I Bring You A Whipped Drummer!Yuji Drabble

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 | 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | even though you can’t afford to break rules, you manage to with your own asset, the nerdy genius that created the zephyr. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | simon feck (knight and day, 2010) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | smut— handjob, loss of virginity, sub!simon, slight dom!reader, mommy kink 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | WHY IS THERE NO CONTENT FOR OUR NERDY BABY SIMON IM MAD ANYWAY HAVE THIS | follow @cremebruhleewrites to be notified when i post a new story!

You had one objective for the night, only one thing that Roy had told you to do: keep an eye on Simon. Make sure he stays in the hotel room. He could do whatever he wanted, but he needed to stay there. It was similar to how Roy was supposed to watch June; “Just make sure he stays safe,” Roy had told you. 

You stood next to Roy as he explained to Simon the situation, and as he gave the younger man a pin that said Hall & Oates. Wherever Roy had procured that pin in Salzburg, Austria was beyond you, but your boss and trainer often seemed to do impossible things. He had only briefly told you about Simon— how he was the genius who created the Zephyr, how he was just out of high school and smarter than any scientist employed by the government today. 

You had expected a scrawny, lanky kid that had nothing going for him. Instead, you met Simon Feck. Six feet tall, ginger hair hanging at his shoulders, wire glasses perched on a pert nose, with the most pathetic excuse for a mustache and goatee you had ever seen on a man. Simon had been quick to try to rectify some of the information that Roy had given you. “I’m 21,” he told you on the train, over the sound of the hydraulics pumping. “I don’t know why Roy said I was just out of high school. And I’m not as smart as he says. I-I did come up with the battery, that wasn’t a lie, but I’m not Einstein or whatever.”

On the train, you and Simon had gotten along. He had a small iPod stashed in his pocket and, once he was finished with gawking and admiring the train and speaking to the conductor in clipped German, you sat with him and, sharing his earbuds, listened to music with him. He was funny when a song he liked would come on, he’d bob his head and mouth the words, and it made you smile. Then, as always, June’s presence seemed to fuck everything up, and suddenly your own presence made sense. Roy was the muscle, and you secured the asset. 

But the hotel was calm, and there wasn’t a lot to do. Sitting in Simon’s room wasn’t very eventful; he sat on one end, reading and listening to his iPod (Hall & Oates, no doubt), and you sat at the other end, trying to watch television but actually watching him. It was dull, truth be told, and you sighed. You had left a little space between you and Simon, just in case he didn’t like you sitting too close, and he looked up from his book. His cheeks were just a little pink, almost like he had been outside and gotten a little sunburn, and he said, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you told him. “Don’t worry about me. What’re you listening to?” 

Simon grappled with his book to retrieve his iPod, and he clicked the screen on. “Hall & Oates,” he said simply. 

“I figured as much,” you giggled, reaching out and playing with the pin on his shirt. “What song?”

Simon smiled softly as he looked down at where you were messing with his shirt, and he said, “Do you like Hall & Oates?” 

“Not as much as you do,” you told him, and you let your hand drop off and into your own lap. “But I know the big songs. Maneater, Rich Girl, Out of Touch, you know.” 

“You’re Making My Dreams Come True,” Simon told you. “I-It’s one of my favorites.” 

“That’s a good one,” you said, and you folded your legs up underneath yourself as you got comfortable. “Do you like all 80s music, or just Hall & Oates?” 

“Just Hall & Oates,” Simon chuckled. “Since high school. I’d be in my little lab, working on the Zephyr, listening only to them. It makes me feel safe, y’know? My mom listened to them a lot.” 

“I get that,” you told him. “I’m the same way with Elton John. It’s just comforting to me.” 

Simon nodded, and he pulled out one of his earbuds and offered it to you. Just like on the train, you moved close to him to listen, but something felt weird. It didn’t feel like the train anymore. Maybe because you were alone now, the energy felt different. Your thigh touched his with the proximity, and you watched his hand come down onto your thigh gently, almost as if he didn’t realize what he had done. That was the final straw for you, and you whispered, “Hey, Si?” 

Simon looked at you, silently prompting you to speak, and you pulled the earbud out hastily. You couldn’t. Roy could sleep with June all he wanted because he was Roy and he operated under a different code than you did. You could not do that with Simon. The heat in the bottom of your stomach betrayed you, though, and you couldn’t help but sigh. “I need to go,” you mumbled, but, before you could properly get up to leave, Simon grabbed your hand. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. “You were fine a second ago.” 

“Yeah, I was,” you started. You couldn’t tell him that you had to leave because he turned you on. The smell of his soap was enough to trigger it, and you stepped back, away from him. “I-It’s not you, Si, I just, paperwork, y’know? Government entities run on paperwork.” 

Simon watched you with his big eyes, examining you, and he said, “I did something wrong.”

“No!” you told him quickly. “Simon, you did nothing wrong, believe me. Please don’t think you did. This has nothing to do with you.” 

“Is it because I touched your leg?” Simon asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you said quickly. You sighed, your chest heaving with it, and you looked at the door, where you had last seen Roy before he left. “Okay, it kinda was that, but not how you think it is. I… Simon, you’re just really attractive, y’know that?”

He looked surprised to hear you say that, his eyes widening and his eyebrows raising, and he shook his head quickly. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbled, and you sat back down, squeezing his hand.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Simon, c’mon. Your big green eyes and your smile, you’re just so cute. I kinda… My heart races when I see you.”

