for that.” he barks out a rough laugh. “as if they could.”

you tilt your head back as you laugh with him, and fuck, he thinks he can watch you laugh all day. it’s music to his ears. “right,” you snort, “they can try, huh?”

he straightens his shirt somewhat, noticing the obvious wrinkles on them. “oh, yeah. you watch me the whole time?” he’s teasing.

“you wish,” you banter back, now uncrossing your arms to drum your fingers on the table absentmindedly. “this woman came in for some flowers. she was so kind- i gave her some delphiniums!”

he tilts his head, brows furrowing. “delphi-what now?” he huffs, leaning against the counter as he watches you brighten up. (damn, are you cute. but he’s not gonna say that out loud.)

“delphiniums are pretty.” you sigh and then start to ramble, “i gave her some royal larkspurs. pretty easy to take care of at the start! they usually symbolize dignity and grace, amongst some other things like sincerity, dedication- oh, i’m talking too much, aren’t i?” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “you’re just here for some flowers, sorry. uh, just anything like usual?”

bakugou blinks and chuckles softly. “nah, don’ worry. like hearing you talk.” shit, did he really say that? he straightens his posture and clears his throat, trying to act all nonchalant. “and uh, actually- i’ll take the larkspurs or whatever.”

you gaze is wide before you nod with a bright smile. “larkspurs it is.”

later that night, he adds those beautiful arching flowers of blue with his growing collection, another reminder of you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

god, how bakugou hates commission meetings with a passion. what he hates even more is waiting for them to actually start. ‘cause that means he actually has to socialize with his fellow colleagues.

like fucking deku here.

most of the heroes are lingering around the long table, and here’s his childhood friend, rambling on with the familiar faces of half ‘n half bastard and round cheeks, and they’re entirely invested with his current dilemma. “i just don’t know what to get her! i’m overthinking this, right? just a simple gift or some flowers could do, right?”

ochako pats midoriya’s shoulder reassuringly, saying, “you shouldn’t worry about it too much, deku. i’m sure your mom would love anything you get her!”

deku shakes his head as he continues mumbling in thought. even after all these years, the nerd never lost some of his annoying traits, much to bakugou’s irritation. old habits die hard, he supposes. (however, when you ramble, he finds that he doesn’t want you to stop.)

some of the others are joining in on the conversation to pass time—there’s fucking both dunce face and soy sauce face and he’s pretty sure he’s one second away from blowing the shit out of all of ‘em. how the hell did he tolerate them in high school?

before icyhot can open his mouth and surely say something idiotic, bakugou groans and turns in his chair to face them, dragging a hand over his face. “oh, for the love of- can you shut your trap already? jus’ get her some larkspurs or some shit.”

fuckin’ nerd looks at him all curious and interested, and he’s got the attention of the others now as well. “larkspurs, kacchan?” deku questions.

“yeah,” he huffs, turning his gaze away. he recites their meaning he had learned from you instinctively, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto the table.

denki then speaks up, “woah, kacchan. since when were you a flower expert?” the electric hero grins and leans forward and the others are obviously interested too.

“fuck off!” katsuki snaps roughly, “i ain’t no expert on some damn flowers. hate those fuckin’ things.”

he grumbles when the others laugh and continue to tease him whilst deku thanks him profusely. yeah—he’s still a damn nerd.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

it’s another day of business. still midday, with the sun taking its place in the high in the sky. the afternoons aren’t as hot anymore, and you know you should start to move some of the display plants outside back inside but you’ll get to that later.

a lovely couple had left earlier with their desired flowers for their upcoming wedding and you had happily aided them. once they had left, you decided to take a small break, slouching on the counter.

you can’t help but let your thoughts drift back to a certain blonde. judging how he really didn’t care what flowers he got—other than the time he had asked for the larkspurs—you guessed his partner really didn’t mind the type of flowers they received either.

and as if your thoughts had summoned him, the bell rings and the door opens to reveal the man plaguing your mind, fully decked out in his hero costume.

“d-dynamight?” you yelp in surprise, immediately fixing your posture as you stare at him. he only comes at the end of the day, after his work is over and yours is nearly done—what the hell is he doing here? in the afternoon?

“ya busy?” bakugou grunts, making his way in without any further words.

he looks so out of place here—brandished armor and heavy duty boots sounding heavy on the floor. you’re pretty sure he almost knocked over the shelves with how big his gauntlets are. he looks made for battle but here he is, standing expectantly, surrounded by flowers and plants.

“um- um, no?” you then shake your head. “what’re you doing here? not that i mind! it’s just.. you’ve never come in the middle of the day before! what if someone sees you?”

he makes sure his grenadier bracers don’t actually knock down your hard work of arrangements, looking to you. “s’why i’m gonna be quick, idiot. can’t come later tonight so ‘m here now.”

“o-oh! of course.” you rush around the counter to pick something simple to offer to him, since he doesn’t seem to care again on what he’ll receive. you’re aware of his eyes following you as you grab some false indigos for a bundle.

“stay safe out there, dynamight,” you bid him, holding out the flowers for him to take. “i’ll see you some other time then?” you hate how hopeful you sound.

his red irises linger on you for a couple of seconds before he nods and pays up. “yeah, you will. you stay safe, idiot.“

his words make you feel warm—with the false indigos now with him, you simply smile. you won’t tell him that they symbolize protection; maybe he can learn that another day.

(later on, you see a media outlight that reads PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH FLOWERS… HAS HE FOUND A PARTNER? and you hate how the title makes your stomach churn with jealousy—but seeing your flowers tucked delicately in his arms is worth it.)

