#at a church bring and share lunch

[john-amend-all]

[yourmomxx]

Emily Prentiss(chief or not cheif) X Fem!Reader have been secretly married for several years, (if emily is cheif they’ve been dating since she was an agent and then married when she was a cheif and if not obviously the opposite). No ike knows or expects emily to be in a relationship because she doesn’t say anything until one day she forgets her badge and lunch at home so her wife brings her stuff and the whole place is shocked ? bonus if tara or someone flirts with her

a/n: ooh, I love me some secret relationship trope! Unfortunately, I'm still only on season 5/6 of Criminal Minds, so I just kept Emily as an Agent and not as Chief, if that's alright (Tara is in it, though ;)). I hope you like this, anon!

— ❝ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴇᴀᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ’s ɴᴏ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ. Mʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟ ʟɪfᴇ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇss ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴘʀᴏfɪʟᴇ.❞ —

-Jennifer Jareau

Emily Prentiss was a private person. She prided herself in it.

I mean try it, hiding something from an entire office of educated professionals in degrees on how to read the most subtle shifts in a persons behavior and building a view based on that information.

Of course, let’s not forget, there’s the general rule, or rather, interdict, of profiling the other members of your team. But sometimes, you can’t help yourself.

Emily had noticed it in herself more times than she would like to admit.

Sometimes, it happened as easy as breathing, a natural trail of thought that let loose when she caught on about something or the people around her. She tried to undermine it as quickly as possible whenever she realized she was doing it, though.

It’s not the fact that she didn’t trust them.

No, that was never the thing, those people were like her second family. Or her first even, maybe.

But after spending almost every waking hour of the past years of her life around them, there were some things that she would rather keep for herself.

Leave them be in their own bubble that was just ‘Emily Prentiss’.

And when she talked about ‘things’, then she was actually talking about you.

The team could find out about her pregnancy, about her resentment towards the church. They could know that she had a phase at fourteen where she liked licorice and hasn’t been able to eat it since those dreadful seven months, or that she still hated her father for being emotionally unavailable and leaving her to deal with her mother on her own; they could know that.

But they couldn’t know about you. Never you.

This is wasn’t an issue of trust, again.

Trust was never in the mix when she made the decision, every morning before work, to lay off her wedding ring and keep it safe on a small chain in her back pocket.

But you were her safe place. A rock, a tow, something for her to hold on to, the only thing that was in no way connected to her work place.

Emily loved you, she did so much, and she’d known it after the first time she saw you smile, and accepted it during the first time she kissed you.

And hiding you, keeping you safe from all of this, was her way of shedding off the horrors and traumas of her job when she came home at night, completely tune out whatever she had experienced mere hours before, and dive back into you.

Your shared house, shared bed, shared sheets, shared kitchen, shared table.

Not talking about you, or even admitting you existed, while she worked and saw the worst sides of what humanity had to offer, drew a distinct line between her life with you and the life she led at work.

Call it a personal protective shield.

So, no, she would never, ever tell them.

“No. For God’s - No.”

Which is why, when Emily Prentiss walked into the bureau that morning, and realized her credentials weren’t in their designated pocket, and also her bag was empty of her lunch box, she knew that she was doomed.

Emily knew about your caring side. The loving, mothering, always everyone's shoulder to cry on-side.

Hell, if she was being honest, it was one of the reasons she started falling so hard for you so easily.

In that moment, though? God, how she wished she would have chosen a narcissist.

(Not literally, though. She'd profiled guys like that before. They really weren't wife- or husband material.)

You had just been on your way out of the house when you had seen your wife's dark lunch box still residing on the counter top where you had prepared it for her an hour ago.

After a quick look at the time on your phone screen, you had short-handedly decided to slightly delay your trip to the pharmacy for some mundane refills, and drop by Emily's office to bring her her lunch.

After all, you knew how busy she could get, and how her focused state had the power to drown out every other basic need her body had.

If you wouldn't make lunch for her, she wouldn't have the time, or the head, to think of buying something for herself, you knew that.

One would think that was clear after almost an entire year of marriage.

The thought alone brought a smile to your face.

You grabbed your car key off the counter and hurried your way out the door, closed it behind you, halted for a moment - and slowly backed up inside again.

You eyed the black case next to the key bowl suspiciously.

"That wasn't there yesterday," You muttered to yourself.

Cautiously, because when your wife worked in the FBI, anything was possible, you reached for the leather-bound case and drew it closer to you.

When you opened it, the tension immediately left your shoulders. You shook your head sighing at the sight of your wife's passport picture and the huge, dark blue letters FBI showing themselves to you.

"Oh, Emily, what am I gonna do with you?"

When you left the house then, it was final.

Hopefully.

"What's up with you, you seem stressed out?"

Emily did her best not to flinch in her already tense state when JJ came up next to her.

She managed her best, reassuring smile and pressed her sweating palms into the side of her jeans.

"Oh, it's nothing," She lied. "Just thought I lost something."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Alright," She muttered. "If you say so."

Then, she crashed a light brown paper file into Emily's chest.

"This just came in from El Paso, three homicides so far. I'll inform the rest of the team and we'll meet in the briefing room in ten."

Emily couldn't do more than nod, and just managed to grab the file before it slipped to the floor when JJ left.

She wasn't usually like this. She was good at keeping her head in the game.

But right now, the fact that her credentials were missing wasn't exactly stressing her out, because she knew that you would bring them to her as soon as you realized that she had forgotten them at home.

Emily was stressed out because she knew you would bring them to her.

What she didn't know, was, however she should act and how the team would possibly take it.

The elevator you entered took a tremendous amount of time to realize which floor you wanted to go to, and even longer to slide the doors closed and jerking to a start.

You would think that in an official federal office building, the mechanics could be more advanced.

Then again, counting the many times Emily complained about the budget allocation of the bureau when she tought you weren't listening, maybe you shouldn't be all that surprised.

The doors slid closed when the thought suddenly hit you.

You were about to enter your wife's office. Which you had never been to, not once in your life and only knew the address of because goddamn, was it hard to miss.

The building that was probably the only thing that Emily had wanted to keep you out of for as long as she could.

And you came here for a lunch box.

Emily knew you knew. You had talked to her about it, she had answered your questions on why she always got fussy when you asked her how you could finally meet her team, and you had understood, every time, but this?

She couldn't just ask you to actively lie about your relationship in front of most of - all of - her friends, could she?

The last time she had checked your location, it had already shown you in close vacinity to the BAU building. She could figure what was ahead.

Was she about to deny a relationship?

“Can I help you?”

This office had way too many doors, in your opinion, and way too few signs telling you where to find what.

The greeting voice made you look up, and you automatically shifted into your politeness to strangers-mode, upon seeing a woman come up to you, wearing a two-piece and her hair in loose curls.

A very pretty woman, you had to admit.

"My name's Tara Lewis," She introduced herself, "Who are you looking for, sweetheart?"

You quickly waved her off. “Oh, I don’t work here.”

Tara tipped her head, eyes not so subtly shifting up and down your appearance.

“I figured as much, I would have remembered a face like yours.”

You managed an awkward laugh.

Emily had once, in good fun, told you you were easily caught off guard by people showing genuine interest in you all of a sudden.

You hated when she was right.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Just over Tara Lewis' shoulder, you were suddenly able to spot the dark hair that indicated Emily Prentiss approaching from behind her.

You nodded in her direction in recognition, as she came to a halt next to Tara Lewis.

"I'm a friend of Emily's," You lied, and by God, you did it so neatly, Emily was questioning if she had maybe already dragged you down without realizing.

"She texted me that she forgot her lunch and her badge, and since we're close to each other, she asked me to get it for her."

That polite smile was still present on your face, and your voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

You threw Emily small looks in-between, unspotted by the usual eye, but she noticed them.

You were telling her to go along, to play the game, string it all a bit further until it turned into a web that could either wrap around and suffocate her, or catch her when she stumbled.

And she probably should.

Because you made it easy. You had made it so easy for her, laid it out like a red carpet for her to walk on, the lie, that could keep her sanctuary safe-

"I'm married."

In the midst of talking to Tara, your words died in your throat and your mouth stopped, hanging open.

Tara herself whipped her head around so fast, it was a question if she was breaking her neck, eyes ripped wide open in complete and utter schock.

It was quiet. In-between the three of you, a needle dropping would have echoed like the loudest drum.

"Say what now?" Tara didn’t take her eyes off Emily for a moment.

Slowly, movement seemed to re-enter your muscles and your eyes widened at the absolute extent of what had just happened.

"What are you doing?" You hushed at Emily.

Your wife's gaze - who you loved dearly, but in situations like these, could just hold by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake - tumbled between you and her co-worker, and you could almost decipher the exact moment she graciously invited the 'fuck it'-attitude.

Emily's shoulders dropped.

"I'm married," She repeated. Calm, collected, and slow.

All of the things you were totally not feeling right now.

"This is Y/N." Emily stepped next to you and held you gently by your wrist. "My wife."

And if the English Dictionary had demonstrating pictures next to each word, Tara Lewis' face right now would be pinned under 'bafflement'.

It took a moment, actually it took a few, for the Doctor to collect herself again.

She straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and shook herself out, as if to remove any unnecessary consideration that kept her from thinking clearly.

"Who knows about this?" It was her first question.

Where your shoulders were ever so slightly touching, you could feel Emily's body stay tense.

"Not really anyone," She admitted.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Emily shook her head. "Y/N is my personal life," She cleared. "I spend almost every awake minute with you people. I wanted something to myself."

As subtly as you could, you leaned your body the slightest bit closer to her. It wasn't visible to the lazy eye, but Emily could feel it.

She squeezed your wrist.

You were comfort to her.

Tara's eyes flew between the two of you, contemplating, observing.

Then, from one moment to another, her lips broke into a blinding grin.

"A wife," She repeated. Emily ripped her eyes open to interpret her friend that she should keep her voice down.

"Good for you," Tara smiled.

Emily visibly relaxed. A breath she had been holding escaped her lungs soundly.

"Let's just be clear," She told Tara, "This is still my thing." She gestured to you. "My marriage is still my thing. I don't need the entire team on me like vultures, profiling my love life like they do everything else."

Tara nodded earnestly. Her small curls were bumping up and down. She pulled her fingers across her lips and pretented to turn a key in the corner of her mouth.

"My lips are sealed." She threw the imaginary key far, far behind the office desks. "Lovergirl."

Emily ignored her and turned to you.

Your fingers lingered around hers in the movement.

"Thank you," She breathed out quietly. A soft smile played around your lips as you looked into her eyes, recognizing that specific gentleness that you knew she only gifted you with.

"Anytime."

You placed her lunch box in her hands. "It's rice with some peas and corn." Emily smiled. "You're the best."

"And, before I forget-" You pulled out the badge from your bag, but instead of giving it to Emily directly, you opened her suit jacket and found the inner pocket, safely storing the credentials where you knew she kept them every day.

You smoothed out the jacket when you were done.

"There you go."

Emily didn't even know what to say. That warm feeling, that she felt in her entire body every time she looked at you, realized who you were and who you were to her, it made itself known in this moment right now.

Right here, in the middle of her workspace.

And with all the horrors she'd see, it was probably the most content she had felt in this place in a while.

"You are so amazing." The words didn't come close to what she was feeling.

But the way your eyebrows loosened, and your lips slightly parted, she knew you understood.

"This is so sweet, and I hate to be that person, but Prentiss, we have a case to get to."

Emily cleared her throat, being ripped from whatever that moment had been, and reminded on what ground she was standing right now.

"Right," She said. She opened her arms and leaned in to pull you into a hug.

A hug, not a kiss on the cheek.

She wasn't that far yet.

"It's okay." The feeling of your breathed words tickled near her ear. "I understand."

Emily squeezed you a bit tighter.

"Get home safe."

You slowly broke away from the embrace.

"I will," You promised.

Tara mouthed a quick 'I'm so sorry' in your direction. You laughed and waved her a goodbye, before you headed for the elavator again, and she got on her way to follow after Emily, who had already made her way to where JJ had ordered them a few minutes ago.

Tara endured until the top step.

"Oh.my.God. I can't believe it!" She almost squealed as they made their way next to each other to the briefing room.

"Look at us, sharing secrets now. Ah." She shook out her shoulders. "I feel like this is a pyjama party in junior year all over again. Amazing."

Emily couldn't do anything else than grin at Tara's antics.

Suddenly, her pocket vibrated with a short tune, and Emily pulled out her phone to check her display.

It was a message from you. Emily smiled softly as she read it.

Have a good day, my sun. Will hopefully see you tonight<3

"A message from boo?" Tara mocked, and tried to peak over Emily's shoulder.

Emily quickly shut off the display, stuffed her phone back into her backpocket and continued walking.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

But the lovesick smile didn't leave Emily's face for the rest of the way to the briefing room, partly because she was so caught up in her thoughts about the specific feeling of your skin, that she didn't even notice she was wearing it.

[barleyo]

Prom Queen. (Re-upload)

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: tumblr took this down. I'm re-uploading it because idgaf. No tags because I'm lazy, read at your own risk. Obviously reader is of age, and obviously, if you DON'T LIKE what I write, DON'T READ what I write, thanks :3

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AHEAD

You had always dreamed about your senior prom. Even as a young girl, you thought exhaustively about how the night would go. You would wear a gorgeous gown, drink spiked punch, dance and laugh with friends, and most importantly, you would go with a cute boy.

Those dreams fell flat when your strict father outlawed prom for you. He said that prom was just an opportunity for hyped up, hormonal teens to gyrate on each other on school property. Prom was a night where girls opened their legs for their subpar dates who barely made the effort to scrounge up a corsage for them. Prom was the chance for unwanted, "happy accident" babies to be made by teenaged fuck-ups.

In short, prom was for whores. Leon would be damned if he would have a nasty whore of a daughter. It made him sick to even think of you wasting your sweet, nearly virginal body on a shit-for-brains boy whose only sexual experience no doubt came from his own right hand.

So, yeah. Prom was a nonstarter.

Of course, this angered you to no end. You could be heard sobbing each night after Leon's declaration of war on you having any fun was drawn up, but a small part of you thought it was the best.

You knew that prom wasn't like how it was shown in the movies. You wouldn't get an invitation from the hottest boy in school, you wouldn't get there in a decked out limo, and the punch would be lukewarm and watered down at best.

You wouldn't dance: you would have no one to dance with. You would sit alone at one of the tables eating fun sized candy bars aimlessly scattered on the repurposed lunch room tables in your school's gymnasium, while a horde of your peers would dance nasty on each other, being free and young.

The whole time, nobody would look at you, aside from the sly glance paired with a snicker shared between two gossiping teens, indulging in the rumors that floated around about you.

Nobody would want to dance with the girl who had an overprotective daddy that fucked her. Especially when that girl liked it.