“Really?” Simon asked. He looked down at his lap, and, mumbling, he added, “People in high school used to…”

You frowned. “I’m sorry, Simon,” you told him gently. “That sucks. People kinda suck in general. I was teased a lot in high school too.” 

“Most people have their first kiss by 17,” Simon told you, and he pushed up his glasses. He seemed to have a habit of fiddling with his glasses whenever he was nervous. “And here I am, I’m 21, and I doubt it when a girl calls me pretty. It’s just… It sucks so bad, being hurt like that, y’know?”

“I know,” you told him. “I’m sorry, that really does suck a lot. I-I wasn’t teased like that, but… Fuck them. You’re better than they’ll ever be, okay? You’re a bigger man than them.”

“A bigger man,” Simon repeated. “That all means so much, thank you. But I can’t help but feel just so inadequate. You know what I mean? It feels like nobody wants me, and that shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. It hurts really bad.”

You shrugged, squeezing his hand again. “”I think you’re handsome, Simon,” you told him. “I think you’re adorable, actually.”

“You’re just saying that,” Simon said, and you watched a flush come over his cheeks, accentuating the tiny freckles he had on his face.

“I promise I’m not,” you said quickly. “In fact, I’d really like it if I could kiss you… Can I?”

“You…” Simon began, his flush glowing deeper in his cheeks. “I’ve never—”

“I know, baby,” you told him. You gently smoothed his wild hair out of his face, and you watched his bottom lip tremble in anticipation. “That’s why I asked.”

Simon readjusted his weight on the sofa, and he shyly mumbled, “I… I really like when you call me that.” 

“What?” you asked. “Baby?” Simon nodded, and you smiled sweetly at him. You had figured that he was a virgin, but his blush made it all the more obvious that he hadn’t ever felt the touch of a woman. “Aw, you’re cute. Can I kiss you, baby?” 

Simon nodded quickly, his shy nature keeping him quiet and mellow, and you quickly moved closer to him. Your thighs touched again, and his hand landed on your leg once more, and that fire returned to your belly. It was stronger than before, now knowing everything you did about Simon, and suddenly a different fire emerged. You wanted to ruin this poor man. You wanted to help him explore and discover himself. You needed to. You carefully leaned into him and touched his burning cheek, and you gently pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth. You heard his beautiful gasp as his breath caught in his throat, and he whimpered, actually whimpered at you. “Please…” he whispered. 

“Please what, baby?” you asked. “Use your words.” 

Simon seemed flustered, and you almost worried that you had taken things one step too far, but he finally sighed, almost lovingly simple and soft. “Please kiss me,” he whimpered. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but oblige his begging, and you finally pressed your mouth to his. He was soft, and he sighed as you kissed him, and it made your heart melt. Your hand on his cheek titled his head a little so you could better kiss him, and Simon made a soft sound as he finally kissed back. It was obvious he didn’t really know what he was doing, but his inexperience was cute. His hands twitched next to his body, and you smiled into the kiss before breaking it. “You can touch me, if you want,” you told him. 

“O-Okay,” Simon said, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Umm, actually, can we… Can we stop?”

Your heart sank, and you quickly shifted away from him. “Of course,” you told him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Simon told you. “I-I just…” 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Are you okay?” 

Simon swallowed thickly, and he mumbled, “I-I’m just…” He paused and his blush grew deep, creeping into his ears and neck, and he added, “I-It’ll go away in a minute, I’m sorry.”

“What will go away?” you asked. “Si, if you don’t want to kiss me, that’s okay.”

“No, I do!” Simon groaned. “Y-You just can’t make fun of me, alright?” 

“I would never,” you told him, and Simon wordlessly took your hand and settled it on his pants. It took you a moment to understand what he meant, but then you felt him through his jeans. “Oh, Si. Are you hard?” 

“I-I said it’ll go away in a minute,” Simon stammered.

You chewed your lip for a moment as you thought. You definitely wanted to be able to help him, and he seemed like he would be open to the idea. “I could help you,” you offered. “If you’d like that?”

“Help me?” Simon echoed. “Y-You’d want to touch me?”

“Yes, of course,” you told him. “You’ve masturbated and stuff before, right?” Simon nodded, adjusting his glasses again, and you leaned forward and kissed him again. “Have you ever cum?”

“No,” Simon told you. "I could never make myself..."

“Oh, my poor baby,” you said gently, kissing him once more. “I’ll help you cum, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” Simon said, choking out his answer through a thick throat. “Yes, please, t-touch me.”

You took his hand and led him from the sofa over the large hotel bed, and you sat down first, kicking off your shoes and taking off your trousers and shirt. You figured he would be greedy for the feel of your skin, and you pulled him close to you and kissed him. You edged a little closer to him, pressing your chest to his, and you took his hands and settled them on your hips. “If you want me to stop, just tell me,” you said, and Simon nodded. “I’m gonna lay back and you’re gonna put your back on my chest, okay?”

His skin was warm against yours as he settled himself between your legs, and you took care to remove his glasses from his thin nose and set them on the table next to the bed. You softly blew on your hands, trying to warm them up for him, and you lightly reached around and touched his chest. Despite your gentle and slow movements, he still jumped, and you shushed him softly. “I know, baby,” you whispered. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” Simon said, his voice a little higher than before. “Please don’t.” 