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou actually doesn’t get to see you for a couple of days. there had been a change in his schedule and he had been assigned for some overnight shifts along with some other heroes in another district due to the rise of criminal activity there.

but he’s back now, thankfully, and he’s antsy to see you after all this time. (mind you, it’s only been three or four days. smitten, he is, for the attractive florist that supplies him with flowers even though he claims he hates them. on a side note, he hopes his assistant had taken good care of the false indigos he had placed in his office.)

so as he drives down the familiar street, katsuki can’t help but wonder if you still wait for him so you can close the shop. it has been a while since his last appearance that one early afternoon, so even though he wouldn’t be surprised that you don’t, he couldn’t lie and say he’d be a bit disappointed.

but as he pulls in into the parking lot, he’s furious.

you had just closed the shop, not even a few feet away from the door as a gang of looming strangers crowd in towards you, all hunched and shady as you match their stares warily.

katsuki isn’t sure he’s moved faster than he has in his life—he’s scrambling out of the car to help you when you manage to land a sucker punch square into one of the asshole’s jaws. with your flank exposed, another one lunges for you and you scream.

“you fucker!” he snarls and he reaches you in record time, the one you had already knocked to the side being met with an accurately aimed kick to the gut from his boot before he sends an explosion that has the remaining three flying.

when bakugou sees that none of them are making an effort to get up, he slips out of his offensive stance and immediately turns to you in concern, eyes roaming for any injuries. “are you hurt? did they touch you?” he demands, brows furrowed. “i’m-”

he falters when you simply stare at him in awe. the silence between you two is deafening and he doesn’t know how to interpret it. he starts, worried, “hey, are you-”

you arms wrapping him around has him inhaling sharply. his arms linger, unsure of what to do but he accepts your embrace delicately. “thank you, dynamight,” you murmur after a moment, still holding him.

he breathes softly, and he’s all quiet when he speaks again. “..it’s bakugou to you,” he tells you gruffly, “got it?”

his words have caught you by surprise—he knows it by the way your eyes widen when you pull back to look at him. he meets your stare readily.

“thank you, bakugou,” you say gently, and his gaze softens. (hearing his name roll off your tongue is something he can get used to, he decides.)

he then chuckles, all fond. “remind me not to get you mad. that punch looked nasty.”

you laugh genuinely, and katsuki can’t help but think about how much he missed hearing it.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou drives you home every night from then on.

you had no problem before, as your apartment building isn’t that far off, perhaps a fifteen minute walk, pushing ten if you jogged a little, and that was something you could manage. until the incident a couple weeks ago.

you definitely feel safer with him escorting you, even when you did protest that he didn’t have to waste his time driving to your shop, waiting for you to close and then dropping you off at your apartment—but he insisted. like, almost put you in a headlock if your dumbass didn’t listen insisted. (he still buys flowers every time too.)

and as giddy as it made you to spend more time with the pro hero, the reminder that he was supposedly taken was enough for you to know your limits. he’s simply doing his job—protecting people, s’all.

but in moments like this, you think you can selfishly enjoy yourself.

he’s blasting his music—some sort of punk rock that you can’t deny is pretty catchy—with his newly acquired lilacs resting on the center console for him to take home. it’s a bit silly, hearing such vulgar lyrics in the background as the petals of the magenta flowers shake slightly.

“you’ll enjoy your new home with bakugou, won’t you?” you coo at the plant, brushing your fingers over it tenderly. “he’ll take good care of you, i’m sure.”

bakugou’s got one hand on the wheel and he casts you an amused glance. as the car approaches a red light, he turns down the music and snorts. “are you seriously talking to the fuckin’ flowers?”

you lightly glare at him, a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips. “it helps them grow when you talk to ‘em nicely!”

“oh, yeah?” he raises a brow, snorting again—but he’s got an amused smirk on his face now as he focuses back on driving. “i’ll keep that in mind then, idiot.”

you sneak subtle side glances at him the rest of the ride, admiring his beauty—so close yet so far.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

this is so fucking stupid, bakugou thinks. he should be buying flowers for you, not from you—or whatever couples do nowadays to please their partners. but here he is, back again. even if he is your drive home, this weird tradition of buying your flowers he had gotten accustomed is getting old. he just hopes you’re getting the hint that he’s not exactly here for the flowers.

katsuki doesn’t even bother announcing himself when he doesn’t see you behind the counter—you’re probably somewhere in the back tidying up some final things so you can leave, so he starts looking for something to buy already.

“hey, got anything new f’me to buy?” he calls out then, and he hears some rustling from the back room. he figures he might help you out so without much thought, he saunters around the counter, following the noise of your muffled movements.

your voice rings out, “yeah, i do! just lemme-” way closer than before and just as he enters the doorway of the backroom, you appear—walking right into him.

now, obviously he’s a wall. lean and fine muscle make up his body—and you crash into him, yelping when you stumble back in surprise.

bakugou’s reflexes are quick and he manages to catch you in time—his arm dips low and braces the small of your back before you can fall over. “fuckin’ idiot,” he huffs out, “be careful.”

“hey!” you cry out in protest, “you’re the one who was standing there! for someone so loud, you sure are stealthy.”

“ah? i can be plenty fucking stealthy!” he argues, voice booming against the walls and proving your point.

you giggle at that—and that’s when katsuki realizes you’re both so fucking close. he can see the shape of your lips and the way your eyes gleam in the lighting from above. he freezes.

you seem to realize it too, falling silent for a couple of heartbeats. bakugou clears his throat and lets you go. “alright, brat. gonna give me my flowers so we can fuckin’ leave already?”

he thinks he sees your shoulders relax and fall down before you nod and brush past him. “yeah, of course.”

he scoffs and follows you, wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

you twiddle with some ribbons laced around some pottery, trying to redo some decorations on them since you can spare some time.

bakugou had come in a little early for you to close up, so he waiting for you to finish, casually leaning on the counter as he observes the store. okay, well- you’re not exactly sure what he’s doing, since he’s probably memorized the entire layout of your small area of the building by now because of how many times he’s been here.

you’re humming idly to yourself, the tv flicked on to some music ambience channel to full in the quiet air anytime bakugou isn’t striking up a conversation. he’s been silent for a while now.