The more you thought about it, the more you came to peace with the idea of staying in with Leon. Technically, being demanded to stay at home with him meant that you were sort of, kind of asked on a "date" with a hot guy, even if you shared DNA with said hot guy.

On the day of the dance, Leon had the decency to let you skip school. You sulked in bed the entire day, thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. He did not bother you, having enough sense to let a sleeping dog lay, but at exactly 10:00 PM , you felt your phone ding under your pillow.

'Come downstairs. Wear a dress. Not one of your church ones.'

His texts were always sharp and to the point, just like he was. Commanding. Strict.

You, as always, obliged. You put on one of his favorites, the one that always left his eyes lingering on your body a little too long. As you made your way down the stairs, you heard the faint sound of romantic music playing in the living room, which you naturally followed like a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Dad, what's all this?"

Your living room looked like a scene stripped from a cheesy romance movie. Rose petals scattered on the floor, lights dimmed low, and a tall, hot stud in the midst of it all. Your father's face was stern, but past that you could see the inkling of excitement in him.

"Your prom. I know it meant a lot to you," he said gruffly, adjusting the collar of the nice shirt he wore, "so I did what I could. Hope this'll make you forgive me."

Your feet pattered softly against the cool flooring, bringing your body along with them. You took a final look around the room and let your eyes lock onto your dad.

"I do. S'okay, I'm not mad at you, daddy."

How could you ever be mad at him? Your perfectly stubborn, grouchy, yet sexy father? Your father who—

"You know I just want the best for you, right peach?" Leon grasped you in his arms, snaking both arms around your lower waist while he rested his chin on your head. "Just wanna keep you safe."

"I know."

You both stood like that for a moment, neither speaking. The soft sound of the music slowly playing in the background was the only noise filling your sense. Well, that and the husky sound of your father's breathing. And his manly, leathery scent. His strong hands placed on your body, too.

You heard him clear his throat briefly and snapped to give him your attention, something you found yourself doing often. He liked when you listened to him quickly, made him feel respected.

"May I have this dance?" Leon asked, giving you a rare smirk when you nodded.

One of his hands stayed on your waist, while the other took your hand gently and clasped it in the air, leading you into a sweet waltz. With each step, he guided you with rigid, calculated movements. His movements were neat, as if he had been planning every moment of your shared dance.

The longer you danced with him, the closer your bodies pressed together, creating a faint friction between the two of you. In that moment, any negative emotion you had felt before faded away, leaving only the image of him in your mind.

Leon knew your signs. He'd spent a long time decoding them, and the look on your face was one he read easily. With a tilt of his head, he leaned in, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when he felt your increased heartbeat against his chest.

You made the first real move, pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth. Kisses were the only time he let you take on a dominant role. He thought it was cute, feeling your smaller tongue fuck into his mouth like you were in charge. Not wanting to spoil your fun, he softly guided you backwards to the wall, giving him a surface to work with.

"You're a bold one, I'll give you that," he said, breaking the kiss. "Can't ever actually ask for what you want, but you go wild once you get it, don't you?"

You hummed, letting him pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His hand slid under your dress and pushed it up, giving him a view of your panties.

"God, you're soaked. So wet f'me." Leon stuck his fingers in his mouth, slurping on them and covering them with spit before he forced them past the band of your underwear. Tight, quick circles were made around your clit, denying you of any time to think. "Nobody else can play with this, you hear me? This is all mine, you don' let anybody else have you," his voice was a warm whisper that fanned across your ear.

"I promise, 'm all yours. Don't want anyone else, only you, daddy," you swore desperately, meaning every word even if it sounded like you were just babbling on.

"Fuckin' slut." He spit a fat glob onto his fingers and spread it around your cunt, lubing you up. "Thought I raised a sweet girl. Bet you act like this for the boys at school too, huh?" Your panties were slid to the side.

His teeth clenched together jaggedly as he prodded the tip of his cock at you entrance, drawing in a deep breath when he pushed it fully in.

"No, never! I don't want any of them, just want you. They aren't good enough."

"Yeah? Greedy little cunt only wants her daddy, is that right?" The ego boost he was getting from this ran through him immediately. He wound your clit up with his thumb, quickly zigzagging on the little bud to match his thrusts. "Good. They don't deserve to feel you—"

You cunt fluttered around his length at his words, leaving him biting down on his lip.

"Just like that. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up, baby."

Your mouth hung open, pathetic mewls leaking from it. Each sound he drew out of you was nearly pornographic. He bullied your guts and hit deep, far deeper than your fingers ever could, and left you far more needy than your digits did.

"Inside this time?" You had wanted it so bad for the longest time, and instead he would pull out of you and coat your soft tummy or the fat of your ass with his ropes. "I need to feel it, please. I don't wanna be empty again, jus' fill me up," you slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your plush mouth.

"Yeah," he huffed, nodding along with you words, ready to finally jump at the opportunity, "yeah, inside. I need it too, baby, you have no idea. Daddy wants to spoil you real bad, he wants to give you all the babies you want."

Your lower body tensed, squeezing him tightly as the familiar rhythmic pattern of your orgasm set in. It felt so right in that moment, like your body was made for this exact purpose: being a warm hole for your dad to fill with his hot cum.

"Ready?" He said it more like a demand than a question, and within seconds he was creaming into you, still pounding your cunt like he hated you. "Take it, don't spill."

He kept his dick sheathed away inside of you, hoping that if he kept most of his cum in you, it would take. His brow was slick with sweat and his face was flushed. He had never looked so attractive before.

You ran your hand through his hair to get his attention. When he darted his eyes up to you, you mumbled something about wanting to go again.

"Anything for you baby. Night's still young, isn't it? We got time."

[yeoosaangg]

Church || Kinktober - Day 15

pairing ▸ na jaemin × f!reader

now playing ▸ church - chase atlantic

⤷ ❝and i'll keep leading you on if you keep leading me into your room.❞

genre ▸ non-idol au, situationship, smut, angst

warnings ▸ mirror sex, fingering, marking, praise, choking, breeding kink

── ⋆ ⋆ ── 𔘓 ── ⋆ ⋆ ──

Everyone in your new town warned you - do not get involved with Na Jaemin.

It was odd to be told that right out the gate, but you complied. It was a small town, with one university for the locals to attend if they wish to remain in familiar territory.

You chose this college because it's where your mom grew up. She passed away last year and you wanted to fulfill her wishes of seeing the place.

Your dad wasn't enthusiastic in moving there, but he'll do what your mom said because he still loves her.

And when you met a few people, they'd tell you about everyone's business. Literally.

The head cheeleader? Sleeping with the football coach.

The football captain? Sleeping with the music teacher.

Na Jaemin? Stay away from him.

You listened to your new friends for a while; you did not want to be a part of the drama. But because you were "fresh", you had caught his attention next.

Jaemin: One date. I swear you won't regret it.

Y/n: No thanks. Have a nice day.

He didn't give up until you finally cracked. He took the opportunity to approach you when he found out your friends didn't have classes for the day.

Jaemin: I'm serious, let me take you on a date.

This time around, you caved - only to get him to back off!

But after the one date, you both couldn't stay away from each other. You, because he made you feel alive. Him, because you're the perfect little fuckdoll.

Every other girl in that town was so eager to sleep with him, he did it to shut them up and never go back.

But you, wow you couldn't have been more perfect. A virgin willing to let him teach you how to please him? Why would he ever say no to that?

And then the inevitable happened - you fell in love with him.

You knew, by the caution of others, that he wasn't one for commitment. He'll fuck a girl once and never go back. But you felt special because he did come back. Multiple times, in fact.

Everytime you'd bring up a possible relationship, he shuts it down and distracts you with his kisses.

You couldn't take it anymore and decided cut him off if he wasn't going to take you seriously.

Jaemin: C'mon, angel. Don't throw us away.

Y/n: There is no us, Jaemin. You made sure of that.

And you kept your word. You stopped seeing him in secrecy, occupying yourself with your studies. You even met a guy who makes you laugh and feel important.

And Jaemin made a fool of himself by picking a fight with him during one of the lunch breaks.

Juyeon: What the fuck is your problem, dude?

Jaemin: You're my fucking problem, Lee Juyeon. Stay the fuck away from Y/n.

Juyeon: Why should I? Because she agreed to go on a date with me after rejecting you for months?

Jaemin: She's mine. I don't fucking share.

Juyeon: She's no one's property, Na. No wonder she hates you.

That set Jaemin off. He doesn't even know what he's doing, all he knows is he's angry and Juyeon's his target. Lefts and rights collide onto his jaw, drawing blood.

It wasn't until he heard your voice that he finally stops beating the man to a pulp.

Y/n: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Jaemin: Baby, I can expl-

Y/n: Shut up. Just stay the fuck away from me.

You crouch down, helping Juyeon to his feet. You were going to accompany him to the infirmary, but Jaemin wasn't having it.

You yelp when he lifts you off the ground, making his way out of the dining hall and out to the student parking lot. He opens his car and makes sure to put your seatbelt on.

You try to get out, but the door stays locked. Did he child proof it? Such an asshole.

All your friends were in distress as they saw you trying to get out. Jaemin drives off in the direction of his apartment that no one knew belongs to him.

No one except you.

Y/n: Jaemin, please. Just forget about me.

Jaemin: You're fucking crazy if you think I'll listen to that stupid request. I don't want other men touching what's mine.

Y/n: I'm not yours.

Jaemin: Why do you keep saying that? I'm the one that took your virginity, first kiss, first everything! That makes you mine.

Y/n: No, it doesn't. It just means I trusted you at the time.

Jaemin: You don't trust me now?

Y/n: Not with the way you're acting.

If you weren't looking at him, you'd miss the tears streaming down his face.

He never cries.

Jaemin: Baby, please don't say things like that. It hurts to hear you say you don't trust me.

Y/n: Why are you crying? You don't even care about me the way I needed you to.

Jaemin: I want to.

What?

Jaemin: I want to care about you that way, but I don't know how. You're the first girl I've ever felt something more with than just lust. And it fucking terrifies me. But when you left? I felt like I was dying, angel.

This can't be happening right now.

He pulls into the apartment complex's parking garage, and both of you just sit in silence until he speaks up.

Jaemin: Please don't leave me.

Y/n: I can't keep doimg this with you, Jaemin.

Jaemin: Why not?

He looks so sad, an emotion he never displays. You don't want to give in, in case it's all an act.

Y/n: You don't like me that way, Jaemin.

Jaemin: And how would you know that?

You don't, but if he did he would've asked you out when you voiced your affection.

Jaemin: Come upstairs with me. I'll show you that I'm serious about this.

You should've known better than to listen because now he has you on our knees in front of a large, full length mirror.

Jaemin: Remember that conversation we had when we started this?

Y/n: How could I forget?

He asked you what your biggest fantasy in bed was, so you naturally replied with the truth - to be fucked in front of a mirror.

He never gave you that fantasy back then, just stored the information for later.

Your breath hitches when he starts to undress you.

He pauses a bit when he senses your hesitation. Despite his past actions, he meant everything he said on the way there.

Jaemin: Do you want this?

Y/n: Yes.

Jaemin: Are you sure?

Y/n: I want to see if you're telling the truth.

He tries to smile, but it just falls.

He knows it's going to take a lot more than just fucking you to show that he's serious about you. He'll gladly spend months, even years, proving himself to you.

Jaemin continues to undress you, touching everywhere with such tenderness. He usually gets straight to the point and fucks you dumb.

But this wasn't just any rendezvous hookup, you're his everything. And he wants to show you that.

He starts fondling your breasts, using his fingers to stimulate your nipples.

You hate how his touch instantly relaxes you. You don't want to admit it, but you've missed him.

Jaemin: I've never had someone consume every part of my mind, body, and soul the way you have, princess. But, fuck, I don't want that to stop.

Y/n: Really?

Jaemin: Mhm. I can't lose you again, baby. I was already feeling crazy this time around. Next time, I fear I'll do something reckless.

Y/n: You think there'll be a next time?

Jaemin: I have to be realistic. This is all new to me, and I'm bound to make mistakes. But I hope you can find it in your heart to see that I'm trying. For you.

You lay your head against his shoulder, grinding down on his clothed erection.

Y/n: We'll figure it out if the time comes. For now, show me that you mean what you're saying.

He nods, kissing you deeply as his hand travels down to your clit. A moan falls passed your lips - right next to his ear - from finally being touched.

He slides his finger up and down your folds, loving the way your eyes are trained at the mirror. He can see you biting your bottom lip at the sight.

He shoves two fingers inside, making you choke on your moan. He just pumps his fingers rapidly, eventually adding another.

Jaemin: Keep looking, baby. Want you to see how gorgeous you look when you cum for me.

He starts painting your neck with lots of dark marks, staring at you through the mirror. You cum all over his fingers and the floor.

Jaemin: Beautiful.

You watch yourself catch your breath, a smile curling at the corners of your lips. That was so hot, you want more.

He undresses himself, and then positions himself right behind you. He hooks his arm to both of yours, lining his hard cock to your pussy.

Jaemin: Do not look away. Want you to see just how much of a goddess you are when I fuck you. Can you do that for me, angel?

You nod, wiggling your ass so he can put it in already.

He chuckles, bottoming out with no hesitation. He knows you can take his big size perfectly.

You watch yourself ceumble as his thrusts get rougher and slower. He wants you to feel his cock stretching your gummy walls - and, fuck, do you feel it.

Jaemin: You look so pretty taking all of my cock, princess.

He reaches around to hold you by the throat, letting go of your arms in the process. You scream, cumming again from the sensitivity.

He doesn't stop ramming his dick into you, loving the way your face is contorting to one of pure pleasure.

The way he's choking you forces the eye contact you have to make through the mirror. You love the way he's also moaning along with you - usually he grunts quietly.

Jaemin: You're doing so good, baby. Love the way your cunt begs for my cock. Did you miss me, too?

Y/n: So much!

It was hard to speak with his hand around your throat, so a short and simple answer will suffice. He didn't mind, though - your eyes tell him everything.

Jaemin: You want to cum again, don't you? Go ahead, love. Cum all over my cock.

It was like his words activated another orgasm. You can feel your essence dripping down your thighs and onto his.

You feel him fill you up, moaning as the warm liquid paints your gummy walls.

But he still wasn't done.

He pushes your head down onto the ground, chin up so you can still see yourselves.

Jaemin: Gonna get you pregnant, angel. Fill you up so no other man thinks he has a chance with you. They're gonna see how happy we are and get jealous.

You moan, clenching around his cock. You honestly love that idea more than you should.

Jaemin: You like that, don't you princess? Then I'll make it happen.

He continues to pound your pussy, the position allowing him to fuck you deeper than ever. He just abuses your hole until you're filled with three loads of his kids.

He kisses your shoulders, winking at you while his hips smack against your ass.

Jaemin: Look at you falling apart, baby. Think you can cum for me one more time?