“I won’t,” you told him. Your fingers itched in his shirt, tugging it up a little high to expose the happy trail of thin hairs on his belly, leading down to where his hard cock strained at his jeans. Carefully, you helped him tug his shirt over his head, and you kissed the side of his face as you discarded his shirt. He was incredibly thin, his chest pale with just the sparsest hair speckling his skin, and you gently smoothed your hand down his chest to his jeans. He sighed heavily, almost like he was comforting himself, and you kissed the side of his head again. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you whispered, and Simon shook his head quickly. 

“I want to,” he said. “I-I’m just nervous.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’ll be good to you.” You were quick to undo his jeans, and you snaked your hand inside his pants and down past his boxers to feel the burning skin of his cock, so impossibly hard. You sweetly kissed the side of his face as you withdrew your hand, and you pushed at his pants, trying to move them as far down as you could.

Simon got the message, thankfully, and he shoved his pants down his legs, kicking them off hastily. He seemed eager, and it eased you to know that he did really want this. Your hand lifted to his cheek, and you turned his head to look at you as you sealed your lips together again. Simon moaned softly, deep in his chest, and his hands lifted as he turned slightly to face you better. You expected him to go for your face, just how your hands were, but he quickly pawed at your tits instead. 

“C-Can I?” Simon asked, and you smiled. 

“Yes, baby, you can,” you told him, and Simon turned fully around and settled himself just above your tits, and his fingers worked to push your bra down. You went to help him, but he did it fully by himself, and his mouth attached to your nipple in an instant. You gasped in shock, but you still writhed beneath him when he sucked hard. “Oh my God, Si…Yes, baby, just like that. Do you still want me to touch you?” 

Simon grunted softly, nodding as he sucked at you, and you licked your palm before lowering your hand down to his cock again. This time, you wrapped your hand fully around him and slowly started to stroke him, and Simon’s mouth faltered around your nipple as he moaned.

“Good boy,” you whispered, smoothing his hair out of his face. Each stroke of his cock made Simon moan and buck his hips up into your fist, and you loved seeing the flush in his cheeks draw down onto his chest. “Here, baby, turn around,” you told him, and Simon gave a high whine when you tried to pull him away from your tits. “I know, baby, but I’ll be able to touch you easier if you turn around.” 

You almost didn’t hear what your baby said in response, something muffled against your tit, and you smirked when you finally understood it. “Say that again, baby,” you told him. “Because it sounded like you called me Mommy.” 

“M’sorry,” Simon said quickly. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, baby, don’t worry,” you told him quickly. “I liked it. Call me that again.” 

Simon nodded quickly, and you swiped your thumb across the sensitive head of his cock to elicit a sound from him. Thankfully, he did as you wanted, and his words came in a mumble as he keened back against you: “Mommy, please…” 

“I will, sweet boy,” you told him, kissing his cheek. “Stop squirming, baby, let Mommy touch you all nice.” Your hand quickened on his cock, moving just a little faster, and Simon’s head fell back onto your shoulder as he moaned again. His hands were twitching by his sides, obviously wanting to touch you somehow, and your free hand reached down to take his. Your poor boy already looked close to cumming, what with the way that his hips bucked up to meet your hand with every stroke you gave him, and you squeezed his hand. “Are you getting close, baby?” 

“Yes,” Simon whined. “A-Are you gonna—”

“Just warn me before you cum, baby,” you told him, soothing whatever anxiety he had, and Simon nodded quickly. “You’re being so good for Mommy, such a good boy…” 

“This,” Simon started, and he moaned as your thumb smoothed over the head of his cock again. “Th-This isn’t how I thought this night would go.” 

“Me too, honey,” you told him. “But I like the way it’s turning out, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Simon laughed, and you let go of his hand to turn his face so that you could kiss him. His mouth was warm, already used to the feel of yours, and, as he kissed you, you could feel his cock twitch in your hand. “Mommy,” he mumbled. “I-I think I’m gonna cum.” 

“That’s it,” you told him. “Turn around, baby, I’ll let you suck my tits while you cum.” 

“Can I…” Simon began as he hastily turned back around to face you, his eyes zeroing in on your tits. “Can I cum on them?” 

You smiled at his boldness to even ask, and you reached behind yourself to undo your bra, and you tossed it across the room. “Be my guest, baby,” you told him, and you dragged him down into a kiss. He was open for you, your tongue pushing into his mouth in an instant, and he moaned into you as his own hand started on himself. 

“I’ve done this plenty,” Simon chuckled as he broke the kiss, and you giggled at him. “Never thought I’d do it with a pretty girl, especially one who saved my life earlier.” 

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” you told him, and Simon smiled as one of his ginger waves fell into his eyes. “Your hair just won’t stay back, will it? Got a mind of its own.”

“You should see it in the morning,” Simon told you. “It’s all flat and it’s everywhere, it’s not good.”

“Maybe I will,” you said, and Simon’s eyes all but sparkled as he took in your words. 

“Y-You’ll stay?” he asked, and you nodded. He huffed out a pant as he neared his finish, and he said, “Cool. I’d like that.” 

“Good,” you said. “You gonna cum, baby?”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “And you promise you’re okay with…?”

“Yes, baby,” you told him, and you dragged him down into another kiss. “Please, Simon, I want it.” 