“what’s a person’s ideal date?”

you nearly drop a vase. obviously, the question surprises you. it should, you think, since this is a pro hero who’s been coming to your flower shop for over a month or two now, supposedly getting flowers for his significant other—even if he does linger around longer than he should and drives you home—and he’s asking you on what someone’s ideal date is? this.. doesn’t make any sense.

“well...” you begin reluctantly, unsure of where this is leading, and even more unsure on how to actually answer. “it depends on the person, bakugou.”

the blonde simply clicks his tongue and his eyes meet yours.

“okay then. what’s your ideal date?”

just when you think he can’t surprise you any further, he does. you’re pretty sure you eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as you set the vase aside so you don’t actually drop it. “huh?”

“you heard me, dumbass,” katsuki scoffs with a roll of his eyes and you want to disappear into the floor. “what’s your ideal date?”

your throat suddenly feels dry. “i’m, uh, not the best person to ask for romantic advice, bakugou,” you warn, trying to be all teasing as you laugh anxiously. you do not want to help him plan out a date—you’d rather throw yourself into the sun.

“‘m serious, brat,” bakugou grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at you. you can’t read him, usually you can’t, but his eyes are warm. “tell me.”

you continue fiddling with some ribbons as you glance away to contemplate. “well.. a- a picnic date would be nice. with some of my favorite foods, maybe. it’d probably be out in some meadow. just.. a nice, open meadow where you can see flowers for miles.” you sigh dreamily.

it’s quiet again and then you glance back to him, stammering, “but- but that’s just my preference! i dunno if the person you’re seeing would like that ‘n stuff. everyone’s different, y’know?”

suddenly he’s got his confused scowl on his face, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. oh god, did you offend him in some way? say something awful? what if you-

“hah?” bakugou snaps, voice colored in disbelief, “who the hell said i was seeing someone?”

what? now it’s your turn to be utterly confused, and you stare at him with wide eyes. “you’re not- you’re not seeing someone? dating someone?” you inquire, puzzled.

“no, dumbass!” he barks out, “i’m not- where the fuck did you get that idea from?”

you blink once, twice. “you!” you cry out, saying, “when you came in here for the very first time, you asked me to get you flowers for a date!”

bakugou’s eyes widen and then he’s taking steps towards you. “not a date for me, dumbass! my friend asked me to get him flowers for his date!”

you mind spins with the new information but you’re still so confused, still in denial—you shake your head. “but- but.. why else would you come in for flowers every single day?”

“because i wanted to see you!”

oh. the confession has your cheeks heating up. so… the blonde you’ve been harboring a massive crush on is, in fact, not seeing anyone, and is coming in every day to your flower shop to buy your flowers because he wants to see you?

bakugou stares at you, eyes all wide as if he can’t believe what he had just said aloud. his words are echoing in your head and you laugh a little. “you.. aren’t here for the flowers?” you say softly.

his gaze is all warm as he relaxes, and you can see the faint pink tingeing his cheeks. “no,” he confesses in a grumble, “..‘m here for you and your stupid dumbass.”

you laugh again, and he finally reaches you. his fingers twitch and slowly, you take his hands in yours. they feel a little warm, clumsy like he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers before they tighten around yours. “we really are idiots, huh?” when he glares at you softly, you add, “i like you too. just so you know.”

his blush is visible and oh so pretty now, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your words. and then he snorts, “good, ‘cus i’m gonna need some help takin’ care of all the stupid fuckin’ flowers at my apartment. it’s practically a shop now too.”

as he pulls you into a crushing hug, you burst into a fit of giggles.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“you forgot to water this one, you idiot!” katsuki calls from the corner of your shop, grumbling at some of the drooping crotons you brought in recently. “where the fuck did you put the watering can?”

you point to the counter, too occupied with fixing the succulents. “should be somewhere on the floor over there, suki,” you tell him. and as you watch him snatch the watering can and storm back over to the plants in need, you grin to yourself.

“thanks, katsuki,” you hum as you stand back up, “you’re a big help, y’know?”

he scoffs. “yeah, yeah.” as he tilts the watering can to spray the plants, he continues in a hushed voice. “what you would ‘lil fuckers do without me, ah?”

your heart does a flip. a month or so ago, you wouldn’t believe it if someone had told you that the pro hero dynamight would be in your shop taking care of your plants as he talks to them. but you know, you also wouldn’t have believed it if they had told you he’d be your boyfriend.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

and katsuki eventually does take you out on that ideal date once it gets warmer. a dainty picnic lunch with your favorite foods that he made from scratch in his very own kitchen in a heavenly meadow surrounded by flowers all around.

and it’s there, when he kisses you, that bakugou katsuki realizes that he doesn’t hate flowers. especially since he has the most gorgeous flower of them all—you.

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vitzi9

1 year ago

its baffling seeing people on here being all shocked about how other ppl didnt have sex or do drugs or drink or go to parties etc etc in high schools like. sorry i was too busy getting bullied to do all of that stuff i guess. why are you surprised that there’s losers on the cringe loser website

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vitzi9

3 years ago

After Seeing More And More Blogs Follow My Mutuals And I Without An Age In Their Pinned Post Or Bio,

after seeing more and more blogs follow my mutuals and i without an age in their pinned post or bio, this felt necessary to make. as nsfw content creators, it is important that we uphold these standards (to keep minors safe, especially!)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒

stay vigilant against minors following you and do not encourage those under 18 to interact with your nsfw fics!!! if there is no age in their bio, block them <3 remember that you will not be held liable if the person were to lie about their age and then accuse you of sharing/talking about inappropriate material with them.