Y/n: Mhm.

You can't even speak anymore with how good his cock is opening you up. You both cum one last time, staying in the position until he can properly pull out.

Jaemin: Keep your ass up. Don't want to watch anymore cum escape.

All you could do was listen because your body was twitching from getting fucked dumb by him.

He comes back and gently inserts a plug in your cunt, kissing in between your thighs to help distract you.

Jaemin: I'm running a bath. I'll take good care of you, my princess.

You just let him carry you into the bathroom.

He doesn't get in the tub with you, choosing to focus on you instead. He washes your hair and body so delicately, you'd think he was handling glass.

Y/n: Is it too soon to say the L word?

He freezes for a moment before he smiles at you.

Jaemin: Yeah. But I'll let you know when we can, okay?

Y/n: Okay.

═══

a/n: yeah, i jinxed myself. gonna go sleep (,,•﹏•,,) thanks for reading ‹𝟹

[delopsia]

With how dedicated and passionate Rhett is about bull riding, can you even imagine how crazy he would be about you when you two get together? The pictures, bringing you up in every conversation, the gifts, the amount of attention this love-starved cowboy would drown you in?

You forgot to get something at the store? Don't move, he'll get it on his way to your place. No, no, don't pay him back, it's fine.

Want him to come over? He's jumping around the kitchen, pulling his boots on, and rushing out the door. He'll be there before you can get off the phone.

Date night? You're not paying for a damn thing. He's opening doors for you, burning your favorite music onto a CD because his truck doesn't have an AUX cord, bringing blankets if you get cold on those Wyoming nights. His hair is freshly washed, he's broken out the cologne, cleaned the dirt out of his nails, that flannel is ironed, and the only reason he didn't shave was because you once said you liked the scruffy look on him.

Need help with Holiday decor or getting your winter clothes out? He's here like he's being paid to do it, doesn't care how strong you say you are, you ain't touchin' that there box of sweaters.

You gave him something? He's physically welded to it. The chest at the foot of his bed is filled with items you've given him, delicately wrapped in cloth so it doesn't break.

Want to show him off to your friends? Take him to a company event? He's not fond of venturing into new situations, but he's bumbling along behind you, glued to your side. He will loop a finger into your belt loop, or hold onto the strap of your bag to keep himself from losing you.

Left your clothes with him? Well, he'd wash them before giving them back if he weren't actively snuggling up to your sweater at night because it still smells like you, and he can't sleep without you :( It gets so bad that you two bought blankets to swap back and forth, so you always have a little bit of each other in bed.

And it's the strangest fucking thing for his family to witness because he couldn't give a damn about any of things if it were anyone else. Cecelia can't even get him to visit a church lunch, and here he is following you to the restaurant in town that he can't stand because you wanted to go. He doesn't enjoy gifts from other people; if Perry asks him to meet at the Pit Bar, Rhett takes three hours to get around to it.

He's not a very social man who much prefers to live in the country, and yet he will move to the city and share an apartment with fifteen people if that's what you ask of him. He doesn't speak much, but he will badger his momma's ear off about you.

Everyone expects for it to wear off as time goes by. Once the honeymoon phase is over, he'll fade back into his usual self, and maybe he does take five minutes longer to get ready these days, but he's just like that. Dedicated to and in love with everything about you until the day he dies. He's completely and utterly wrapped around your finger, and he has no plans of ever changing that.

[asphalt-cocktail]

Lead Us to Temptation- Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nicknames, heavy religious themes in this chapter, mentions of threatening with a gun and criminal activity, thunder storms, smut, oral f receiving, virginity kink (sorry but also I’m not), arguing, talk of marriage, good old fashioned catholic guilt

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

Chapter 1- Precious Lord Take my Hand

Dinner with Bucky in Thunder Creek was… well it could have been better. The dinner itself was lovely, the part that soured it was the big gray storm clouds that created a contrasting line against the bright blue sky. You could feel the humidity weighing the air in the restaurant and feel the sudden drop of pressure along with the cold breeze that blew in with the storm.

April showers did in fact bring May flowers. 

They also forced you to bed down for the night in the local hotel. There was no way you’d be able to make the two hour ride back home and avoid ending up soaked to the bone or having a tree fall on you from the violent winds that whipped. You’d catch your death if you stayed out in this type of weather too long.   

The spring thunderstorm promised the renewal of life to the brown and yellow earth, it brought both anticipation and fear. Fat raindrops fell from the sky, once a bright cloudless shade of green is now a tempest of charcoal gray as heavy storm clouds cover it. The heavy drops of rain were swallowed up by the thirsty ground turning the streets into muddy rivers.

Bucky licked his lips, deep in thought and looked down the street to the hotel. It was only a matter of time before the last rooms were taken by the other visitors in town. He handed you his jacket for you to cover yourself and wrapped an arm around you, sprinting at a leisurely but rushed pace to salvation. Mud splattered up the back of your boots, sticking to your tights and soiling the bottom of your dress. The creaky wooden floor boards just outside the hotel sag and groan under the weight of water as you step into the hotel, wet and shivering like a stray dog. 

You didn't know how, but he’d managed to finesse the last hotel room in town. It was something close to a miracle you thought. Bucky would never tell you that he pressed the barrel of his six shooter deep into the side of the clerk and demanded a room while you looked at the various taxidermied game that hung like trophies on the wall. 

After a nice warm bath your clothes were dry enough for you to pick the dried chunks of mud off the hem of your skirt and brush it off your boots. Since it was night time, you didn't even bother changing back into your petticoat, bodice, and dress. Instead you hid behind the changing screen, mind consumed with the fact that you and Bucky would have to share a bed tonight.

The rain swelled to a great deluge that is enough to drown out the conversations in the hotel lobby, people angry that there are no more rooms left and arguing with the clerk. Outside the trees bend and sway, the weaker branches snapping loudly and falling to the ground. There was no way you’d be able to make it home, not in a storm like this.

Thunder rumbled, low and menacing as you played with the little tie on the front of your chemise. You were scared, scared of what your father would say when you returned in the morning, scared of what Father Liska would say during your confessional. You didn't have to worry about what the women would say at their bible study groups. They already loved to talk about you out of both sides of their mouth. 

You felt exposed in the thin white fabric, it did very little to hide your womanly figure. You’d never been in such a state of undress in front of someone before, not in your entire adult life at least. Nerves flipped in your gut as lightning struck outside, flashing and illuminating the low lit room followed by the low rumble of thunder. 

The changing screen did very little to help you feel less exposed, knowing that all that stood between you and Bucky were a few tall wooden panels. You poked your head around the corner of the screen and saw Bucky’s back to you. He had already stripped down to his cotton drawers and was shedding his shirt. 

Your eyes were drawn to a scar on his shoulder, it emerged from his skin like the smudge of a brush stroke, edges jagged and uneven, the skin taut. The pink hue stood out against Bucky’s tanned skin, starting at his shoulder and tracing the contours and muscle of his arm before it tapered off at the elbow. You could only imagine the terrible memories that came along with it. 

You forced yourself to look away, now distracted by broad planes of his back, built from decades of intensive labor and living off the lam. The muscles rippled with Bucky’s movement tempting you to touch him.The sight made you a bit light headed and your stomach throbbed with an unfamiliar feeling. Stiffly, you stepped out from behind the changing screen. 

The creak of the floor boards under your feet alerted him. He turned, it felt like Bucky’s eyes were going to burn your clothes right off with how hard he was staring. You didn't want to look up and meet his hungry gaze, but you could picture exactly what he looked like as he devoured you. 

“Please stop staring.” You tried to sound biting, but it came out weak. Nervous even. You crossed your arms over your chest to try and allow yourself some modesty. 

In one large step Bucky was in front of you. His hands lightly grasped your arms, and gave them  a light tug. You rested them against the firm planes of his pectorals, “I'm just thinking about all the fun we can have tonight.” He dipped his head, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Just me and you.”

You gasped, breath stolen by his suggestive words. They made your gut twist with nerves. Every God-fearing part of your brain was burned away with a hellfire that warmed your body. You swallowed thick and exhaled through your nose, “I’ve… I’ve never…” you trailed off almost too embarrassed to let the words come out.

Bucky let go of you, hands jumping away like he just touched hot iron. The sudden distance between you both had you feeling exposed, vulnerable even. 

Was it something you said? Did he not want you now? 

“Bucky?” Your voice was meek.

You were a virgin? 

Jesus Christ of course you were a virgin how could he be so stupid. So inconsiderate!

He wanted to skip all of the prose, all the ceremony of courtship and just take you here in this hotel room. He was thinking with his dick and not his brain. You must have been horrified at his advances. 

He sat down on the edge of bed lost in his own head.

“Are you mad at me?” You didn’t know what else to ask. You pull him from the deep recesses of his brain and shattered his heart with the nerve in your voice. 

“God sweetheart,” he huffed and grabbed your arms pulling you close and looked up at you, “Of course not.” His arms wrapped around your waist comfortingly. 

If things were going to continue as they were he had to lay out all his secrets, even the ugly ones. He let out a soft exhale and looked away from you, “Look, if you’re going to be my woman there’s some things I need to tell you first.” 

Well if that was supposed to comfort you it didn’t. It made you more afraid. What was he going to say? He had a secret family in Pennsylvania? He was wanted by the Pinkertons? He was a Protestant? That would truly be the worst out of all three of the options.

You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you were bedded by a Protestant. 

He swallowed hard. Bucky desperately wanted to keep you hidden from his alternative lifestyle “I’m a wanted man babydoll.” His information served as a warning for what you would get yourself into should you continue seeing him. 

His low, gravely tone sent a shiver down your spine and made the hair on your arms stand on end, “What do you mean?” You spoke in a hushed tone. You knew what it meant.

Well at least he wasn’t a Protestant. A criminal you could handle, something that could be forgiven.

“I’m not a good man.” He cleared his throat, his tone was almost pleading, “I’ve done…I do bad things.” He killed people, lied, stole, all without mercy. Bucky was not a nice man, he was mean and callous, calculating and manipulative. “But, Jesus, woman, I'd walk the line for you if it meant I could have you.” But for you, he’d get on his knees and beg for your love. 

It should have made you push him away, seek the closest stagecoach, alert the town sheriff, run for the hills and call the Pinkertons, but hell it made you want him more. The air of danger around Bucky Barnes pulled you, like a moth to a flame, “You don’t have to walk any lines to have me.” You didn't care about his rambling ways. You wanted all of him, all his sins and imperfections. Your head spun with an intoxicating mixture of nerves and excitement, “I’m your woman now?” 

“I don’t sit through Sunday mass for just anyone.” He reminded you. It was true, he’d manage to attend mass with you every Sunday and even stomached the post service lunch your family always had. 

The heavens opened up and rain continued to fall from the sky, spraying the windows in waves. But you didn’t have half a mind to pay any attention to that now. Not when Bucky’s hand was sliding up and gripping the meat of your thigh so close to your butt, “Come on, sweetheart.” Bucky cooed and pressed his face between your breasts and kissed the valley. 

Not when he was doing things like that. 

“Lemme take care of you.” He coaxed your fear of damnation away with a few simple words. You moved, kneeling on either side of him and sitting on his lap, “That’s my girl.” He said softly, resting his hands on your thighs.

He kissed you softly, his beard scratching against your skin. You shyly opened for him, allowing his tongue to move and caress your own. You expected a rugged man like him to be a lot less gentle with you, but he was letting you set the pace tonight. 

You could taste the sweat in his lip and the lingering tobacco from the cigarette he smoked an hour earlier. You relaxed into his touch as his hand slid up and snaked around you deepening the kiss. 

Bucky’s hands roamed up your body, feeling the soft curve of your hips before grabbing your tits. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, noses barely touching, breathing in each other's labored breaths. His thumb brushed over a hardened nipple and you gasped at the foreign sensation, back arching slightly. 

He wanted to watch you, see how your body reacted, see how your brain broke from the pleasure he gave you. His fingers kneaded the flesh of your heavy breasts and he pinched and twisted your nipples until they were sensitive and peaked. 

Your cheeks reddened from embarrassment as he untied the front closure of your shift and pulled open the small split in the front, he kissed your neck then your chest before he pulled the thin white fabric down where it shelved beneath your breasts. You felt indecent. Exposed. 

The cool air chilled you to the bone and made you shiver. Bucky mouthed at the sides of your tits licking and sucking on one and then the other until your back arched and you whined beneath him. 

God if this was how you reacted to him playing with your tits, he couldn’t wait to hear how you sounded when he fucked you. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight, he was a gentleman after all. He couldn’t go having dessert twice in one night now could he? It was a bit too self indulgent for him and maybe too much of a shock for your poor catholic conscience. 

But he was still planning on eating tonight. He was going to absolutely devour you. “Lay down.” You followed his command and moved, laying flat against the lumpy mattress and watched Bucky lay on his stomach and settle between your legs. 

You sat up on your elbows, shuddering as you felt him kiss your thighs, getting dangerously close to your dripping cunt, “What are you going to do?” Your breathing quickened when you saw Bucky lick his lips and draw his lip between his teeth. He nuzzled the apex of your thigh, inhaling the natural heady scent of your arousal. The scent was so distinctly feminine, it made him ravenous. 

“Bucky!” You squeaked, shocked at his behavior. 

“Oh sugar, we haven’t even gotten started.” He said and kissed the top of your mound. In that moment you were certain Bucky Barnes was the serpent in the garden of Eden, beckoning you towards a life filled with sin and temptation, and by god you were going to take his hand and let him lead you there. 

You gasped loudly, feeling the broad flatness of his tongue lick a stripe up your cunt, then back down again and shuttered at the foreign sensation. You flopped back onto the bed and hand immediately knotted itself into his dark hair gripping a fist full of it, hanging on for dear life, “Oh my god.” You huffed in disbelief. His mouth was really down there, licking you, and he was enjoying every moment of it. 

His tongue traced little circles around your clit before he let out a groan and sucked on it, his actions hedonistic and greedy as he continued to indulge. The wet noises that came from between your legs mixed with the overwhelming pleasure that warmed your body and made you feel dizzy.

Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, a thick finger traced around your entrance before he stuffed it inside you. His finger penetrated your cunt, stuffing itself deeper inside you until the knuckle of his hand rested against your slippery skin. He pulled back and quickly added a second, stuffing them back in and curling them against your sinfully wet walls. You felt stuffed to the absolute brim, full with a delicious burn that made your fists clench the cotton sheets of the hotel mattress.

When you finally gained half a brain cell of consciousness you opened your eyes looking down and seeing his face coated in wetness. 

Your wetness.

It coated his chin and cheeks, your thighs, drenched his hand as he fucked you with it. It was like the floodgates of heaven opened up from the Great Deep and the tide swallowed him whole.  