“A-And what would that be?” Simon asked, and you laughed. 

“Trying to be a little dominant,” you mused, and the blush in Simon’s cheeks grew deeper as he laughed with you. “Alright, we can try that.”

“Use your words,” Simon said, more of a caricature of dominance than actuality. “What do you want?”

The way that the same words had previously come out of your mouth made you laugh, and Simon smiled. “Cum on my tits, Simon. Please, baby, that’s all I want.”

“Good,” Simon mumbled, and his fist worked faster, hurrying to cum. “I-I’m… Fuck.” 

“Oh, you’re cursing now?” you laughed. “What happened to my sweet boy?” 

“Call me that again,” Simon said, his voice high with a whine, and you watched his legs and thighs jerk as he grew closer and closer. 

“My boy,” you told him. “Are you my boy, baby?” 

“Wanna be your boy,” Simon mumbled. “Wanna be your boy so bad.”

“You can be my boy,” you said. “If Roy gets to be with June, we can be together.” Fuck your code, you decided. If Roy could do it and not receive repercussions, then you could too.

“Yeah,” Simon whispered. “Oh, fuck, Mommy…” With one more tug on his cock, Simon’s mouth fell open and his eyes squeezed shut as he came. His cum spurted out in thick ribbons, landing on your chest, and the flush in his cheeks grew deeper still as he moaned. His breathing hitched in his chest as he gave you his release, and he finally fell down on top of you, exhausted and spent. You couldn’t help but smile in his mess of hair, and you kissed his temple. 

“Good boy,” you told him. “You’re my best boy, Si.” 

“Thank you, Mommy.” 

You were thankful that you and Simon were quick to shower and redress because, not even an hour later, Roy came into the room unannounced. Simon had fallen asleep in bed after his shower, wearing just his boxers and little white wife pleaser, and you had settled yourself back on the sofa, where everything started. 

“Anything eventful happen while I was gone?” Roy asked.

You shrugged, looking from the television to where Simon slept. “Nothing,” you told him. 

“What did you do?” Roy asked, sitting next to you. 

“Oh, you know,” you started, and laughed. “We fucked.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you’re making fun of me, I see it,” he said. 

Then, from across the room, you heard the high whine of your best boy, and your body froze as he spoke: “Come back to bed, Mommy, m’cold.” 

Youth - Chapter 2

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

You take care of Eddie when he's sick.

Text below!

Chapter 1 here.

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

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

“(Y/N)!? Where have you been!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not my -”

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

Your mother simply smiles and nods her head.

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

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

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

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

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

He grins at this, wobbly and lopsided:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I still get soup?”

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

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

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

He looks from the spoon to you, nervously. 

“Everything alright?”

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

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

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

“... you. Too cold.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmm,” he says while shaking his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to get out yet?”

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

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

“I got it,” he confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

“... please?” 

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

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

“Desk,” he grunts.

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

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

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

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

“Nothing?”

“Nothin’.”

“If you say so…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You gonna come back?”

“Just need to get the soup reheated.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he nods, opening his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

Definitivamente estos dos juntos serían lo más adorables ♡ + shitpost

Not the shoulder pat in a date 💀

I wouldn't mind holding your hand. I guess.

13 from creativepromptsforwriting's Grumpy Affectionate Dialogue list.

Cloud Strife x reader Fluff

--

"So, how'd it go?" Tifa asks the second you've walked through the door - it hadn't even closed properly behind you yet. Had she been waiting to pounce? "We don't say hello now?" You raise an eyebrow, shrugging off your jacket. You’d been dreading her interrogation - it had been a sleepless night.

"Hello.” She grins. “How'd it go?" She puts her hands down on the counter and leans forward as you approach.

"Fine." You shrug, going to lift up the latch to join her behind the bar, but Tifa is quick – shifting so she’s now leaning on top of it, blocking your entrance.

“You pay me to work here, remember?”

“And do you see any customers? Anyway, this is important. I don’t think you understand how rare it is to go on a date with Cloud Strife. Spill!”

You sigh, sitting down heavily on the stool. Really, you should’ve known that the brunette would be keen to hear every single detail…

You’d started working at Seventh Heaven nearly four months ago now. Before Meteor, you’d worked in Wall Market as a cocktail waitress, doing bar tricks to earn tips off a bunch of Shira employees. It was just by chance you’d been walking by when Tifa had put up the help wanted sign in the window. The two of you had got on immediately and your skills honed behind the bar meant you could really start straightaway. The first time you’d seen Cloud walk in, you were immediately attracted to him - the blue eyes, blonde hair, the muscular, toned arms on display... Who wouldn’t be? He, however, seemed very indifferent to you, though Tifa disagreed. “He’s shy. He likes you - I promise."

It felt odd at first when she deemed herself a matchmaker – Cloud and her shared an apartment, with two kids – Denzel and Marlene – she assured you they were strictly platonic and she’d love to see him without a scowl on his face. Apparently he was always interested when you were working, especially if you were on a closing shift. Now everyone was based in Edge, all sorts frequented the bar. You’d experienced the same in Wall Market and weren’t afraid to cut people off but it was nice to have some sort of muscle around in case anyone became a little out of line. You thought it was Tifa’s doing, as Cloud would always offer up his services on the nights you were responsible for closing, even walking you home afterwards. When you’d thank him, he’d shrug, saying not to think anything of it.