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒

the following links explain the long-term outcomes of early exposure to pornography and mature content. take a look and see what you’re getting yourself into:

how pornography affects young people

the effects of early exposure to sexual content

early sexualization and pornography exposure

how pornography harms minors

just like visual porn, the way sex is represented in stories can be unrealistic. if you read these kind of fics, it may give you a distorted view of what sex and relationships are like. reading explicit smut can become addictive too, so it's detrimental for you to reflect on whether it's affecting your life.

𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒

at the end of the day, you are minors. it doesn’t matter if you think you’re mature or not. warnings are established for a reason. nsfw writers on this site are uncomfortable with minors interacting with them + talking sexual. want to know why? it’s mf weird.

also, even if reading smut doesn’t hurt you, it's dangerous and gross for you and an adult to interact with each other around nsfw. please abide by these rules: our works will be here when you are 18+!

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vitzi9

2 years ago

me pulling eddie’s fine ass back up into the portal after he cuts the rope just so he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for a town that hates him

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vitzi9

1 month ago

No One But You

Male Yandere x Reader

Still trying to keep a low profile, you are once again out in the city. Just one random face in a sea of strangers. But by now, you've learned that it's wise not to dismiss what feels like "just being paranoid". Someone is following you, and you're starting to miss your weird internet stranger...

Parts: [ 1 / 2 / x ]

[content warning for depicted violence and mentions of violence/murder and sexual situations, not for readers under 18]

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

It’d been a long time since he’d lost control like that.

Staring at the drain, he silently watched the water circle it. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever killed someone if it wasn’t to sleep. It felt… different.

He’d killed someone just because he was mad.

Because he hated them.

Because they got in the way of you.

And…

He would do it again.

He’d had the thought to himself that the reason he wanted you with him, wanted you at all, was so that he could sleep. That the intense need he felt was some baser instinct of his to help control the things he couldn’t, to make his life easier.

But now that you were gone, killing didn’t seem as… effective as it used to be.

The voices were already creeping back in, and he felt exhausted. And even with the blood of his former employer still all over the motel bathroom, sleep felt just as out of reach.

Had he built up some kind of resistance to his old band-aid solution?

Now, it looked like you were the only thing that would work, maybe… Or was this something else entirely?

Maybe…

He just needed you.

The heat of you next to him in the night. The stillness of his thoughts as he studied every detail of your face. The steady rhythm of your breathing as you held him close.

The beat of his heart under his hand as he steadied himself against the shower wall.

His other hand creeping down his chest, he closed his eyes as the uncomfortably hot water ran down the same path. The steam was becoming a bit suffocating, but it felt amazing on his sore muscles.

His breath caught in his throat when it was your hand replacing his own, drifting over his stomach, the sensation soothing his nerves after overextending himself.

It was you.

Calming the voices.

Consoling him.

Praising him.

Calling him yours.

Your lips grazing his jaw as your hand trailed down, your fingers ghosting over his skin.

He choked out a gasp as you whispered in his ear, your fingers wrapping around him.

You told him he looked so cute, all flustered, Colin gasping and panting as you bit his neck.

“Don’t… “ He cried out, biting his lip. “Don’t st… stoooop…”

A soft chuckle was all he could hear, his own moans and whimpers drowned out by the tinny hiss of the shower head.

It was all too much… You were talking to him the whole time, telling him exactly what he needed to hear to feel just a little bit more. More more more… He needed something, something else… It was right there. He just had to… had to-

You told him to let go, to give in to you. He chased after that feeling, his nails digging into his shoulder. You…

You were everything to him. He wanted… He wanted you. It wasn’t enough, but it was too much. Too much…

“Yes…” He moaned, muffled as he pressed his mouth to his shoulder, feeling so damn overwhelmed. “Please please please PLEASE-!!”

A strangled, choked sob escaped his throat, it felt like his whole body was in spasms, and he wished you were there to hold onto. He wished it was your shoulder he was biting instead.

“F-fuuuuck” He mumbled around his own skin. “I can’t… it won’t stop…”

His legs trembled and almost buckled under him, his hips bucking into a painfully empty space where you should’ve been, not just his hand. Panting hard, blood dribbled from his mouth onto his chest, circling the drain alongside everything else.

“Fuck…” he panted, his wet hair clinging to his face.

He felt like it’d been a long time since he’d done that. He wondered to himself if it’d always felt that intense…

Or was it because of you?

The water was getting cold. Maybe it had been for a bit. He couldn’t remember.

His thighs burned, but it felt… nice. So much warmer and almost… comforting compared to the burn he felt after a kill. He let the water roll over him for another minute or so to cool him down.

You were gone. You’d been gone that whole time, but the you that he’d seen, that he’d felt… they were gone now too. He stared at his own hands, wishing yours would come to him again.

You were… changing something inside him. He’d been so empty for the longest time, something about you-everything about you was filling him up, making him into something new.

He was thinking a bit more clearly lately. Just enough to… remember how to be a person again. Or at least… enough of a person to realize he needed to calm down. To get his head on straight long enough to figure out a few things.

. . .

“Yeah…” he sighed, pulling back the curtain. The floor, the sink, the mirror… Everything was still covered in blood. “There’s still so much to do…”

. . .