The flat of his tongue found its way back to your clit, rubbing down and making you whine with pleasure. You dug your nails into Bucky’s scalp pulling a satisfied deep groan from your lover's mouth as he continued to devour you.

Bucky’s thumb replaced his mouth and he licked a spot of wetness from your thigh, “I can’t wait to fuck this tight little pussy.” He mumbled and pulled his fingers out, lightly slapping your sensitive, swollen clit. You hissed at the feeling and at his lascivious words before he stuffed you full once more and pressed his thumb against your clit rubbing it in a circle, “You want that?” He asked and you nod your head, “Want me to fuck this tight virgin cunt of yours?” 

God he wanted to split you open, carve a hole for himself deep inside your untouched hole and fuck you stupid. 

“Oh god yes,” you could feel your pussy throb as he continued to beat his fingers into you at a brutal pace and suck hard on your clit, pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

You clenched a fist full of his hair, grinding down onto his face, sloppily trying to meet the rhythm of his hand. The only sober part of your brain was thankful for the thunderous rain that continued to hammer the windows and covered the sounds coming from your hotel room. 

Finally, your back is arching off the mattress, cunt pulsating and squeezing his fingers as he digs them further inside you, rubbing them against your walls and pulling more pleasure from you. Your body trembled, spasming around his fingers, flooding his face. 

Bucky watched you in awe, your body writhing and twisting against the sheets, hair haloed around your head, lips kiss swollen and body flush with arousal. You were absolutely gorgeous. Responsive and gorgeous. He couldn’t let a girl like you go. 

He was going to marry you if it killed him. 

Bucky’s hands slowed and he licked your wetness off the soft skin of your thighs and stomach not wanting to waste a single drop of it before he pulled his fingers from you and sucked on those too groaning like he’d just had a tasty meal. 

Watching him only fed sugar into the fire. You leaned up, pulling him towards you and sloppily kissed him, all tongue and teeth as you pushed down his drawers. Bucky smiled against your mouth and pushed your hands away, pushing you back onto the mattress, “Patience, sweetheart.” He scolded, and then laid next to you sighing with content.

“Aren’t we going to… well you know.” He stared at your confused expression and looked amused, “Have sex?” You finally said it out loud and it felt dirty. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil through the ceiling and it fell on your chest. 

“Not tonight.” He answered, “We’ll work our way there, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But I thought you said I was your woman” you didn’t know if it was because Bucky gave you an earth shattering orgasm, or what but you were just plain confused now. 

“You are my woman.” He said and pulled you into his side, “One thing at a time love.” He wedged a leg between yours, tangling them together. 

The following morning when you returned to town, braving the mud and fallen tree branches, the doors to the church seemed almost intimidating. You already knew how your father was going to react to your absence from the family home last night. Your brain was wrought with an overwhelming sense of guilt as Bucky took your hands and opened the tall wooden doors. 

Father Liska’s homily only further propelled you into a cavern of guilty unholiness. It was like God himself told the father of what happened last night, of the wanton sin you committed. Laying with a man before marriage? How could you be so foolish? 

“God does permit us to be tempted” Father Liska stood at the pulpit, usually his words of wisdom helped comfort you, “Not so that we fall, but so we grow in holiness,” No, this just made you feel worse, “Temptation forces us to rise up and make a choice for God or to succumb to the devil's temptation.” 

You were going to be sick. 

During the Rite of Peace you couldn’t bear to look at your father as he shook Bucky’s hand, death grip, jaw clenched, a bitter “Christ’s peace be with you.”  

Bucky shook your fathers hand back firmly a smarmy smirk plastered across his face, “Christ’s peace be with you too sir.” 

Then Bucky hugged your mom and kissed her cheek with a smooth “Christ’s peace be with you ma’am” which pissed your dad off too. Everything about Bucky pissed him off. 

Once you were in the privacy of your family home, seated at the dinner table, Bucky next to you, parents on either end of the table, brother and sister-in-law across from the you, you father took it upon himself bring some good old fashioned shame to the table, “You didn’t return home last night.” He said loudly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

Your mother said his name in a scolding tone, “No I didn’t. I’d have caught my death in that storm.” You sat up a bit straighter. It was true. Traveling two hours back home in the rain in wet clothes would have signed your death warrant. 

“What were your sleeping accommodations like?” He probed further, trying to figure out a way to make you feel even guiltier than you already did. Remind you of the devil's presence in your life and how you succumbed to his temptations. 

“Bucky paid for me to stay at the local inn. Is that what you want to hear from me?” You shot back sharply, “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big mess over it.” You threw your cloth napkin onto the table and pushed your seat back and stood up to leave. 

“Sit down!” Your father snapped, “I’ll not have that disrespectful tone under my roof,” your father spoke sternly and then turned towards Bucky and pointed at him, “And you,” he said dramatically, “Are going to bring nothing but trouble for her and you know it.” 

Bucky rubbed his hands in his trousers and leaned back in his seat, his casual posture contrasting your fathers intensity, “What makes you say that sir?” He was genuinely curious. There was no way your father would have known of his criminal history. Not when they were so far from the last town they’d committed a crime in and even then their faces had been covered. Bucky struck a match and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and waiting for the answer. 

If he wanted to sit through someone pissing and moaning about how he lived his life he’d go talk to his own father, God rest his soul.

“You have no steady work, no land, no history outside of the few months you’ve been here. You parade around with a troupe of delinquents and bring good young women like my daughter down into the cesspit of a life you live. “ 

Bucky licked his lower lip, “With all due respect sir, it isn’t like your lifestyle is any better.” When your father scoffed loudly, throwing his hands up in disbelief, Bucky continued speaking before he could interrupt, “Wrath and greed might serve you well now, but you can’t buy your place in heaven.” 

Your father was greedy, he was like a dragon who sat upon a hoard of black coal and iron, pillaging the Earth, taking what he wanted,  and draining the life force of his workers. There was no way your father didn’t have as many, if not more lives than Bucky. His hands were undoubtedly stained red.

God spoke out, let there be light and your father damned his employees to a life beneath the ground. He probably didn’t even know their names, just the numbers crudely written on their mining helmets that correspond to his payroll ledger. 

“Keep on digging, boy, that’s why you were born.” Born to serve the company, born to keep your fathers pockets fat and their own empty.  It was a cruel, greedy joke that had been said too often. 

Bucky took one more drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out. You frowned, ultimately this was your mother’s fault, she was the one who had Bucky come by for after service lunch. Now here your father and Bucky were, making a scene in front of God and all his followers, “Now sir, I plan on marrying your daughter sooner or later, so I suggest you get all your acrimony out now because we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future.” 

Your father opened his mouth to speak back and quickly your mother spoke up, “Not another word.” She hissed at him when he opened his mouth to speak back to Bucky, “James, dear, we’re extremely grateful you took care of our daughter. Aren’t we, darling?” 

Your father didn’t answer her question, instead he stared, eyes narrowed at your lover. He didn't want Bucky to marry you. He wanted you to marry a rich, god fearing catholic man from town. Perhaps the son of the livery stable owner and farrier, maybe even the son of the Union Pacific RailRoad representative in town. Not some drifter with a silver tongue.

“It was truly my pleasure ma’am.” Bucky smiled sweetly at your mom. 

Despite Bucky’s statement about taking your hand in marriage at lunch earlier you still couldn't help the internal barrage of guilt your brain waged against your heart. If Bucky was planning to marry you then it wasn't bad, right? You wondered if God could hear your pleas and if he would answer your prayers for clarity. You looked at the walls of your room, dimly lit by lamplight, the crucifix you’d gotten at your communion watching your internal struggle. 

Your revelation was a self confession from the heart-To experience love and be loved was a gift, to sin was to be human. Perhaps love was the holiest form of rebellion, something that burned away dogma leaving something raw and utterly human, something to be forgiven with merciful grace.

Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury

[obsolescent]

Leon S. Kennedy Headcanons

Author’s Note: As you know, I write Leon in a certain way. Here’s headcanons that I have for him...I think about him a bit too much, I fear. My desire for Leon to be a country boy is the product of living in the south and also some projecting, lol. Some of these delve pretty deep and some of these are niche. If you want to share any headcanons that you have, please do. I love creating lore for characters that we know little about! Thank you to @roseglazedlens for reading over most of these for me! I’ll also be doing a NSFW version as well, the alphabet prompt.

Content warnings: Mature rating, no gendered language used for reader, nothing sexual but general discussion of Leon and his life so that involves alcohol, depression, suicidal thoughts, trauma.

NSFW Alphabet

Leon is more or less introverted from how he behaves in the games and movies, I was thinking probably INFJ-T for his personality type.

He’s bisexual. He likes whoever he can be comfortable and feel safe around, though with his hinted attractions, he prefers dark haired people.

There’s been speculation that Raccoon City is based around Springfield, Missouri, based on a few factors, so I tried to think of where he could be from. I was choosing based on my desire to have him connected to the south in some way while also not being too far from Springfield. We don’t know how far he traveled or how long it took him to get there during the events of RE2, unfortunately.

I thought of specifically around where Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, and Tennessee meet. It would also be a convenient area for his family’s mentioned crime involvement.

Also why he doesn’t have much of an accent due to being near four different states. He is of Italian descent which is one of the canon things we know. KY, MO, and TN have a higher percentage of Italian Americans in the south from what I’ve researched. 

If I had to choose a specific city, it would be Paducah, Kentucky. Definitely more of a small town kind of guy. It’s also around 5 hours from Springfield.

I don’t believe he went into the foster care system, though it’s not stated. But I like to think the police officer who saved him adopted him.

Also I feel like he’s autistic in some way, generally based on how he acts and carries himself in the games. (He’s just like me fr)

His favorite brand of cars is Jeep.

He’s definitely the type of Jeep owner to wave at every Jeep he passes by while driving.

We know he likes Ducati too, he drives a XDiavel in Vendetta and DI.

He can do minor repairs, on both cars and motorcycles. A bit of a mechanic in his spare time when he’s home from missions, helping some of the others when they have car troubles.

His love language is definitely acts of service.

Even platonically, if he overhears a friend having a bad day, he’ll stop and ask if they need help with their work, or get them their favorite snack.

Romantically, he’ll bring you flowers, drive by your pharmacy to check if you have anything that needs to be picked up, tidies up the house, cooks for you, prepares you lunch for work, gives you massages if you’ve had a tough day.

He’s not the best at cooking, but learns quickly, so if you give him tips on how to improve, he’ll apply them to the next time he makes something.

Pretty sure blue is his favorite color, we see him wearing it a lot.

There’s speculation on what he smells like, I think even some perfumes made for him? But personally, I don’t think he would wear typical masculine scents, something more alone the lines of citrus/clean/fresh. One I think he would wear is Nautica Blue by Nautica. It smells so good.

He has some religious background. With how Leon behaves/carries himself, it leads me to believe his family were a part of the Church of Christ, which would correlate with the location I chose.

Leon, to this day, follows the church’s principles: “In essentials, unity; in opinions, liberty; in all things, love.” It’s something he repeats often in his head.

He sings, having taken it up at church. After the incident with his family, he continued, as it reminded him of attending, and of his mother, how she would sing him to sleep. He likes to pop into random churches during times of service.

Not straying too far in, just near the exit to join in with singing and reminisce on his own memories.

With singing, he's a baritone.

His favorite song is We Shall Be Free by Garth Brooks.

He’s all over with his music taste, from alternative to country, divorced dad rock, pop, to gospel hymns. If it has a catchy tune, he’ll like it, not too picky with music.

To get into the sad bits, we know he liked to drink to cope, a functional alcoholic.

He would have trouble sleeping through the night, drinking helped.

Sees a therapist and isn’t the most truthful during meetings. Afraid to open up about everything that’s happened to him.

In RE6, you can see a document where Leon confesses he’s thought about suicide, as far back as RE2, so he’s struggled with depression.

Doesn’t do well with large crowds or gatherings. Stays on the outskirts of any event unless he has to go deeper into the throng for the sake of a mission.

Firm believer of his corny one liners:

*Gets bill* “What’s the damage?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

*Starts raining* “We needed this.”

Also looks out the window/stands on the porch when there’s a storm coming.

He keeps a memory box. It holds items he’s kept from each of his missions. It’s small things, like a key, a piece of paper, photos, a keychain. He looks in it every once in a while, so he doesn’t forget about what he’s done, who he’s helped, and those who didn’t make it.

Not the best with technology, basic knowledge of what he needs to do and how to get to things, but doesn’t use it much outside of work.

He has to ask you for help sometimes, thankful you’re more knowledgeable on the topic.

Will always tell you goodbye when he leaves for missions, no matter what method he has to use.

Face-to-face, video chat, or even going to your work. He just wants to see you one more time before departing, in case it could be the last time. Though it’s unsaid between you two, it’s in the air, tinging it with sadness and trepidation.

When he comes back, though, he immediately notifies you and wants to see you as soon as possible. He holds you a little tighter than he usually does for the first few days after returning from a mission.

[howsdeanshole]

cas and dean vs. clothes shopping small fic

after they get cas out of the empty there’s a lot of mundane shit to do. he’s human again, and it’s permanent this time, or as permanent as things ever are for a winchester, but that’s a terrifying thought so it gets locked up in the for later box in deans head. but cas needs food and toiletries and clothes and he’s decided he hates the bedding in the bunker so he has to get new sheets too.

most of this is easy enough. last time cas was human he learned the basics—digestion, hygiene, money—and when he was sick on stolen grace he learned a bit more about preferences. they get him set up with 3-in-1 shampoo and a tooth brush and when dean makes the trip out to the city to do their monthly bulk shopping, he drags cas with him to get some sheets he won’t bitch about. on the way back, dean stops at a secondhand store run by a local church.

cas doesn’t seem to like shopping. he was pleasant on the ride to the city and effusive about the cheap hotdogs they ate for lunch, but about 20 minutes into hauling cases of water and table salt into their cart he got surly. he got even surlier when dean suggested he could go wait with baby. by the time they checked out, dean had written him off and decided to wait out his silence.

the thrift store smells like every thrift store he’s ever been in, dusty and a little bit like cats. the clothes selection isn’t huge, but it’ll do for getting cas started. thats deans hope, anyway, but when he told cas to grab whatever catches his eye and wanders off to a rack of casettes, he hoped cas would get a few days worth of shirts, maybe even find some serviceable jeans. instead, cas dumps an XL shirt with “FALLSTON COUNTY MIDDLE SCHOOL TURKEY TROT 2013” across the front in orange bubble text and a faded grey bucket hat into deans basket.