He was chivalrous, you’d reasoned, trying not to get your hopes up there was something more to it, until two nights ago when he’d lingered at the point he’d usually head off when you’d unlocked your front door.

“Wait.” You span round on your heels at the sound of his voice, surprised that he’d gone off routine. “Erm, would you… Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night? With me.”

“With you?” You’re stunned.

“Forget I said-“

“No, I’d love to.” You interrupted, worried you’d blown it.

“Okay. Great. Er, I’ll text you.” And Cloud had then strode off into the night before you could say another word.

He’d texted - you assumed he’d got your number off Tifa from her string of texts the next morning - saying he’d pick you up from yours at 7, that he’d got a table at a restaurant nearby. You’d walked past it a few times but never been, and it seemed a popular spot for first dates - intimate, yet not overly fancy. He’d arrived promptly, saying you looked "nice" and that’s where things had gone a little downhill. There was nothing that happened to really distinguish this as a date...

“He didn’t get within three feet of me at any time the walk there, or the walk back. I know he’s quiet, but besides asking me if the food was okay, he didn’t say much at all at dinner. And then, after he’d walked me home, I said I’d had a really nice time, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he was nervous, you know?" Tifa nods. "But then he stepped forward, thanked me and clapped me on the shoulder, before he strode off.” You lay your head down on your arms. “It was a pity date, Tifa.”

“Okay, Cloud’s more hopeless than I thought,” she pats you gently on the head, “but it wasn’t a pity date. He set it all up because he wanted to take you out, I promise.”

“He could’ve swung that big sword of his all around him and not hit me, the distance he was keeping.” You continue talking into your arms, your voice muffled.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No, don’t!" Your head shoots up, “That’ll make me look and feel even more pathetic. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s a wake-up call.”

“You’re not pathetic. He’s just shy. Plus, I bet he’s feeling even worse than you are. He was out before I even woke up this morning.” She pauses, grinning slyly. “I did think that he might’ve stayed the night at yours…”

Your face flushes at that. “What?! No. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” The door opens and the two of you look, you praying it's not Cloud. "Delivery!" A man chirps. "Enough about my dismal love life, okay?" You get to your feet and go to take in the stock.

--

You got home that evening just after 6pm, preparing yourself for a quiet evening and an early night after the sleepless one before. It was surprising when there was a knock at the door an hour or so later – you weren’t expecting anyone. You looked through the eyehole and were nervous to see the tell-tale spikes of blonde hair, a nervous expression across Cloud’s face. Had Tifa spoken to him? Oh, Shiva…

You unlock the door, pulling it open cautiously.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles, a little awkwardly, but it’s sweet too. “Sorry, are you busy? I should’ve texted…”

“No, not at all.” You curse inwardly, you could’ve phrased that differently, sound more aloof. “What brings you here?”

“Uh, yeah…” It’s then you notice he has a hand behind his back. It’s quickly whipped out in front of you, holding a small, handpicked bouquet of pink, white and yellow flowers. “I wanted to give you these.”

“Cloud…” Your eyes widen, taking in the display. They’re the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. “Thank you.” You accept them delicately, worried they might wilt instantly if you’re too rough with them.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Sure. Let me just put these in water. Erm, do you want to come in?” You step back in anticipation.

“No, I’ll wait here.” He folds his arms.

“Oh, okay,” you nod. “I won’t be long.” You let the door swing close behind you, still holding the flowers so delicately. He delivers you hand-picked flowers but doesn’t want to come in? Is he breaking up with you? Can you break up even if you weren’t together in the first place? You grab a glass, filling it with water from the tap and placing the small bouquet in gently, before setting it down in the windowsill. You wonder if you’ll look at them in the same light when you return.

--

Edge, like its predecessor, had never been a pretty city in the desert. In the early evening though, fairy lights donned by the surrounding buildings cast a nice glow about the place and it was quiet as the two of you strolled through. Cloud hadn’t been the most talkative, as usual. Sometimes it looked like he wanted to say something, a comment on the tip of his tongue, but then his mouth would close and he’d nod to whatever nonsense you were spouting to fill the silence. It was at one of those moments when you hadn’t particularly been paying attention to where you were walking, catching your foot on an uneven part of the ground. You brace yourself for the impact and the embarrassment, but a hand grabs your own, yanking you back and upright, another hand on the small of your back – Cloud.

“You okay?” His brow is furrowed in concern. Your heart is thudding at the shock of tripping, or maybe the closeness of you two? It’s hard to tell.

“Y-yeah. Sorry, clumsy,” you know your face is red. “Thanks.” The hand from your back falls away, deeming your balance stable enough but your other hand isn’t released straightaway. You look down at the appendage in question, Cloud’s hand firmly clasped around yours. His eyes follow what you’re looking at and he seems to realise as his cheeks grow flush in the dim light of dusk, letting go abruptly.

“Do you even like me?” The question slips out of your mouth before you can even think what you’re saying. He looks almost startled by the directness of it.

“I thought the date and flowers made that obvious.”

“The flowers, okay, but the date and just now… Like, I know not everyone’s keen on public displays of affection, but you don’t even want to be within arm’s length of me…”

“I wouldn’t mind holding your hand. I guess.” It’s mumbled, his blue eyes directing at the ground.

“What?” You wonder if you misheard.