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve cleaned up…” he sighed, grabbing a towel for himself. “I know how to get rid of this. I need my tools…”

. . .

“There won’t be anything left when they come back.” He squeezed his eyes tight in frustration. “They won’t see. I wouldn’t scare them like that…”

There was a lot to do. But something stuck out to him.

“I guess I lost my job.” He hummed to himself. But spying what was left of his boss, he had an idea.

Being a small part of the motel’s business, he knew enough to keep things running, to keep up standing reservations with big regulars and creeps.

And given the kind of customers the boss catered to, it wouldn’t be… unthinkable that he’d crossed the wrong people and those same people were the new management of the place, the most hostile of all hostile takeovers.

And, if they just so happened to imply that the old boss was hiking up the rates and a bit too loose-lipped to the wrong people, which in fairness, he was… They probably wouldn’t mind staying again, if promises were made.

Of course, all new staff would be employed. No one left from the old regime. New cleaners, new front desk guy, so Ryan had to be let go. Same way his boss was, as far as they would know.

He would have to be a few new people, behind the scenes. But the money would all be his now, and with the right words to the right people, the real him would still go unnoticed. He could take just enough bookings to get by, plus it would lessen the chances of getting found out.

Chris could just not show up to his shift at the bar, and eventually they’d just assume he wasn’t coming back. He had too much to do here.

After all, the money would go a long way towards finding you.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

The money you’d gotten had been some relief to your situation. The last few days had been… okay.

You’d used some of it to get a gym membership in cash and under a fake name. It was a cheap, reliable way to get a regular shower and a locker to store some of your stuff that was too risky . The money would also go a long way at a few different cheap hostels for about a month or so. You could afford some cheap food and the occasional trip to a laundromat, the one downtown with the broken cameras, but all of it was just a temporary fix.

You still had to hide like a scared animal. Your old life was so far away now, it almost seemed like a completely different reality. There was no looking for a permanent place, no job search, no trying to figure out what you would do long term. Though that was probably the smartest thing to do, it just… wasn’t really possible then.

Anyone you spoke to could be the person that would later realize who you were and who was looking for you and then it would all be over. So you never walked the same route anywhere, and you never stayed anywhere more than an hour, all the while watching doorways and jumping at every sound.

You didn’t used to be so jumpy.

Back when things were normal.

You tried not to let your mind wander often, because if you did, it usually went back to the same place.

The small motel room.

The safe and secure feeling.

The warmth of him against you.

The sound of him mumbling in his sleep.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to tell yourself it was for the best. You would’ve had to leave eventually. That you couldn’t stay in one place for too long.

No matter how safe and hidden away you felt you’d been.

No matter how much you maybe kind of regretted leaving.

No matter how much you missed him.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

It wasn’t long until things started to seem off.

First, it was this instinctual fear, the cold, panicked feeling of someone looking at you from somewhere you couldn’t see.

In the past, you would’ve just dismissed it as feeling anxious. But lately, being paranoid had been your saving grace as of late.

A few days later, some of your things in the gym locker seemed just slightly out of place, just enough to set off alarm bells.

Not long after that while walking to your hostel, you noticed footsteps behind you. Alert to their presence but not initially suspicious, you slowed your pace just a bit. Sure enough, the unseen stranger down the sidewalk slowed, their steps falling in line with yours. Another test, your pace a tiny bit faster, and suddenly it was obvious someone was following you.

Quickly cutting through an alley at random, you circled back a few blocks and headed in a completely new direction, successfully shaking your tail.

You canceled your stay through your phone, booking another on the other side of town and taking only side streets to get there. You didn’t know who had been behind you, but you didn’t get to sleep that night, your mind racing with the worst possibility.

If it had been some random mugger or worse, it would almost be a relief. But you couldn’t help but suspect the obvious.

That someone had found you.

In the voices and noises of the city streets, you could swear you heard your name. No one was calling out to you, it was more of a hushed whisper, like someone was noting where you were or telling someone else about you. It was so faint you almost wondered if you imagined it. But that wasn’t the way to think when you were actively hiding yourself away.

Little things kept piling up, and you were more on edge than ever. But there wasn’t much you could do about it other than try to stay hidden.

Every time you had to go out into the city, it was agonizing. You were no longer just scared, you were tired.

Tired of always having your guard up. Tired of lying awake at night, wondering if tomorrow would be the last day you’d be able to hide. Tired of all of it.

You didn’t deserve any of it, you didn’t do anything wrong…

But you still were being made to suffer like you were, and you didn’t know how much longer you could do it.

You were leaning against the side of a beaten-up food truck downtown, waiting on your order. No cameras, no names, cash only, and you couldn’t get cornered. A quick getaway was easier here than if you’d gone indoors somewhere with exits that could get blocked.

But it meant that the cold air was beginning to bite at your fingertips. It wouldn’t be too long until you were warming them up with your order as you walked back to your room for the night. Your breath would have to do for now, wispy puffs of it slipping from between your fingers and up into the air. It was a quiet moment where you could just breathe.

But it didn’t last for long.

“I knew it.”

Your first instinct was to run. You practically threw yourself off the side of the truck when your frantic gaze finally found where the voice had come from.

But you froze, your voice caught in your throat.

It was Colin.

“I thought that was you.” he seemed so relieved, like he’d been so… worried?

And there was that smile you couldn’t stop thinking about, and you could feel that same familiar warmth in your chest, despite the cold.

But you felt stuck. How was he here? In a city with millions of people in it, what were the chances that the two of you would run into each other again?

“It’s good to see you.” He stood in place, maybe seeing how nervous you seemed. “Are you… good?”