“that’s all?”

cas shrugs. apparently still not talking. dean knows from experience that forcing the issue right now will, at best, start a fistfight, and at worst, cause cas to fuck off for who knows how long. maybe if he was still an angel dean would go for it, press his luck, but with cas freshly back and freshly human and apparently here to stay, dean swallows the impulse. he buys the admittedly very soft turkey trot shirt and the hat.

after two weeks, it becomes apparent that cas is uninterested in obtaining possessions. he’s content to wear his wholesale underwear and deans shirts and a pair of shorts abandoned by one of the apocalypse world hunters. there are infinite good things about cas coming back, and there are infinite terrifying things about him being human now, and there are infinite things about his return that dean has been trying to stuff in the For Later box, and unfortunately that leaves him kind of pissed off about how he can never find the shirt he wants to wear when he wants to wear it, and also the way his own wardrobe is dwindling due to cas never fucking returning anything. not that he minds sharing! but that would require cas to bring anything back.

not that dean plans to confront him about it. which is maybe cas’s play here? damn. well. deans done great at not bringing up anything heavier than meal planning for over a month already. no need to ruin his streak now.

there’s still hunts. sam and eileen have been out on a few since cas got back. now that dean is better, sam hasn’t been hovering so much. but cas brings the job to dean in the dean cave, pulled up on his phone to show him. it ends up being easy to wrap up, just a matter of destroying a cursed 35mm camera properly and getting the formerly cursed women to the nearest hospital. they don’t even need to put on the fed suits for it, which is good, because dean forgot that cas’s old suit got ruined in his rescue. in deans defense, he wasn’t really thinking that hard about clothes that day, or about anything besides cas heaving himself upright on the other side of that rift, alive and back.

when dean brings up the need for a new fed suit, cas just hums like it’s inconsequential. and because dean is still practicing non confrontation, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

the suit is easy. he goes with the same cut jimmy novaks suit was, in black, and a few dress shirts. ties seem to be one of the few things cas likes to shop for, so dean only grabs one—boring, professional blue and white stripes. it comes in handy days after he hangs it up in cas’s closet, when they have to haul ass out to tennessee to deal with a werewolf pack and have to play fed to get access to the bodies.

after that, it’s a blue fleece-lined hoodie he picks up while he’s canvassing for witnesses hunting what turns out to be a shifter. cas wears it the whole time they’re in the motel looking over the facts of the case, and he wears it in the car on the way back, his strong squared fingers catching deans eye in the rear view mirror whenever he fidgets with the hoods drawstring. there’s a stack of weird novelty tee shirts he picks up in the city the next time he does the bulk restock, this time alone. cas wears them all in a rotation, mostly under his hoodie or one of deans flannels.

when cas asks him to grab a jacket for him, dean cracks on his non confrontational policy. “you should choose it yourself,” he says. cas just hums.

“i like wearing what you’ve chosen,” he says after a minute. “i trust your judgement.”

which, leave it to cas to turn this into—something.

dean buys him a jacket.

he buys him socks, and pajama pants, and new boots and some henleys and a few thrifted flannels, soft from wear. he buys a scarf. house shoes. and cas wears them all, and never returns deans clothes before dean asks for them.

[kitasgloves]

"Pasilyo"

tracklist

— ♬ "'Di maikukumpara, araw-araw kong dala-dala, paboritong panalangin ko'y ikaw"

— ♬ Iwaizumi x Reader, timeskip, SFW, tooth-rotting fluff, gen reader, added headcanon that Iwa is half-filo so there's Tagalog dialogue, the translation won't be accurate so feel free to correct me, no beta

His palms are sweaty, and he can feel the electricity coursing over his muscles. Iwaizumi Hajime is intensely filled with excitement and nervousness. With every heavy inhale, he's only staring at you. And there you were, walking at the beginning of the aisle, approaching the church's altar. Iwaizumi was about to kiss you there and never let you go, and he couldn't ask for anything more.

You met Iwaizumi when he was twenty-seven and working as an athletic trainer for the  Japanese Volleyball team, you were the manager and the timing couldn't be more perfect. People would ask and you'd always say you were the one who fell in love first, and Iwaizumi will deny that he fell harder. You walked inside the building on your first day and saw this handsome man with large muscles, so it was natural for you to gawk. Iwaizumi greeted you politely and smiled, your heart skipped several beats within a second. He had that boyish charm that it was hard not to fall for.

With a hot guy like that, you knew you had to make a move. It began with bringing him coffee every morning, he'd always give you that smile that lights up the darkest room. Whenever you two were in the office, you'd be the first to start a conversation to get him to talk more and hear his voice. Iwaizumi often assisted you with the athletes and looked out for you whenever they got rowdy. You two grew close and began eating together during lunch, sometimes he would rub the back of his neck and ask if he could walk you home. Your face always felt flushed whenever he would wave goodbye after he dropped you off at your doorstep.

People would wonder who confessed first, you'd sigh and point at Iwaizumi. It was the end of the Tokyo Olympics, your job as the Japanese Volleyball team's manager was coming to an end and you'd have to apply to another team again. It was the evening after the celebration when Iwaizumi asked if he could talk with you outside the stadium, there was a bunch of cheering and whistling from the athletes when they witnessed it.

"But it's cold outside, Iwa"

"Here, you can borrow my jacket. I need to talk to you"

He insists as you eagerly slip on his jacket, sniffing his intoxicating scent. The two of you stood outside in the cold evening, you looked over to see Iwaizumi with his hands in his pockets trying to fight back a shiver. He looked adorable with red cheeks on his tan skin.

"So, what do you wanna talk about?"

"I like you, [Name]. A lot"

"Oh"

"I get it if you don't feel the same but I don't want to part ways with you without telling you how I feel"

It took a minute for you to process what he said before smiling up at him, Iwaizumi was perplexed. You reached for his hands and clasped them with your own, sharing your warmth through your palms.

"I like you too, ya idiot"

"Oh shit. Really?"

"Why did you think I keep giving you free coffee and letting you walk me home every night?"

The cold couldn't stop Iwaizumi from letting out a victorious laugh lifting you into his strong arms and spinning you around. You could never forget that night, not when he looks at you like you're everything that he's been searching for in his entire life.

Nothing could ever compare, every day Iwaizumi carries his favorite prayer; to be with you until he's old. Every day, he prays to God that his last name would be yours. To think that it's finally happening now because he sees you finish your walk down the aisle and climb the steps towards him at the altar. Iwaizumi's chest swelled up with emotion when you reached to grab his hand in front of the priest, in front of your friends and family. He couldn't stop the tear sliding down his cheek when he finally held your hands. 

The last two years of Iwaizumi's life were filled with colors as you painted his life with love and happiness. Every moment he intertwined his hands with you, every second he got to kiss you, and every time he held you. He never took everything for granted. He promised to treat you right, to give you everything you want and deserve. Flowers, chocolate, kisses, or a shoulder to cry on, he makes sure to provide everything to you. Through tender nights and tough fights, Iwaizumi never left you.

It has always been you and only you. The one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, the one he wants to share this happiness with, the one he wants to return home to, and the one who'll forever have his heart. Iwaizumi makes sure that he lets you know all of that until he has saved enough and bought you a shiny ring. It was your third anniversary that he got on one knee. Sure, people might think he's rushing into things but he couldn't wait any longer. He was thirty and he wanted to marry you so bad. So, as he watches you go teary-eyed and scream 'Yes!' at him, he doesn't waste any time slipping that engagement ring on your finger and giving you one long and loving kiss.

Everybody at the wedding murmured how you and Iwaizumi couldn't take your eyes off each other, they teased and melted at the sight. As it was time to say your vows, the church was suddenly filled with stillness. You grabbed the microphone and smiled at Iwaizumi.

"I remember you getting drunk during Oikawa's birthday party and yelling at your friends about how we're getting married. It was adorable and funny because you were so wasted"

There was laughter coming from the people in the pews. Iwaizumi playfully rolled his eyes at you.

"I also remember that one time seeing your mom cry because she was so happy that you got engaged and she wouldn't stop bragging about it to her friends. You looked so embarrassed"

"Pinapahiya mo ba ako?"

[Are you embarrassing me?]

Iwaizumi muttered but you dismissed it with a giggle. Iwaizumi's mother gave you a huge smile and laughed in her seat.

"As I recall those moments I have come to realize that I wanted to spend the remainder of my life with you. To think that you have changed the trajectory of my life within two years and eight months of being together, it's beyond astounding. I promise to be stuck with you in sickness and in health. I promise to be stuck with you to the point that not even death can separate us. Hajime, my love, my home, and the one I promise to give happiness to until the end of time. I love you"

You finished your vow as everyone eagerly clapped. Iwaizumi wipes the corner of his eyes with his sleeve and sniffs. His best man, Oikawa, teases him by handing him his handkerchief. He glared daggers at his best friend and snatched the handkerchief before the microphone was handed to him. He clears his throat.

"[Name], aking mahal"

[[Name], my love]

"My palms are so sweaty and I could feel the spark throughout my body. I prayed for this moment and to have finally happen before my eyes, it makes me excited for the life I will have once you have my last name. I vow to keep you safe, to make you feel happy, and to provide you with everything you need. I promise to love you until you're practically sick of it"

Iwaizumi looks over and sees you grin at him. 'I will never' you mouthed towards him and his heart flutters. He spent the entire month writing and re-writing his vows only to change them again on the spot now that he's standing in front of you. He figured that he didn't need a poetic vow to promise you that he'll love you until the end of time. Whatever his heart told him to say was enough.

" Di maikukumpara, araw-araw kong dala-dala, paboritong panalangin ko'y ikaw"

[Nothing could ever compare, every day I carry, my favorite prayer is you]

He finishes and you melt. It was your turn to get teary-eyed. Words would never describe the absolute joy you felt at the moment. As you two said your 'I do's, the priest asked if there were any objections, and immediately, Iwaizumi's three best friends began to jokingly glare at the pews, prepared to threaten anyone who dared to object.

"Object my bro's wedding or you're catching these hands"

You recognize Matsukawa's voice. There was a series of laughter from the pews as Iwaizumi did a face-palm. Fortunately, nobody decides to object. And before you know it, you have taken Hajime's last name and finally kissed him at the altar. Everybody clapped and whistled as you and now your husband walked down the aisle, smiling and waving at everybody. Hajime leans over to your ear and whispers.

"Finally, I'm fucking starving"

"You didn't eat breakfast, didn't you?"

"I couldn't, I was too excited and nervous about the wedding"

"Hajime, you idiot"

"Can't wait for our honeymoon, though"

He smirks down at you and you immediately blushed and slapped his arm. Hajime lets out a laugh. This married life was promising, and you and he couldn't be happier to experience it.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part V)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, friendship comes and goes, discussions of anxiety, discussions of virginity, discussions of sex shaming, frottage (PUSSYJOB), everyone’s very vulnerable.

Word count | ~11,800

A/N | Oooh, mama. It’s been a while. I hope most of the people who like this fic are still around.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You like calling Eddie, the sound of his voice over the phone. The way he answers it differently each time:

“This is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin; available for christenings, bar mitzvahs and weddings.”

“Munson residence. The old guy’s out so if you’re looking to buy a collection of novelty mugs now’s the time.”

“You’ve reached the church of Satan; Abaddon the Destroyer speaking. For your free introductory handbook on summoning circles just dial six-six-six.”

And then there’s the happy rise in his tone when he hears it’s you on the other side, the surprised laugh at the sound of your soft hi, Eddie even when he’d asked you to call. The crackle of his breath through the receiver, the way conversations with him are easy however they happen. With anyone else, phone calls feel stilted and awkward, but Eddie talks as if you’re sitting right in front of him. 

It makes you warm all over to think about. Eddie wants to see you and kiss you and touch you, but he’s also happy to sit on his couch miles away and speak to you, listen in return to everything you can bring yourself to say.

You have taken to dragging a chair from the kitchen and sitting by the hallway table to talk to him like this whenever you don’t see him in the evening. You spend an hour or two at a time smiling at your mom’s address book, twirling the coiled cord of the phone around your finger while Eddie talks about this day, asks about yours, explains why he’s really into this new Swedish black metal band he’s discovered, checks what you’re reading, shares an idea he has for Hellfire, plans your next date.

Today is no exception. Your dad has walked past muttering about the phone bill twice. Your mom, as usual, has stationed herself in the kitchen within earshot, but what exactly she gets out of hearing the low buzz of Eddie’s voice and your laughter, you don’t know.

"And you're sure you don't wanna come, sweet girl?" 

"Yeah, I-" You hesitate, playing with a rose petal from the bowl of potpourri that sits by the phone. "I think I should stay here. Just in case." 

In truth, you don't have much hope that May will call, but imagining that she does and you aren’t here to receive it fills you with worry. The last thing you want is to make things any worse between you after you messed up so badly. 

It’s not unusual for you to feel this type of regret. When overthinking something delays your actions until it’s too late. You worried so much about how to tell May about Eddie that you left it too long. You should have told her the day you kissed him, should have phoned when you got back from your first date. Instead, you spent your time imagining the conversation, and let your best friend find out something important through somebody else. 

You hurt her. She is wounded enough that she really has given up defending you. When Caroline remarks on your silence now, May doesn't attempt to fill the emptiness your lumping throat leaves. 

"She's just shy," May used to say, waving her hand. Her embarrassment over your stumbled words and fidgeting hands was clear, then, but you knew she felt for you, even if she didn't understand why she had to. Now she just looks at you expectedly like everyone else, pulls awkward, embarrassed faces when you stumble and fidget through a non-answer.

You had taken to spending more of your lunches helping Heather with her new responsibilities as class president, sitting quietly at debate club and nodding along to her speeches, taking the role of a small country at her model UN meetings. But you are starting to feel her frustration with you, too. 

“You don’t have to come to every meeting if you don’t enjoy it.” She said to you after the last UN encounter you’d sat through without uttering a word.

“It’s just, I don’t really know much about Anguilla. But I like hearing you speak.”

Heather smiled with her lips closed. “That’s not what it’s for, though. I think maybe you’d prefer having lunch with May and the cheerleading girls again.”

You felt your cheeks burning, pulled the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands and fiddled with the woollen edges. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Sometimes you think about sitting at Eddie’s table instead. To have another hour of him every day. The picture is nice on its own. Talking to him, to Jeff, even the freshmen Eddie has adopted since the beginning of the year. But then the image zooms out; you at the Hellfire table, May with the cheerleaders, Heather at her clubs, and your chest aches. You don’t know when it happened, when you had to start holding on this tight, digging your nails into them. You only know you’ll leave claw marks on your friendship before you let it go easy.

And while you can never get enough Eddie, you aren’t normally deprived of him outside of the school walls. With anyone else, you might have worried about suffocating him, being clingy. But Eddie makes it clear at every turn how much he wants to be around you. His grin in the mornings when you climb into his van. The way he leans into your space, hair tickling your cheeks, and asks all soft and earnest if you want to go home with him. Some days, he invites you into the trailer to touch and taste you. Others, to sit on his couch or his bed and talk. Or to just spend hours just breathing the same air as him, listening to him scribble in his D&D notebook or strum at his guitar while you read or do your homework. 