“I’d quite like to, to be honest. I’m just…” He meets your eyes at this point. “I haven’t really done this before.”

“That’s okay, neither have I.”

He looks sceptical. “That can’t be true.”

“I wasn’t exactly surrounded by gentlemen wanting to sweep me off my feet in Wall Market,” you smile. “Besides, it means we can try and work this stuff out together, if you want.” You hold your hand out, hoping he won’t notice the slight tremor.

To your relief, he takes it, deftly lacing his fingers through your own.

“I’d like that.”

- Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

i knew what i was going to see, but i still gasped when i saw it.

They killed the olive trees. They killed the little children. They killed the unborn. They killed the father. They killed the mother. They killed the journalist. They killed the journalists entire family. They killed all the aunts and uncles. They killed the doctors. They killed the soul of his soul. They killed the groom. They killed the bride. They killed the cats. They killed the elderly people older than their apartheid state. They killed the thousands of memories painted on the walls. They killed 30,000+ Palestinians that we will never get back. [@/ missfalsteenia on X. 01/07/24.]

My friends 🇵🇸🚨

I came to you asking for help after a year of devastating war 💔

I came to you with all my hope in you ❤️🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

My family's situation is difficult and ten days ago I only received 73CAD😭💔🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

This is not enough to buy more than a few basic daily needs due to the high prices 💔💔🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

All my hope is that you stand by me, whether by donating or participating 🙏🙏🙏🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

https://gofund.me/bbe291a5

---

Beautiful

Soft as Clouds

Neteyam x F!Reader

Summary: You weren't well known in the clan, and when you become friends with Tuk, no one believes her.

Warning: Straight up Flufff

When you were growing up, you found yourself wanting to linger in the background more than insert yourself into the everyday activities of those your age. Like now, you were currently lounging in a tree, eyes facing up at the clouds as they moved by at their own pace.

You were a gatherer for the clan, not that anyone knew. You would rise before the sun to go out and gather the sweetest, most bountiful food your clan had ever tasted, leaving it in the baskets by the main fire circle. The fruits were always plump and juicy, herbs and spices nicely placed in pouches for easy access.

You wanted to begin early to end early, opting to stay out of sight of others. Now, some knew of you, the elders for example always took a small notice on how you were much more reserved than others your age. Your parents of course knew you, but you were a failure of a child in their eyes. At your age you should've been chosen for a mate, or made a mark on the clan in some positive way, but you didn't, so they turned their attention to your more 'promising' younger siblings.

You never cared, preferring your more modest lifestyle of peaceful serenity.

"Whoa! What are you doing up there?"

But Great Mother had other plans for you.

You gazed over the side of the branch you were currently laying on, brushing your hair that had fallen into your eyes away, spotting a young girl in the forest floor below you.

This was not just any girl, oh no, this was Tuktirey, Toruk Maktos youngest child.

You let a small smile slip on your face as you slowly began a decent, swift and agile, like that of a cat.

You knelt infront of her, your eyes meeting hers that were still so full of child like wonder, "what are you doing here small one?" Tuk giggled, looking side to side as if looking for something, or someone.

"I was following my brothers, but I guess I got lost," Extending a hand to Tuk, "Well, let us get you home then," her small fingers wrapped around yours and you both began your walk, going back down the path you had made from the times you ventured out here.

Tuk couldn't help but wonder why she had never seen you before, yet she thought you were very beautiful. The aura that surrounded you was so soft and peaceful, it made her feel instantly safe.

"Why do you come out here, it's very far from home? Are you a hunter or a gatherer? Your hair is very pretty, can you do mine like that? Wait! What's your name?" Tuk rambled out, skipping beside you. A chuckle escaped your lips, you liked Tuk, she was very silly.

You stopped and knelt down beside her, her yellow eyes stared into your soft green eyes and she couldn't help but think you held the forest in your eyes, "My name is (Y/n), I much prefer to gather, and I think your hair is fine just the way it is, simply because it's yours,"

You couldn't help but boop her nose, her nose scrunched as she let out a laugh. You smiled, "now, what is your name?" Tuk felt like you already knew, but she puffed out her chest proud, "My name is Tuktirey, but you can call me Tuk!"

"Such a pretty name," you gasped, standing up and resuming your walk to the village. Tuk swung your intertwined hands back and forth, both of you finding comfort in eachother.

When you had finally happened upon the village, you could hear everyone in a state of panic. Tuk groaned, her ears pinned back, "I think they realized I was gone," you knelt beside her, both of you hidden just out of sight with the plants, "then maybe you should appear,"

Tuk hugged you, you wrapped your arms around her to return the embrace. "Will I see you again?" She asked, pulling away enough to see your face.

"Of course, I quite like you," you smiled, slowly giving her a nudge to the panicked clan members.

When Tuk had emerged out of the brush, the panicked cries turned into one's of relief and joy. Many ran over to embrace her, but by this point you had already vanished without a trace.

"Tuk! Where were you, we were worried sick!" Jake exclaimed, sweeping his youngest into his arms and giving her a extra tight hug. "I tried to follow Neteyam and Lo'ak but I got lost, but it's okay!" Tuk laughed, "I found (Y/n) and she helped me get home!"

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a look, as did some of the other clan members. Your name was no familiar, almost positive there was no one in the village who has that name.