You didn’t know how to answer him. You wanted to talk with him, maybe just to be near him again, maybe just to hear his voice. But it wasn’t safe out in the open. You didn’t know who exactly was after you, or what they wanted with you, but that meant you also didn’t know if they would hurt Colin if they saw you with him.

He took your silence for what it was.

“Hey, are you free? Can we talk?” He asked, looking hopeful.

A beat, then you nodded. But you told him it couldn’t happen right then. You checked your phone, asking him if you could meet him in an hour.

“Okay!” He quickly agreed, not even trying to hide his nervous smile. “Where should we meet?”

Just to be safe, not to say it out loud, you told him to meet you where the two of you’d first met, your “special place”. He grinned, saying the phrase to himself under his breath as started to walk off.

He froze, thinking something over, before stepping back to you quickly and taking your hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

“Promise you’ll come?” You’d never seen what could almost be called “puppy dog eyes” on a grown man before, but they were practically pleading with you as he held your hand.

It was cheesy, but your heart raced. You hoped he didn’t notice you trying to avoid eye contact.

You agreed, and though he seemed reluctant to let go, eventually he did, and you watched him slip away into the crowd.

A few minutes later, the food truck vendor called your number, and normally you weren’t one to eat on the move, but you felt like you needed to get moving.

It was a bit of a trek to the motel, and you took a lot of side streets jut in case, but there weren’t a lot of places in the city where you knew you wouldn’t be spotted. And a lot of the public transportation had cameras, so walking was really your only option nowadays. But you also just… wanted to go back there again. Once you finally got there, it all just felt…

Right.

You’d been so on edge the last few weeks, you never really felt safe anywhere. Every new room or building was just a place you could exist. But here, you felt like you knew what everything meant. Like it was all going to be okay.

And you knew it was because of him.

Just like that first night, he answered the door, but he was almost like a different person.

He was still kind of a mess, but there was something in his eyes. He looked less… lost. Kinder. Much less nervous. But the way he looked at you had changed the most.

You weren’t afraid of him, or what he might do. Not anymore.

“I didn’t know you were coming, so this is all I have…” He handed you a mug, the little pod coffee machine having just finished up.

You smiled, telling him it was okay. The coffee was wonderful after you’d been out in the cold. He was making a cup for himself now, trying to choose between the little pod flavors.

The machine whirred away as it made his coffee, he looked like he was trying to say something, but it seemed like he finally tried because as he stirred in a bit of sugar, he let it out.

“I… I really missed you.” He muttered, maybe hoping you wouldn’t hear him. But he perked up with this bright, dumbstruck look when you finally said that you’d missed him too.

“You did?” He seemed genuinely surprised, like he would’ve never expected you to say that in a million years. “That… that makes me kinda happy, won’t lie…”

A minute of somewhat awkward silence as he finished preparing his coffee, you still sipping away at yours with a comfortable smile behind the mug where he couldn’t see. It had been a bit since you’d been able to smile like this.

“How, uh… How are you holdin’ up these days?” he asked, plopping down next to you.

The almost automatic, small talk response of “Fine” nearly slipped past your lips, but even the thought of saying it felt so… upsetting? Wrong? Like you didn’t want to lie to him.

Colin seemed to pick up on the change, because his face clouded with worry. Setting his coffee down, his hand crept towards yours, hesitation, then his fingers brushed yours. Despite yourself, despite all your uncertainty, you laced your fingers with his.

Everything just kept spilling out of you. You finally told him about everything. How you’d just been a normal person living a normal life and then it all changed in an instant. How you’d been out on the streets for a long while, how you were hiding from someone-or maybe a few someones, you weren’t sure-who wanted to hurt you? Or track you down, at the very least. There was so much you still didn’t know.

And how you just couldn’t keep it up. How every day felt worse than the last and it was just so hard to keep going, or… to keep finding a reason to at all.

Suddenly, you were pulled against him, pressed into his chest as he held you close to him. A pang of guilt in your gut, you hadn’t meant to dump that particular feeling onto him. But, when you’d reflexively tried to apologize, you couldn’t even finish the word “sorry” before he held on tighter, shaking his head.

He held you for a long while. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have fallen asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, and you could see the appeal now. When you finally pulled back, you’d calmed down a bit. With him so close, you really got a good look.

It was impossible not to notice the state of him. His disheveled, greasy hair and the slump to his posture, the horribly tired look in his eyes. The dark circles were just as bad as the day the two of you’d met.

You asked him.

Did he not find someone else?

“Someone else?” he asked. He seemed confused.

Someone else to sleep beside, after you were gone.

His palm held your cheek so gently. His hands were a tiny bit cold, but you found that you didn’t mind.

“I didn’t look,” he sighed. “Ever since you left, I’ve just been… surviving.”

That same pang of guilt hit you. Did he really not? Or was he just trying to seem…

Loyal? Committed? But why?

“I was really hoping I’d see you again.” His hand left you, and you hated how you wished it wouldn’t. “You just left without saying goodbye.”

Some part of you was still trying to push him away, telling yourself that you didn’t owe him a goodbye. That it wasn’t your fault if he had felt…

Disappointed? Empty? Maybe even a bit abandoned…

It felt both wrong and cheap when you offered a simple apology, when you told him you didn’t know if you could do it when he was there. But…

“But you had to move on.” he offered, a tired smirk silently telling you he understood. Or at least you hoped. “I was kind of worried though… Your note made it sound like you were in some kinda trouble…which I guess was true.”

The note that you’d rewritten so many times that day, you’d been worried you’d run out of time before Colin got back that day. It had so briefly explained your situation, and what you thought he needed, and maybe deserved, to know.

Colin,

I have to leave, and you’re reading this, so I’m already gone, I hope.