But you won't see him tonight. Eddie is going to see Fright Night with most of the boys in his club, and it's all he's talked about the past week. He'd asked you to come, all wide brown eyes and dimples, and your stomach had twisted. 

"Normally May and I do something around this time each month." You hadn't been able to look him in the eye when you said it, fiddling with his hands instead. You'd rubbed the softness of your thumb over the callused pads of his fingers, knowing he had that look he'd been getting whenever you found yourself bringing your friend up. A little sad, guilt he shouldn't be feeling. Irritation, at you or at her you're not brave enough to ask. 

"You sure?" He asks over the phone now. "It'd be pretty easy for me to pick you up. I'm giving Wheeler a ride. He's just down the street from your place." 

You feel a wave of fondness for him, for the lie he’s just told. He isn’t aware that you know exactly where Mike Wheeler lives. You’ve babysat Holly since you were sixteen, and the route to her home takes half an hour in your dad's car. 

"I'm sure," you say, trying to sound firm. "But I hope you like the movie."

"If it's good, maybe we can see it together another time." 

"You wouldn't mind going twice?" 

"I'd watch the same movie twenty times in a row if you promised to come to the last one." He laughs, sounding enough like he means it that your smile hurts your cheeks. 

"That might be a touch excessive," you murmur. "Twice sounds like enough."

"How about tomorrow? We could get dinner first, make a real date out of it." 

Your face heats up like the first time Eddie asked you out. You touch your toe to your ankle, winding the cord of the phone tight around your finger. You whisper. "Okay."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." You press your knees together. "That sounds nice."

"Unless the movie's shit, then we'll have to call the whole thing off." You laugh down the phone, imagining the tease in Eddie’s smile. "I'll have a review for you by tomorrow, sweet thing."

"Okay, Eddie."

"And I'm not leaving for another ten minutes. If you change your mind, just call, okay?"

"Okay, Eddie," you repeat. "Have a nice time."

"See you soon, beautiful." 

Your toes curl. "See you soon." 

When he's gone and the phone is back in its holder, you have to sit tense and still for a second to avoid making some kind of happy squeal, settling for curling your fingers into your skirt and tapping your heels wildly against the floor. 

You still feel a little dizzy with the thought of him when you pull the chair back into the kitchen, enough that you jump when your mom speaks. "That Eddie on the phone?" 

You fix her with a look, because she knows exactly who you were talking to, and she gives you a mock innocent smile that shifts into a real one. 

“You were laughing a lot.”

Her hands drip soapy water from the kitchen sink, finishing up the dishes that would have been done ten minutes ago if she hadn't dragged it out for an excuse to stay where she could hear you. You chew the inside of your lip while you take the next freshly cleaned plate from her. Grabbing a dry dish cloth to drag across the ceramic, you shrug one shoulder. 

“He’s funny.”

“And you like that about him?”

“Mom.”

“Just a question!” She says, holding her hands up, before grabbing the dish towel from you to wipe her wet hands. “You talk more, when it’s him on the phone. Did you know that?”

“You listen to all my conversations?”

“I’m your mother,” she laughs, bumping your hip with hers. “And I’ve never heard you so chatty.” You give her another look and she reconsiders. "Chatty for you. There's been times I've rounded that corner surprised you were even on the phone, you're so quiet. I mean, with that last boy-” She hums a disapproving tone, reaches out to fix the collar of your cardigan. "I swear you'd sit there and not say anything at all."

“It's easier to talk to Eddie,” you admit, thinking about how pleased he looks when you ramble about what you're reading, the last kid you babysat, even the new eyeshadow palette you’d saved up for and felt a touch immature being so excited about. All his encouraging nods, all the questions and affirmations afterwards. "He's…" 

He’s a million good things. Too many to name, too many to put in order. You glance at her to the side, raising one shoulder. 

"I like him," she declares. "I think he's good for you." 

Your face is hot and uncomfortable, but it still feels nice to agree. "I think so, too." 

When the dishes are away and your mom is settled on the couch with your dad watching Quincy reruns, you walk slowly upstairs, hoping that the phone will ring again before your door closes. 

You make a bet with yourself in your head. If it rings before I get to my room, it’ll be May. It’ll be May and she’ll want to be friends again and everything will be alright. You reach the top, spy the door the end of the hall. Any time after, it’ll be somebody else; a sales call, a chatty relative. 

All you hear as you pad across the landing is your parents laughing at the TV. 

With your door closed, your heart sore, you glance at your desk on the other side of the room, the cork pin board behind it decorated with memories. There is your first concert ticket, next to a postcard from the first time you left this country by plane. An askew origami frog that a boy you used to babysit made for you. A pom-pom that detached from the winter hat you wore from October to March three years running in middle school. 

There is Heather. One photo as she is now, smiling at you over a yellow smoothie. Another couple from your first years together, at the edge of womanhood. Her in braces and her mother's lipstick, the aquamarine taffeta dress she wore to your first high school prom. 

And there is May. She is everywhere, over and over again, in all the stages of her life since you met. She is in pigtails, her small hand in yours, her gap toothed grin next to your close lipped smile. She is in this room, with sparkling eyelids, the earliest and most keen model for your interest. She is at the Spring fair of 1979, holding cotton candy you'd shared soon after the photo was taken. She is at that first concert, decked out in Wham! merchandise. Swim meets and cheer competitions. A line of photo booth strips. You are there with her; both giggling, eyes crossed and tongues rolled. 

May has been a constant in your life, but now your life has shifted. Maybe you have to accept that she doesn’t want to shift with it. 

The phone rings downstairs. 

You hear your dad huff, the sound of your mom rising from the couch and heading through the hall. You hold your breath, listen to the buzz of her landline specific voice, all breezy politeness. Then she calls your name.

You practically throw yourself down the stairs, slipping at the last couple in your socks. You have to hold yourself back from grabbing the phone from her. Taking just a second to glance over your shoulder to check that she's actually walking away, you whisper into the phone. “Hello?”

"Where are you? I rented Footloose." Tears prick in your eyes at the sound of May’s voice. You look up to the ceiling, silent for too long. “You still there?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Where are you?” She repeats. “Second Friday of the month. It’s movie night.”

“I didn’t-” You swallow, blinking tears away as they rise and trying not to sniffle. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me.”

"Of course I want to see you,” she answers. “You're my best friend."

You feel your bottom lip shaking, can’t fight the sniffles this time. You drag the sleeve of your cardigan across your eyes, voice cracking when you speak next. "You really mean it, May?"

"I’m inviting you round, aren’t I?” She says, sharp tone softened by a sigh crackling in your ear through the receiver. “Of course I mean it.” You hum a high sound, a stifled sob of relief, eyes squeezed shut. “Now, come watch Kevin Bacon shake his ass with me." 

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You are warm under the silken soft quilt pulled from May’s bed. Your stomach is heavy with buttered popcorn and gummy worms. Your skin is soft from the homemade face masks you made in her kitchen, singing along to Cyndi Lauper and listening to May read the recipe aloud from the newest YM magazine dropped on her doorstep just this morning.

Stirring oatmeal and yoghurt together like a potion, you felt a pang of nostalgia. For a second, you were seven years old, standing with May over a muddy puddle, your makeshift cauldron brimming with gathered leaves, stones, and red berries. You’d mix it up with long, gnarled twigs and cackle together like the witches. The mucky water wasn’t just mud, then. It was poison, it was love potion. It was magic, made together. 

Today, at eighteen, you glanced up at May’s concentrated face while she attempted to separate egg whites from yolks, and let yourself be soothed by the thought that maybe some things are still as they were. 

Footloose was abandoned after Kevin Bacon finished throwing himself rhythmically around an empty warehouse, May’s interest in it vanishing swiftly after that. You found yourself on the couch talking while the film played on in the background until the popcorn was finished and the oats could be washed from your face. 

Then May led you up to her room, almost as familiar to you as your own. 

The cream lambskin rug, still matted and stained in one corner from that time you’d spilt nail polish over it. Terrified you might not be allowed to come over anymore, May told her mom it was her, and she was grounded for a week. 

You bought her those fairy lights, the ones that hang above her bed. Last year, you wrapped them in pink tissue paper, felt the satisfying swell of a present well chosen when she’d hugged you tight with the box still in her hand. 

May has her own cork board. Amongst plastic medals and concert tickets, there is you at that fair, you and Heather at prom, the second strip from the photo booth. 

“And it’s like, when was it decided that we had to pick our whole future at eighteen, anyway?” May asks, eyebrows twitching like she wants to furrow them. She fights through it, keeping them high on her forehead to let you smooth powder over her lids. “Here I am, barely out of the cradle!” You snort, and her mouth tilts a touch. “Feels like I started walking last week, and now it’s all, what do you mean you don’t have a clue what you want to do with your life? It just feels crazy to me.”

“It is.” You shift forward on the soft shag carpet, your knees bumping hers under the throw keeping your legs warm. 

“Right? I mean, you know that your brain doesn’t even really mature until you’re, like, twenty-five? So I am close enough to a child that I really shouldn’t have this responsibility.”

Humming in agreement, you rub your thumb at the corner of her eye, smudging the edge of the lilac eyeshadow there. 

“At least I have an idea where I’m going. Indiana State, here I come. You’re still applying for NYU, right?”

“Mm. Maybe,”

“Oh, come on, you have to apply at least!” She insists, eyelids twitching. “It’s the place to be, for your poetry, right?”

You hum. “I might still do Chemistry.”

“Chemis- absolutely not!” Her eyes fly open, and you make a noise of protest.

“I’m not done!”

“You are not doing Chemistry.” May says, a comic picture with one eye bordered by soft pastel tones, the other bare of colour, while she looks at you sternly. “You don’t enjoy it!”

“But I could get a job at the end,” you reason. 

May snorts, eyes closing gently, chin peaking out to let you get back into it as though she’s already won the argument. “Job schmob,” she says. “When you’re in New York, you can find a rich man to worry about that.” You frown, and like she senses it, the eye you’re not working on opens again. “Or find a rich man for me. He has to be really rolling in it though, so he can look after us both.”

You hear Eddie’s voice in your ear like he’s in the room with you. Just wait, I’ll look after you. 

“Think you can do that?” May asks. “Keep an eye out for me, when you’re making all your arty, interesting friends in New York?”

You swallow, tuning back into the conversation. “I don’t think really want me to find you a man.”

“Mmph. The way my love life is going, I’ll need whatever help I can get.” She moves a little then, a slight tilt of her head that would be imperceptible to anyone but you, who's seen every degree of emotion on May’s face. You know she’s going to drop something serious before she even opens her mouth. “I saw Liam last week.”

You fight through the temptation to stop blending the eyeshadow on her lids, keeping your tone as even as possible. “Oh?”

“When I was in Indianapolis with the girls?” Those trips with the cheerleaders you avoid desperately. The thought of being stuck in a car with Caroline on the way there and back can make you break out in a cold sweat. “He was at one of the bars. He apologised, said he wanted to maybe go out again.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything-”

“That was your judgy mmmh,” she says, batting your hand away from her face to look at you straight. “Last time I heard it was when I showed you that top I bought last month.”

Despite yourself, you crack at the memory of the flouncy pink thing she’d shown you with an awkward, self-aware smile. You’d been working out how to gently tell her to burn it when she’d figured out the tone of your hum and thrown it off in front of you with a whispered, “what was I thinking?” 

Now, your tilted lips turn down at May’s solemn expression, her eyes shiny. 

You shuffle closer, tucking the blanket around the both of you gently, cocooning your legs in together. “He hurt you, last time. Used you.” 

She chews her lip. “That’s what boys do.”

“May-”

“I know you think what happened with Andy was bad, but you’ll learn, that’s just how they are. They need a little more forgiveness than girls, and some of them are worth it.”

You feel the beginning of the argument she might not be quite past. “Andy didn’t really like me, May. He only wanted-”

“The same thing they all want. The only thing they all want.”

Your heart aches for her. “That’s not true.”

“You think it’s not true right now, but when you hold out on Munson the way you did with Andy, you’ll see that it is.”

You fiddle with your fingers then, wondering if you should tell her. The guilt of not sharing that you’d started seeing Eddie prickles along the back of your neck. Your knee starts to bounce, and May blinks at you, just as attune to the meaning of your expressions. “Well, with Eddie-”

“Please, please, tell me you haven’t fucked Eddie Munson.”

“No. I mean, not yet but,” you begin, fiddling with your skirt. “Like, we’ve done, y’know, other stuff.” You glance at her shocked face, worry rising. “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Why would I tell anyone something that would literally ruin what’s little is left of your reputation? You wouldn’t let Andy do anything but you’ve been seeing the freak for a few weeks and you’re, what, sitting in his dirty van giving him hand jobs?”

“Oh my god, May!”

“What? What am I supposed to think?”

You shake your head, tense your hands in your clothes. “It’s not like that with Eddie.” Your mind is awash with shiny brown eyes, soft pink cheeks, Eddie’s voice tickling your neck. “I don’t worry about anything, with him. It’s fun.”

“It’s fun.”

“It’s like, I thought sex was something a boy would do to me, something I’d have to let him do. With Andy, it was like if he took me on dates, it was what he would get in return,” you say, fiddling with the blanket. “But with Eddie it’s like,” you hum, hating how awkward this all sounds, so unused to talking about sex yourself, so used to hearing it from other, experienced, confident people. “We go on dates together, and talk together. And then with the, y’know, sexual stuff, we’re doing it…together.”

“But not really doing it, right?”

“No. But my point is,” you continue, grabbing her hand, clasping it in both of yours. “I know I don’t really know anything about boys, and I know you’re not Eddie’s biggest fan. But even though it’s not been long, I think he’s proof that, maybe, sometimes, boys aren’t what either of us thought. And if you really like Liam, then maybe he deserves your forgiveness. But I really, really don’t think he does if he hasn’t made you think twice about what all boys want. And maybe if you found somebody like Eddie-” She makes a face, but you ignore it. “I mean, somebody who doesn’t ask you to forgive them all the time. I think that would be better.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, I don’t want an Eddie.” You press your lips together, listen to her sigh. “But you’re also…probably, maybe right about Liam.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, May. I mean, to apologise when you happened to be at the same bar! If he was really sorry, he should have come to see you with flowers and everything. He probably just saw you, all pretty, and realised what a dunce he’d been.”

She smiles a little at the vitriol in your voice, usually so soft and quiet. “I missed you.”

You almost flinch. “I’ve been here.”

“You stopped sitting with me at lunch.” 

“I…” You close your mouth, shrug instead. 

“I know it’s partly my fault. I was angry, so I stopped defending you. But then, I mean, you just gave up.” 

“I just- Some of the cheer girls are so intimidating, I never know what to say to them.”