"Tuk, what are you talking about?" Neytiri wondered, taking her child from her mate and settling her on the ground in front of her, "There is no one named (Y/n) in the village," Neytiri began to examine Tuk for a head injury, but Tuk pulled her head away in annoyance, "I know what happened, (Y/n) helped me, she's right,"

But when Tuk turned around to where you had been, you were gone, "she was right here," Tuk cried, but her parents chalked it up to fatigue from being lost all day.

"Come, you must eat and rest," Neytiri pulled Tuk along by the hand, which Tuk did almost sulkly, glancing back one more time to see you emerge and give her a wink before disappearing behind everyone's backs. Tuk grinned, now happily walking with her Mom.

~.~

Weeks had passed and Tuk now snuck off any chance she had to find you, sometimes waking up early to join you on your gathering. You were like another big sister to her, you were so soft and gentle with her, it almost reminded her of her own mother. You would show her the best places to gather fruit and herbs, show her how to move silently through the forest so not to disturb it.

In return, Tuk gave you simple companionship. You always thought it was fun being alone, but Tuk gave you a shining light of what having someone around could be like.

When Tuk would return from wherever you two had disappeared to, she would tell her family all about it, now causing Jake and Neytiri to worry that she was making up stories to make herself feel important like her siblings.

"Ma Jake, I'm beginning to worry about Tuk," Neytiri spoke one day when she watched her youngest venture off into the brush before she could stop her, "it is not safe out there but yet she continues to go, we must stop her," Jake could only hum in agreement.

"What's the name of the person she speaks of? (Y/n)? Are we sure she's not a person in the clan?" Jake questioned, Neytiri feeling her shoulders sag in exhaustion cause she had asked any gatherer, hunter or healer she could think of and no one knew about you.

"Maybe we should send Neteyam with her one day? Make sure she's really safe? See what he can find out?" Neytiri fired off question after question, Jake taking her hands into his as he calmed her down, "That's sounds like a great idea, if there's anyone who can find out it's him, come, let's find him,"

They both set off to find their eldest, who they were sure was going to throw a fit hearing about their plan.

~.~

Tuk panted, running up to a clearing where she saw you relaxing by a small pond, toes and feet floating in the clear water. "I'm here! What are we going to do today?" Tuk skipped over, taking a seat next to you as your turned your gaze to her, a smile coating your face.

"What would you like to do?" You asked, Tuks face scrunched up in thought before asking you, "Could we go for a swim next to the waterfall?" You thought about it, before nodding. It was very close to the village, but you were looking forward to spending time with Tuk.

"Awesome!" She cheered, pulling you up off the ground and began the walk, with you giggling behind her.

The water had been very liberating of any stress or thoughts that plagued you. You sighed in bliss, leaning back to float in the water as your eyes gazed up at the clouds, the soft white making you forget everything.

Tuk had jumped in, splashing you and causing a laugh to erupt from your stomach as you flipped over, watching the young girl giggle and continue to splash you with water.

You began a water assault back, both of you not even paying attention to how loud you were being which caught the attention of Neteyam nearby who had been searching for Tuk under the instructions of their parents.

"Tuk!" He called, walking into the rocky terrain that held the waterfall where he saw Tuk soaked and wading waist deep in the water, her breath heavy as though she ran for miles, yet a smile plastered her lips.

You were no where to be seen, ducking under the water to find a rock that had caught your eye.

"Tuk, it's time to come home, let's go," he helped her out of the water, not noticing you surface up to your shoulders in the shade of a tree that grew on the nearby bank.

Your hair had rested on your face a little and your shoulders, the shade making your eyes almost glow as you analyzed Neteyam. He was your age, currently training to be the next clan leader and yet here he was, fetching his sister.

Tuk through a glance over her shoulder to see you in the shade, throwing up a quick wave goodbye and taking off in front of her brother.

Neteyam had caught her look and couldn't help but turn back, catching a quick sight of you.

A beautiful, young woman who was lounging in the water covered by shade. Your eyes are what caught his attention the most, but just as quick as he'd seen you, the next second he blinked in shock before opening them to find you gone, the water only rippling from where he saw you, well, where he thought he saw you.

Neteyam was now becoming a quick believer of Tuk's stories.

~.~

Now that Neteyam had caught a glimpse of you, he started to see you everywhere. Although, it was out of the corner of his eyes, because when he would turn to see you, your figure was gone, the place he had seen you now empty or void of anyone or anything.

He had told his parents that he didn't see anyone with Tuk, but that was only because he feared how crazy he would sound. Seeing someone who wasn't entirely there and then them being gone the next second. They'd send him straight to the Sky People for evaluation.

Neteyam had followed Tuk out of the hut one late afternoon, Tuk turning to him confused since he has never followed her before, "What are you doing?" Neteyam just smiled, playing an act to follow his parents instructions, "Well, I've missed hanging out with my favorite littlest sister," he roughed up Tuks hair, causing her to hiss and push his hand away, "so I figured we could spend the rest of the day together,"

Tuk glanced sideways towards the path, a bit unsure about how you'd reac to Neteyam coming along, "I don't know, you probably wouldn't be up for it," Neteyam raised an eyebrow, his thoughts consumed on what a child would be doing that he himself couldn't or wouldn't wanna do, especially so late in the afternoon.

"Well, if you're sure," Tuk grinned, taking off down the path faster than Neteyam had expected, "Tuk! Wait for me!"