It’s not safe for me to stay in one place for too long.

I want to, but I can’t stay.

I felt safe here, with you. You don’t know how much that meant to me these days.

I know you’ll find someone to help you sleep, but it can’t be me anymore.

Thank you for helping me,

And when you’d been about to sign your name at the bottom, you’d worried, maybe needlessly, that it would leave a sign of where you’d been. If the wrong person could see it, Colin could get caught in the middle of all this.

But it felt wrong not to.

So you did.

It was just a simple thing meant to be a simple goodbye, to make leaving him seem easier. But it hadn’t gotten any easier.

Colin seemed uneasy with how quiet you were being. He seemed to be searching for what to say, but he was getting… sidetracked.

You noticed his eyes kept darting down, then sharply meeting your gaze with a few flustered blinks, like he was trying so hard not to be obvious.

He was watching your lips. And when your eyes lowered with an amused grin, you swore he blushed all the way to his chest.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. You… You just, well, more like I just got uh…”

You offered one word: Distracted? And he squeezed his eyes shut in a panic, lips pressed in a thin line as he dragged a hand down his face.

You didn’t know where it was coming from, but you boldly asked him:

Do I distract you?

“Yes.”

You froze, wondering if you’d heard him right. His eyes were avoiding yours, but his words were more direct than you’d ever heard from him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you…” He muttered behind his hand, still looking away. “ I never stopped.”

It was such an uncharacteristically forward thing for him to say that for a moment, you just froze. While you were still processing it, he kept going.

“I’ve lost so much of myself. I barely knew who I was anymore. But with you…” His breath was shaky, and he was idly tugging at a loose thread in the bedspread. “With you, I can feel myself becoming… a person again.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he still wasn’t finished.

“If you leave, everything… it’ll all go back.” he muttered. “Back to what it was, who I would be… I… I don’t want to go back to that. You’re the only thing keeping me here.”

You questioned: Here?, your eyes darting to the room around the two of you.

“No!” He sounded pained, dipping his head in exasperation, looking so worn down. “No… no, here. Here.”

He held his head in his hand, breathing heavier.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been here, really fully here, w-without anything creeping in.” The room was so eerily, suffocatingly quiet apart from his forced words. “If I go back there now, it’ll be so much harder to find my way back. Here. To you.”

You weren’t sure you really understood the panic in his words, but if you being here really was helping him, even a bit…

Taking his hand in yours, your thumb grazed the back of his hand as you figured out what to say.

“I need you…” he whispered, looking almost ashamed of himself.

You told him the same. You needed him. And that was the truth.

His eyes were wide, and then it was your turn to avoid him looking at you.

And… more than that…

You felt your face getting hot, but you pressed on and said it.

More than that, you wanted him.

You felt his hand on your cheek, and his lips swiftly pressed to yours.

It was intense and sudden, but it was true. You wanted him. Grabbing his shirt, you pulled him closer, softly moaning against his lips.

“I want you… It’s been so long… since I wanted anyone… Anything.” he gasped between each kiss.

Somehow, you knew what he meant. Running for so long, wanting someone… something, was practically a luxury. You had to focus on what you needed, what would keep you alive and safe.

But Colin…

Needing him was easy.

You wanted every bit of him.

He pulled back, just enough to pepper your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your shoulder with those same desperate kisses.

“Stay…” he pleaded, pressing himself close to you. “Please… stay with me. It hurts…”

He held your hand to his chest, and you could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His head dropped to your shoulder, the heat of his breath on your neck.

“It hurts when you’re not with me… When you disappeared, it felt like my heart got ripped out. Everything was so… numb.”

He kissed at your neck, pressing in further when you scrunched up at the sensation.

“I won’t let you go again.” He muttered into your skin, his teeth grazing it as he panted. “Stay with me… here.”

His lips on yours again, his hand crept to your thigh. Hesitant. Waiting for some sign of your discomfort or rejection.

But it never came.

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him with you as you leaned back. He pulled back, still panting, his eyes searching your face.

You told him to stop worrying. That you weren’t going anywhere.

And that was all he needed.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

“Are you up?” A soft voice called to you, the light of the new morning spilling into the room through the blinds.

Half-awake, you pressed yourself against his chest, tucking yourself further into the arms wrapped around you.

You stirred at the laugh he couldn't help but let out, a deep rumble in his chest under your head. Running his fingers through your hair, you seemed to settle at his touch, sighing softly against him. He wondered if you were really asleep or just being stubborn.

“You’re holdin’ on tight… such a cuddlebug… Bug. My lil’ lovebug.” he muttered to himself, a hand rubbed soft, little circles in the small of your back. “… It’s hard to believe you’re actually mine, bug. All mine…”

He kissed the top of your head, and you smiled a little bit in your sleep. He had to bite his free hand to keep it under control, to keep it from touching you like he had that night. He missed your noises, the face you made when he kept getting you so close and then slowing down again, hearing you beg and plead for something you were too wound up to really put into words.

He hoped you would stay here with him this time.

He wanted you to be his, but he… he wasn’t sure he wanted to force you. Not yet at least.

He’d already crossed a line he couldn’t come back from. And he was going to keep that to himself. If you ever found out…

You’d been so hard to find.

He’d spent weeks putting out feelers for you. Looking around places to get cheap, warm food and a bed for the night. You stayed away from places with a lot of cameras and anywhere you had to be I.D.’d, so you weren’t gonna get found like that.

Using his new management persona, he’d asked around the bigger crime folks the old boss was associated with if anyone was trying to find you.

And eventually, it all paid off.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

A few days earlier…

In an “office” downtown, which was really more of a crappy apartment above a seedy massage parlor, Colin met a man.