“But you don’t try.” Your heart is sore, the guilt of knowing you’ve made life a little more difficult for her. “Listen, if you want to date Eddie Munson, I can be okay with that. I am okay with that.” She nods, seemingly trying to convince herself. “But will you just try, a little more, with the cheer girls? You don’t have to defend your relationship all the time, but maybe just try talking to them about something else? You could come on our next trip!” 

Your toes curl at the thought. “I don’t know.” 

“Please? We can’t let a boy come between us.” You wonder what she’d say if she knew how hard Eddie seems to try not to come between you. “I like Heather, even though she abandoned us. And I like the cheer girls. But I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you, May. It won’t change.”

“So you’ll try?”

You chew the inside of your lip, give her a little nod that has her breaking out into a smile. “Okay. Okay, great.”

You try not to think about exactly what you’ve just compromised on while you finish her make up. May sits, silent and smiling while you sweep dark eyeliner across her lids, brush mascara over her long lashes.

“There, all done.” You love this bit. May turns to the floor length mirror beside you and grins at her reflection, her pretty eyes bordered by soft pastels from your new palette. It sends a warmth through you that you’d never admit to. Knowing you’re good at this, that even the cheer girls who think you’re weird admire the way you’ll do their make up at competitions. “It’s cool, right?”

“I love it,” she breathes, shifting closer to the mirror enough that the warm throw pulls from the tops of your legs, leaving your thighs chilly. “Just one last question. You’re not gonna play that Satanist game, right?”

Your brain short circuits, having thought you’d just agreed that you wouldn’t have to explain yourself. “Um, It’s really not what you think.” 

The scene plays out in your mind. Eddie, his lips on yours, your hands tangled in his hair, letting you tilt your hips to rub yourself over his thigh, suddenly pulled away from you with a gasp. He’d thrown himself from the bed dramatically, holding his open jeans up by the waistband. You’d watched him, breathless and warm, while he scrambled for a pen before writing in his D&D notebook and looking up at you in excitement. “I just thought of a really cool way to lure them into this whole cave thing I’ve been planning. Shit. They’re so fucked.” Before you could consider being offended that that’s what he’d been thinking about while kissing you, your legs were over his shoulders, his lips were smiling at your thigh. 

You can’t help your fond laugh. “Eddie’s such a dork about it. Last week-” You pause at her expression, realising that May probably doesn’t want to hear that story. You clear your throat. “They just pretend to be fantasy characters.” Witches over a cauldron, Princesses sharing a Kingdom. “Like we used to do, sorta.”

“Yeah, when we were kids.”

You have to swallow the lump that brings up to your throat. To hear her dismissal of the time you’ve been daydreaming about since you walked through her front door. “It’s not Satanist.”

“But you’re still not going to play it, right?”

“No,” you say, feeling cold. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it, anyway.”

She watches you for a second, but says nothing before grabbing the eyeshadow palette from the floor beside you. “Let me try, then. Get you all glammed up for making s’mores later.”

You smile with closed lips, let your eyes fall shut. You have to ignore the pang in your heart, the reminder that some things are entirely different from when you were seven. 

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“You know, I kinda thought there’d be more trembling.” Eddie’s breath tickles your ear as he whispers, again when he blows cool air on your neck just to see you wriggle a little while you look up at him, wide eyed. His pale face is illuminated only by the screen at the front of the room, but you can still see the mischief in his eyes, in the barely there turn of his smile. “I was told that taking a pretty girl to a scary movie would have you grabbing my thigh in pure terror. That you’d need me to comfort you with my masculinity.” 

You just about fight off the laugh, still glad that you are sequestered together in the back row when a soft amused noise escapes your throat. On screen, the newly transformed and aptly named Evil Ed laughs maniacally. The special effects and practical make up are impressive, but the whole thing has enough of a teen movie vibe that you’ve been about as scared as you were watching Kevin Bacon stuck on a tractor yesterday. 

“You and your masculinity should have picked a scarier movie.” You feel the flutter of nerves that accompanies teasing Eddie back, still always a little worried that it will come out wrong. The answer of Eddie stifling his laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides, has the butterflies scattering. 

“Noted,” Eddie whispers, cheeks dimpled. It strikes you how close he is now, his breath spreading over your cheeks. He leans down more, his nose at your temple, his lips pressing soft to the skin beside your eye. You shut both, breath shaking as Eddie’s mouth leaves a handful of kisses down your cheek to the corner of your mouth. There, he feels you twitch, and his eyes open to find you tense in your seat, fingers curled in your sleeves. 

You are fighting the urge to turn and check the rest of the row, the whole room, to make sure nobody is watching. The image of an attendant appearing with a flashlight taunts you, the thought of being escorted out of the theatre in shame. You open your mouth, trying to work out what to say, but Eddie just smiles at you. His hand finds yours, fingers tangling together in a gentle squeeze. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips quickly. “M’sorry, baby.” 

You watch him lean back in his seat, face set in contentment to be sitting with you and feeling your palm against his. You’d been worried for a second there, that he might be angry with you, or that you might have to explain your worries until he understood. But it’s Eddie. 

You stare at his profile, the soft curls the brush his face, his pouty lips, and find you really, really want to kiss him, here and now. Eddie’s your boyfriend, you remind yourself with a shiver of happiness. Teenage girls have been kissing their boyfriends in the backs of movie theatres since the projector was invented, so why, why, shouldn’t you kiss yours?

You rub at the sleeve of your cardigan with your free hand, letting yourself have the comfort of looking around you quickly to make sure there really isn’t anyone else in this row, or even the one in front. With your eyes closed tight, you remind yourself that the boy who ripped your tickets looked about fifteen, not quite dedicated enough to this job to search the rows looking for kissing teenagers with an invasive flashlight. 

Pressing your knees together, you cuddle into Eddie’s side, smell his two-in-one shampoo and his aftershave and his skin. You press a kiss to his cheek, feel a little scratch of early stubble against your lips. His head turns, eyes scanning over your face. “We don’t have to, sweet thing.”

“I know.” You nod, tilting your chin up in petition. “Please?”

Eddie watches you for a second, giving you time to back out before he leans down to press his lips to yours. It’s a chaste thing; so quick that he has your mouth following him when he pulls away to make sure you’re still happy to kiss him here. Eddie breathes a soft laugh that has your stomach twisting, then his hand is covering your cheek. You feel his breath, your eyes close, and he’s kissing you. 

Eddie’s mouth is warm, but it tastes like blue raspberry slushy; sweet and sharp. At the first lick of his tongue against your lips, you feel a soft noise wanting to escape your throat, but it’s beaten back swiftly by the remaining fear that has your heart racing even as Eddie’s thumb smooths a gentle caress over your cheek. Underneath that is a new giddiness. The feeling that you’ve pushed past something, overcome a fear, however small. And to be doing this, making out with your boyfriend at the back of a movie theatre, like other girls have done.

Your arms find his shoulders, hands clasped together behind him, and Eddie smiles to your lips, just barely pulls away. His thumb stretches to rub your swollen bottom lip. “My brave girl.”

You shiver when he kisses you again, your toes curling in your sneakers. You think you could live on Eddie’s praise. Every pretty girl, smart girl, good girl he gives feels like it’s designed to leave you wanting to crawl onto his thighs, or else sit between them. Eddie’s mouth, intent on yours, wet enough that it feels like the start of something he definitely won’t finish in the back row of screen three, has you remembering how free he can be with his praise when your mouth is on him.

You weren’t expecting to like it so much, but thinking about the weight and taste of him in your mouth makes you squirm as much as the thought of his own tongue where you are most sensitive. You’ve enjoyed it every time since the first moment you spent looking up at him from between his thighs. Watching Eddie fight to keep his eyes on you, mess his own hair up when he forces himself not to take yours in his fist and push you down. His voice, desperate and breathy, coaxing you to try and take him just a little deeper, sweet thing. The quick hot flash of degradation when he taps his cock against your cheek or your tongue before pressing inside.

There is even something pleasant about the lasting ache in your jaw afterwards. The feeling that you’re willing and wanting to do something that hurts to make Eddie feel good is a sick satisfaction you're not yet used to.  

Cinema speakers fill the room with a swelling, dramatic soundtrack. A girl screams, a monster cries out in pain, no doubt making everyone else in the room jump in terror and shake with anticipation for how the whole thing will end. You can hear it, but only just, so firmly in the world of Eddie-Eddie-Eddie. 

Eddie has the beats of the movie memorised already, pulling away from you with a soft gasp just as the opening notes of the music over the end credits begin, a little line of spit connecting your lips until Eddie makes one last move to lick it away. 

The lights come up seconds later, the first groups of people standing to leave. They walk past you and Eddie, both breathless and dishevelled, without a second glance. Under the new lighting, Eddie’s cheeks are now clearly pink. It warms you from the inside out to know that you did that.

You feel the need to be close to Eddie as you leave, grasping onto his hand with both of yours when your jackets are on and he’s guiding you from the theatre. “How’d you like the movie?” He asks in the parking lot, dimples deep in his cheeks.

You hide your face in his arm, feeling that strange new embarrassment crawling up your spine. You mumble into the leather of his sleeve. “I hope nobody asks me how it ends.”

“Yeah, hadn’t thought about that.” Eddie opens the door to his van, holding your hand to help you up until you’re settled in the front seat. He leans in through the door with wide eyes. “Hey, maybe we could see it again next weekend?” 

You chew the inside of your lip. “Would I really see the end if we did?” 

His head falls forward, hair following in a wave. When his head tilts back up, one of his eyes is closed. “You figured me out that easy, huh?”

You smile at each other, Eddie looking over your face as you look over his. His big eyes, dark eyelashes, light freckles, sweet nose, plush pink lips. You’ve never seen another boy you could so comfortably describe as pretty.

You think he might walk round to his side, but instead you feel Eddie’s palm, warm at your knee. “So, uh, the thing is,” he rubs a circle with his thumb at the bottom of your thigh. “It’s Wayne’s day off, and most likely if we go to my place he’ll be in the living room watching MacGyver.”

“Oh.”

You feel guilty for being disappointed. Wayne is always polite, never breathes a word of complaint at the fact you seem to be in his home most days. The only inkling of irritation you get is never at you or Eddie. Instead, there is something in the way he drags himself from the trailer every evening, ready to stay up all night at the factory. When you’d asked where he slept, realising that the only bedroom in the trailer was the one decked out with posters and amps, Eddie had shown you the fold out bed in the living room with a close lipped smile. 

He is, more than anyone, due a day off. But you were gearing yourself up for being in Eddie’s bed tonight, trying to prepare the least awkward way of asking him. 

“And I’m happy to just hang out with you, sweet thing, you know that.” His hand squeezes, even the metal of his rings warm from his skin. “So we can go back to mine and watch MacGyver with the old man, or I could try to teach you some guitar again?” 

That’s tempting, certainly. You doubt sitting between Eddie’s legs with his arms around you, guiding your hands over his acoustic guitar was the most effective teaching method, but you certainly preferred it to any alternative. 

“But if you wanted,” Eddie continues. “Only if you wanted, I could maybe drive us to the quarry or something?” Eddie blinks, tucks some of his hair behind his ear with his free hand. “It’s, uh, quiet.”

Your heart beats a little faster, you can hear the sudden rush of it in your ears. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, in that sweet way of his, wanting to make sure you’re not just acquiescing to everything he suggests. 

“Sounds good, I mean.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Belt on, sweet thing.” He gives your knee one last squeeze while you pull the belt over your front, then pushes away from the frame of the door. He taps a quick rhythm under the window when it’s closed, grins at you through the glass. You watch him jog round to the other side, hair flying out behind him, and wonder if every single thing he does will make you want him more. 

You sit in companionable silence while Eddie drives, feeling that soft comfort you only get with a few people, knowing that he’s not waiting for you to speak. You look out the window, watch the shops and gas stations disperse into houses which in turn give way to trees. All of them appear more as streaks of colour than clear pictures with the way Eddie drives, like he’s being judged on time. 

“Hey, can I play you something?” 

You turn from the window, taking a second to fully register the question before you hum a positive noise. Eddie’s right hand reaches out to turn on the stereo, the sudden attack to your ears of wailing guitar making you jump until he turns it down all the way with a sheepish smile, a murmured, “sorry.”

You watch Eddie’s hand, pale and lithe, as he skips through tracks. The metal chain that adorns his wrist is twisted a little at the leather clasp, and you reach to straighten it out with your thumb and first finger. When he’s found the right track, he turns it back up a touch, wiggles his fingers until you grab his hand. An urgent rhythm fills the van, the tell-tale guitars of all Eddie’s music, and he sighs, leaning back into his seat with a grin. 

“Hear the rime of the ancient mariner, see his eye as he stops one of three, mesmerises one of the wedding guests. Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea.”

Something clicks.

“Oh, that’s a Coleridge poem!” You lean forward to turn it up further with your free hand, trying to concentrate on the words. It tells the whole story from the lyrical poem you’ve had a copy of since you took an interest in the romantics when you were fifteen; a mariner who kills an albatross and is blamed for the resulting misfortune by everyone on his ship. 

“I knew you’d know it. My smart girl.” Eddie is the picture of pride, eyes crinkled at the sides. “I was reading a Steve Harris interview - he, uh, writes most of Iron Maiden’s songs? And he mentioned the reference and I just thought, you know, you might think it was cool.”

“I do.” You picture Eddie, soft and comfy in his bed, flicking through a magazine. You imagine him reading about his favourite thing, and a spark lighting in his head relating to you. Something that made him excited to share it with you. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He shrugs, like it doesn’t mean anything, but his cheeks are blooming with pink. You can’t say anything else, for fear of blurting out every thought running through your head. 

You listen in silence, trying to decide how you want to ask him. Every way to say it feels awkward and wrong. Fuck me, take me, have sex with me. You picture asking Eddie to make love and feel a mix of yearning and nausea. By the time you reach the quarry, you have been playing with the ring on Eddie’s right hand, feeling the smooth stone, twisting it round his finger, for a good five minutes.

Eddie steals his hand from you while he parks by the trees opposite the quarry, pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing them on the dashboard before reaching out to let you take hold of his hand again. The easy quiet is gone. You can feel him waiting for you to speak. Your mind screams at you to remain silent, hating the thought that you might risk humiliation with Eddie. 

“Will you look at me, baby?” Eddie pulls your hands from between you. You follow it with your gaze, watch him press a kiss to your knuckles before you meet his eyes. "I really didn't mean to, you know, imply anything by bringing you here."

You shake your head emphatically. “I know. You’d never.”

Eddie breathes a little sigh from his nose, looking relieved. You think he has to be the sweetest boy ever born, and then you can’t help yourself. Eddie makes a soft happy noise when you bring your face to his, lets you kiss his soft bottom lip. He licks softly at yours, so you open your mouth to let him in, holding back a whine and reaching up to play with the collar of his denim vest; the material rough and familiar in your fingers. 

Eddie pulls from you, licks his lips, and breathes, "I can't get enough of that." 