~.~

You had been lounging in a tree again, this time basking in the setting sun's glow. You felt so warm, the lights rays bringing a sense of belonging to your being.

"(Y/n)!" Tuk exclaimed, running into sight as you glanced down at her, your lips showing your usual soft smile that you saved for her.

"Neteyam is following me, come on let's hurry!" Tuk tried to rush you, but you only laughed, "Why are we hiding from your brother?" Tuk felt her cheeks puff up in annoyance, "Come on (Y/n)! I don't want him to find you!" It wasn't often Tuk would throw a childish fit with you, so you knew this must be important to her.

You quickly climbed down, taking her hand and pulling her out of sight just in time for Neteyam to come around the corner. He stopped and took a quick look around, running a hand through his braids aggravated. "Come on Tuk! Mom and Dad don't want you out here by yourself,"

Neteyam continued on through, running right past where you two hid in a flower bush before emerging a minute after he disappeared.

Tuk laughed but quickly stopped when she saw your disappointed face, "I'm sorry," she mumbled, kicking the dirt with her ears pinned down.

"Let's walk and talk," you took her by the shoulder softly, "Is there a reason you keep running away from your family? I understand you want to be friends, but surely I'm not worth worrying your family over?"

You led her down a path as Eclipse began to set in, the forest coming to life with lights and sounds. "Well, I thought you might want to be kept alone, like how you were before we became friends," Tuk answered, but you knew better, "but?" You pushed, Tuk groaning before replying.

"Well, Neteyam has his hunting parties and future clan leader responsibilities, Kiri has healing and grandma, Lo'ak and Spuder go on treks through the forest, I just wanted something that was mine for a while," while a bit childish, you could see what she meant. It was nice to have something all your own, even if it wasn't necessarily yours to keep or own.

Tuk kept her eyes trained on the ground in front of her, hands rubbing together embarrassed. Tuk thought that you would be upset with her, but she was shocked when she felt your hand rub soothing circles on her back as you continued to walk together.

"Do not feel bad, sometimes we wish for things that cannot always be, but if it makes you feel better, you will always be my first and best friend," Tuk felt giddy knowing that you felt the same as she did. You truly were a big sister to her.

"I think it's time we returned for the night," you told her, Tuk nodded, feeling a little tired. "Come," you picked her up, her arms wrapped around your neck and head rested on her shoulder.

You smelled of flowers and mist, a calming scent that soon had Tuk drift off to sleep. Which means she couldn't return to her parents on her own, meaning you had to face the leaders of the clan.

Entering the village, you took notice that many had already gone to dinner, leaving a clear path straight to the leaders tent, where you could hear inside Jake Sully, the Olo'eyktan and Neytri, his mate and Tuks mother frantically asking Neteyam where Tuk was.

You held Tuk up with one arm, softly clearing your throat to make your presence known as you lift the drape, all three coming to a freeze as they saw you, a stranger, with Tuk fast asleep in your arms.

You dipped your head in greeting, eyes over looking the two males and straight to the female who quickly walked to you with fear and concern for her baby. "She is alright, just sleeping," you whispered, not wanting to wake up Tuk as Neytiri gently slipped her from you.

Neytiri nodded a head in thanks, though her eyes held confusion. Your eyes slipped over Jake Sullys form, a small gesture of hello from another head nod before you allowed your eyes to stay trained on Neteyams shocked yellow.

'She is real,' is all Neteyam could think as you both played a stare game, you breaking it off with a soft smile before disappearing. He found the sudden ability to move, dashing to the drape only to pull it back and find you gone, like a phantom.

"I think, that's (Y/n)" Jake mumbled, his mind wracking to find any sense of familiarity of you, but found none. Neytiri felt a small rumble from Tuk, glancing down at the small girl to find her awake and giggling softly, "Told you she was real,"

~.~

Neteyam couldn't get you out of his head, now actively looking for you, but you weren't anywhere to be found. Tuk had told him all about you, and this time he listened, but she wouldn't tell him where you go.

"(Y/n) doesn't like to be sought after, you can only find her when she wants you to find her," Tuk laughed like it was the most simplest thing in the world, but it just made Neteyam frustrated.

He knew so little about you but felt a strange need to be near you, hear your soft voice again and find out more. Call it a crush, infatuation or even obsession, he just wanted to see you again, even if for a last time.

It was only when he took a stroll through the brush on a warm afternoon, that he found you. Only you were laying patch off soft moss, eye shut as you looked at piece with the world.

The world itself seemed to be happening around you, each breath you took was like a breeze from Eywa herself. Insects and small animals passed you by, as if you were just one with them.

Neteyam had approached you slowly, footsteps light as he observed your face. It was beautiful in his eyes, your soft lashes caressing your cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly with each breath you took in. Your hair seemed to flow around you in the vast green foliage.

He was too lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice you open your eyes and look back at him. Your green eyes traced his features as well, taking in the rough yet handsome face he was gifted with. He truly was his mother's child.

When he saw your green eyes staring back at him, he fell back from his squat in shock. You softly hummed, a smile so small but just for him.

"What are you looking at?" He coughed, his face feeling warm from your stare.

You sat up slowly, his eyes glancing at how your body was bending, hair falling over your cheeks to frame your face.

Eywa help his sinful thoughts.

"Oh you know," you drawled, "The clouds,"

~.~

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.