His business associates called him “The P.I.”. Whispers in the wrong circles said that this was the guy you hired when you wanted to find someone, but couldn’t risk a paper trail. He wasn’t cheap, and he was willing to get his hands dirty, but he usually got the job done. And discreetly at that. It helped that he wasn’t a real private investigator. Just some asshole who could get shit done.

“Now we can discuss things properly.” Colin sighed, wiping his knife on his jacket lining.

“I noticed you following them, and it was just too easy to follow you back.” He laughed. “And some contacts of mine said that you advertise yourself as a P.I., but really you’re a killer…”

But The P.I. didn’t respond. Or rather, he couldn’t.

“Now, I dunno your side of the story. Maybe you’re just some hired gun protecting your boss by tying up some loose ends. Maybe it’s person? Maybe you loved them and they rejected you, do you have a hard time takin’ no for an answer, my guy? Maybe someone else loved them and used you to get them back, whether they want to or not.”

He walked around to the back of the man, gasping on the floor, clutching at his neck.

“Hell, maybe you’re like me. Maybe you just want to kill. Maybe the thought of their blood between their fingers is the only thing that makes you feel alive. Part of me can understand that. Maybe…”

He groaned, crouching down.

“Maybe maybe maybe maybe…” Colin muttered, shaking his head. Dragging a hand down his face, skin tugging down with it, somehow soothed his tired eyes. “Too many unknowns, too many fuckin’ variables here. I’m done, ya know? With you gone, my little bug’ll feel safe. That’s all I give a shit about.”

The man’s eyes were darting around, like he was still trying to find a way out of this alive.

“Now… maybe- god, there’s that fuckin’ word again… But you might have friends, out there somewhere. They might want to get revenge, or finish what you started, for whatever the reason. So, nothing personal. But I think I’ll just…”

A sudden stab to the man’s gut, and a wet, gurgled scream somehow managed to escape.

“Yeah, I think I’ll use you to… send a message.”

. . .

He usually wasn’t one for theatrics in his kills. No fuss, no muss. They usually just “disappeared”. He had no impulsive, childish desires to play with them or open them up to see what made them tick.

You wouldn’t know it, looking at his handiwork here.

He made a mess. Nothing too dark, like a weirdo art project to taunt whoever would find him and care. But enough to say that whoever had hired him shouldn’t have.

He found a “file” on you, if you could even call it that. Photos, habits, ways to find you, names you might go by… How you were meant to be killed. Someone had hired that man. He sighed, not remorseful, but almost annoyed. He’d gotten a lot of… joy? Something like that, out of imagining he was killing a former lover of yours or another stalker, competition either way.

But, this also (annoyingly) meant that this wasn’t over.

A pause. His thoughts raced as he put the pieces together.

This meant…

This meant that you still needed him.

He’d come here with the intention of keeping you safe, he knew that. He’d considered not telling you he’d come here, or what he’d done, so you’d stay scared. Uneasy. Dependent.

So you’d stay with him. Lie next to him at night, hold him, be held by him.

But now, he wouldn’t need to lie…

Maybe…

Maybe… you’d even love him.

He smiled, biting his lip, your face the only thing he could picture. He’d never felt so… light. So… happy? Like the thought of you made him so detached from everything else in the world, tethered by you to everything he was or would ever be. You were everything.

This was love. It had to be.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Someone was looking for you. The details were under wraps, but someone out there was desperate to find you, and he knew that they wanted you dead.

And they had a rough idea of where you were.

He needed you. He wanted you. And once he knew why you were so closed off, why you’d built up those walls, he’d had an idea.

He would keep his eyes on you and anyone else after you, and steer them in the wrong direction. No one else was going to touch you.

So making you a little more afraid would leave you no option but to come back to him.

You needed someone to trust. And he needed you to trust him.

In the time you’d left him, whenever he’d see you freeze in your tracks on the street, trying not to let on how scared you were at whatever you did or didn’t really hear, his chest ached. He wanted to be with you, holding your hand, letting you know he was yours, that you’d be okay. But he couldn’t, back then.

Not until he was sure you were his. For good.

And he’d done it! He’d led you back to him. You were lying against him and he could feel your body heat, listen to the sound of your breathing, watch the rise and fall of your chest. And just as he'd felt before, he felt his muscles relax, his eyes felt heavy... You were here. And everything was exactly as it should be.

“You’re mine, Bug.” He kissed the top of your head, holding you in his arms. “I’m never lettin' you go again…”

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

this took FOREVER lol

it just kept gettin longer and longer, and then i kept having to go back and re-read my own writing to make everything at all coherent D:

but it's done! more Colin writing could happen, but this is the end of the "main" story. i will take writing suggestions/requests for Colin and his Bug, if only to get the creative juices flowing again

the nsft scene at the beginning is as explicit as im gonna get without like a sperate nsfw account i can verify ages on lol, i don't write a lot of straight up smut, and i like that kind of writing when things are more alluded to rather than relying on over-describing everything with words that make my little ace brain feel fried 😐 (it's not that bad lol, but i know some of y'all ain't 18, and trying to purge/verify 1000+ people sounds exhausting)

followers/reader who asked to be tagged, i remembered y'all :3 :

@lost-in-the-night-skiess @unabridgedjournalsofaloser @iamapotatoe @fem-dom-roze @caged-birdies-blog @fandangoballs @ameliachastain @ssak-i @thigh-o-saur @sharkcravingcables @btsgangleader @httpsgiaiko @satoru2716 @greatwitchsongsinger

(hopefully that's everybody)

im pretty sure this is all well and edited, but knowing me i'll re-read it again and find a typo or an unfinished sentence and fix it.

until next time ✌️

-minty

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