"Mm?"

"The way you grab at me when you get a little shy."

Your eyes widen, processing the reminder that your silly little habits are not as inconspicuous as you might wish to believe. Of course Eddie has noticed the way you fiddle with his hands, his rings, his hair, his clothes, the second you feel an uptick in the pace of your heart. But then, Eddie just said he likes it. 

"S'not annoying?" 

“Not for me! They call me Eddie the stress toy, you know. People used to come for miles around to give me a squeeze."

You laugh at his attempt at an earnest face. "Used to?" 

"Yeah, well, you got exclusive rights, these days." Eddie says, tilting his head with a touch of endearing shyness. “What kinda idiot would I have to be, not to like my girl touching me all over?”

You want him, want him, want him.

You press your heated face to his shoulder, still playing with the frayed denim of his collar while you mumble into the vest. “Eddie?” You feel the vibration of his answering hum against your cheek. “I want-” You shake your head, as if you could bury yourself into his clothes. “Can we-” You turn your face, looking at the seat behind, all the space there. 

Eddie strokes at your waist. “You wanna, uh, get in the back?”

At your quick nod, Eddie clasps your cheek with his warm hand. He tilts your head, kisses you soundly. “Stay right there.” 

Eddie jumps from the van, legs swinging, and jogs round to your side to open the door for you. “Princess,” he says, offering you his hand with a flourish. You giggle, jumping down towards him and letting him lead you round to the back of his van like a gentleman. Still keeping up the routine, he opens the back door and gestures with a bow before helping you up. 

The back is a scene of amps and wires, a bass drum with CORRODED COFFIN scrawled over the skin. Luckily there is space enough for the two of you, so you settle yourself in the middle, surrounded by enough little pieces of Eddie that the back of this van feels a little like home. When you look up, Eddie’s still outside, staring in at you.  

You press your knees together, turn them to the side. “Eddie?”

“Yeah-” his voice breaks. He tries to hide it with a cough, clearing his throat and giving his chest a couple taps with the side of his fist. “Yeah,” he repeats, deeper now, as he climbs up after you. When the doors are closed, Eddie shuffles towards you, half squatting. “So, you’re happy with the carriage, Princess?” You nod, throat tight when Eddie kneels down in front of you. “That’s good.” Something in his face changes, a spark of excitement in his dark eyes. “You wanna lay back for me?” 

The space between your legs pulses. “Mm.”

“Here,” he says, pulling off his jacket and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow. You lean back and he leans in to place it below your head, face above yours while you settle into the soft leather. His hair tickles your cheeks until he tucks it back, staring down at you. Your heart, your body, screams at you, ask him, ask him, ask him. Eddie kisses your neck quickly, shakes his head like he’s emptying out a thought. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this dream.”

Again, ask him, ask him, ask him.

“Eddie,” you start, mind caught between the worry of how this will go and giving in to the gentle fuzziness of Eddie’s hands rubbing gently at your waist. You swallow, look to his eyes, then his forehead. “Will you-” The words catch, leaving you with a warm face and eyes squeezed closed in embarrassment. 

Eddie hums, gifts your cheeks his lips. His nose brushes the side of your face, and he murmurs. “Anything you want, pretty. Let me hear it, mm? ”

It’s Eddie, you tell yourself. From the first time you spoke to him, he’s never judged you for anything. He won’t judge you now. It’s Eddie, you repeat in your head. My Eddie. 

“I’ve never, um-” Your toes curl at the clear nerves in your voice, the beating of your heart that you swear he must be able to hear. “Nobody’s ever- Mmh.” 

“It’s just me,” Eddie says, thumb at your cheek. “It’s only me, sweet girl. Wanna know what you’re thinking.”

“I think,” you sigh, let some of the nerves out with it. “I think you’re beautiful, Eddie.” He blinks, surprised, but gives you a sweet smile when you touch gently at his pink cheek, feel the beginning of bristle under your finger. “And I want you. I mean, I want you to be first.” And second, and third, and every time after.

You stare at each other, breath heavy in your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine until he blinks it away. “Come- come here,” Even though he says it, he’s the one to lean down to you, giving you a chaste kiss that turns desperate when you reach up to play with his curls. 

Your head swims, relief and anticipation swirling together. A quiet moan escapes you when Eddie’s mouth moves to your jaw, down your neck. “Do you, um, have, like, protection?”

Eddie freezes. His face comes into view, brows furrowed. “Wait. You want me to fuck you right now?”

Oh. You hear the rush of blood in your ears, a ringing noise. You pull your hands from his hair, fingers curling, hands tucked to your chest. You suddenly wish he wasn’t on top of you, wish you could hide your face from him. Your head starts working overtime, supplying all the things he’s no doubt thinking about you now. You think of Erin, writing on the bathroom wall. Slut. Desperate. Whore.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. Eddie presses his pointer finger to your temple, gives it a playful rub. “Are you doing that thing you said you do? Lying there convincing yourself you’ve fucked something up?”

A little part of you resents that he nailed it down so quickly, but you nod, blinking away the first bubbling tears, staring at the collar of his Metallica shirt rather than his face. “I just thought you’d want to.”

Eddie makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. “C’mere.” He pushes himself up from the floor of the van, grabs your hand to pull you with him. You end up curled at his side, knees just resting on the side of his thigh, his arm tucked around your shoulder as he leans you both against the back of the seats. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fidgety even as Eddie is rubbing at your shoulder softly. 

“Course I want to,” he says, leaning into you. “I wanted you on that picnic table. I want you all the time.”

That soothes you a little, enough that your right hand peeks out from your sleeve to play with the hem of his shirt. But your sensitive heart still throbs, tentative and sore. “So, why…?”

“I- Shit. Give me a minute.” Eddie hugs you tight for a second, then shuffles across the floor of the van, practically launching himself out of the back doors with a practised ease that makes you smile despite yourself. You can’t see him from here, but you hear him outside, the passenger door opening and closing behind you. When he returns, he’s got that metal lunch box he carries around with him. A different kind of confusion blooms when he sits next to you and opens it, rummaging through the little plastic bags of illicit substances. He pulls out a wad of rolled bills, a little chunkier than when you’d bought weed from him in the woods that first day.

“Wanna know what this is for?” Eddie asks, looking unusually serious when you glance at him. He opens his mouth then closes it again, eyes fixing on where he is thumbing at the band holding the bills together. “I thought you might ask me, eventually. Hoped you would, at least.” He breathes a laugh, pings the elastic. “So I’ve been saving up, you know?”

“Saving up?”

Eddie nods, turns his wide gaze to you with a tilted head. “Wanted to take you somewhere nice. Buy you dinner, something other than a burger or a pizza slice. Get a room at a hotel, with a big comfy bed. Thought I could show you-” He twitches, eyes flickering away from your face and back again. He swallows, shrugs. “S’like I said. I wanna deserve you.”

Your tense shoulders slump. Your chest aches. “Eddie,” you whisper, shaking your head. Trying again to blink away tears, you grab the roll of dollars from him, throw it back into that dumb obvious lunchbox. You climb up into his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your wet eyes meet his. “You don’t have to prove anything. You deserve-” Me, whatever you want, everything. Your fingers twitch. You close your eyes tight, ashamed you can’t look at him when you say it. “I think, all the time, about how much I wish I knew you earlier. It’s like, before, I just spent the whole time missing you.” You find it in you to look at him then, gaze at his pretty face; pink, lightly freckled, shiny under his eyes. “I want you, Eddie. I want to be with you wherever you are.”

You stare at each other, listening to the steady rhythm of your breaths until they move in sequence, chests expanding and contracting together. You get that same feeling you got when Eddie held your hand after touching you for the first time, how he listened when you told him about how you blow out of proportion in your head, the way he was angry for you when you recounted how Andy treated you. When Eddie told you that he couldn’t understand you liking him, that people have held him at arm's length for being too much, that he refuses to give up on school, believes wholeheartedly in his dreams. One moment at a time, you are peeling back layers, exposing soft tissue. You are offering each other all your hidden parts, whispering, please look after this with every squeezed hand and kissed cheek. 

Eddie sniffs, wipes his eyes. Seeing his shaky smile, hearing his wet laugh, is better than any soft bed in any hotel.

“That’s good, cause, uh, I really hadn’t saved that much.” You giggle together through lumped throats. “At the rate I was going, you were gonna be waiting till you were forty-five.” You shake your head at him fondly, reaching up to play with the feathers of hair that brush the side of his face. Eddie pulls you in closer, ducks his chin. “But I still can’t take your virginity in the back of my van, sweet thing,” he says. “It just wouldn’t be right. You should be in a bed, at least. And if you’re happy for it to be mine? I’ll just make sure my sheets are washed.”

You rub the soft ends of his hair between your fingers. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” His hand comes to your cheek, helping you look at him. He must be able to feel the warmth of your face in his hand, but you lean into his palm anyway. When Eddie kisses you, it’s a gentle thing, a promise. 

When his tongue peeks out to lick into your mouth, it’s a request you’re happy to fulfil. Eddie groans at the taste of you, the sound of it registering across your whole body. Your hips roll subtly, and you feel the quirk of his lips. 

Eddie sighs into your mouth. “My pretty girl wants me to fuck her in my bed, mm?” 

The increasingly familiar zing of pleasurable shame zips up your spine. The air around you shifts, crackling like the split second of awareness before an electric shock. “Yeah, Eddie.” 

“But you need to be touched right now. So desperate,” he murmurs, the word that had mocked you minutes ago, now a warm tease. “So desperate you wanted to take my cock for the first time right here. In my van, parked by the side of the road.”

You shake your head, because you’re not really at the side of the road. Eddie was right when he said it’s quiet; nobody comes here. You’re about as likely to be found by the quarry as you are in his room. Eddie’s eyes light up with dark amusement, his hand drifting to the back of your neck. The pressure of his fingers there makes your hips twitch, your body recognising the signs, the promise of what’s to come when Eddie’s palm starts holding your head up. 

“No?” He asks, tilting his head, a teasing pout finding his pink lips. “You sayin’ I didn’t hear your right?”

Your toes curl. “No.”

The lines that run from the sides of Eddie’s nose to the corners of his lips deepen. “No, I did hear you right?”

“Eddie,”

“Ahh, yeah,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you lie back. He reaches out for his jacket, still rolled up on the floor, and places it back under your head. “That’s the good stuff.” You open your legs for him, let him settle his body on top of you, feeling the hardening length of him through denim and cotton at the apex of your thighs. Eddie licks his lips, tucks his hair back with a breathy laugh. “Shit. You got me thinking about it, now.”

Eddie sinks his face to your neck, the warm sting of his tongue making the mess between your legs increasingly hard to ignore. His big hand pulls at the hem of your skirt, lifting it up to your tummy. He glances down your body, eyes closing tight at the pale blue cotton cupping your mound, dark and sticky where it’s soaked up your wetness. “Wanna feel your little pussy on my cock so fucking bad. I can’t tell you how-” He cuts off a groan at the first run of his fingers over the wet material. “Christ. How many times I’ve thought about it.” 

You blink at him slowly, mind drifting into the calm of knowing Eddie’s going to make sure you both feel good. Your hips tilt naturally, helping him rub the curve of his finger over your clit through soaked cotton, then wiggling to help him more when his fingers hook into the elastic to pull them down your legs. Once they’re past your sneakers, he holds them in his hand for a second, rubbing his thumb along their centre. When you tilt your hips, pussy barely catching the rough denim over his crotch, his nostrils flare. “Don’t distract me, I’m holding precious cargo.”

He seems to settle on where to put them, draping the cotton over the top of one of the amps rather than letting them touch the floor. You giggle at his careful consideration, and Eddie’s dimples press into flushed cheeks. 

“You thought about it?” Eddie asks, watching your face when his thumb sweeps over your clit, noting the sensitivity before he starts up with tight circles that have you keening. “Thought about me inside you?”

He has to feel the new wetness between your legs that comes with your desperate nod. In truth, you’ve thought about it almost endlessly. You know it can hurt, have heard enough stories of virginity loss from the girls at the cheer table to know that it probably will. But when you imagine being close to Eddie that way, the only thing you can conjure up is the feeling of his fingers inside, how much further you’d have to stretch to take Eddie’s cock, the one that makes your jaw ache. Maybe the prospect should give you pause, but thinking about how Eddie would guide you through it sends excited shivers down your spine.

“Yes, Eddie.”

“You wanna feel my cock now?” He breathes, watching confusion flicker over your blissed face. “Know you like riding your pillow, sweet thing,” he says, your face hot at the memory of telling him how you masturbate. “But I think you might like rubbing up on me a little better.” 

Your clit twitches. You clench inside. Eddie either feels or sees the reaction of your body because he’s humming in excitement the next second, leaning down to kiss you, press his tongue to yours until you’re groaning into his mouth. He looks a little manic when he pulls away, hands scrambling with his belt when he throws himself to the side, lying on his back, ready for you to climb up on him. 

Without thinking, your hands catch his, stopping him from pulling at the loop. You squeeze his palms. “Let me?”

In answer, he moves his hands from his jeans, letting them rest flat across his stomach. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to sit on his thigh and grind against the denim just to get some instant relief. You reach out to the side of his head, grab his jacket and slide it to the back of his head. Eddie tilts his head up, lets you position it just so. You check, “comfy?” and he nods. 

Satisfied, you return to Eddie’s belt. The action of pulling at the leather is excitingly familiar to you now. The button of his jeans comes next, then his zip humming as you pull it down. His boxers are a soft check, the waistband positioned just under the first tufts of dark hair that lead to where Eddie is filling out the material. You think about his hands teasing your clit through your panties, mimicking him by brushing a knuckle over the mound peeking out from his zipper. It’s enough to make Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut, his fingers twitch. 

You hook your fingers into the elastic, start pulling them down. Eddie sighs in relief when his cock meets the air, hard enough to rise from his underwear the second he’s free. You imagine the stretch of him again, and clench down on emptiness. Eddie’s cock is a pretty pink all over. The furled skin at the top is a little shiny, and you know if you grasped his cock and pulled that skin back, his head would be wet with excitement. 

The thought strikes to just lean down and take him in your mouth, surprised to find that that’s already something of a comfort zone for you. But your clit throbs like it’s protesting, so you shuffle on your knees, feeling the sticky spread of your cunt when you open your legs to bracket his hips. You reach down, let yourself stroke Eddie’s cock just to hear the soft noise it draws out from his throat. You rub your thumb over that sensitive spot below his head, press his cock down until his length rests over the hair above it and the bottom of his soft tummy. 

With your free hand, you drift your hand between your legs, letting your fingers drift over your clit. You make a V with your fingers at the top, splitting your cunt open for him and feel a bone deep certainty that Eddie is the only person who could watch you doing this without real shame casting its shadow. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, getting impatient. “Sit on it, use my cock how you want, just let me feel you.” 

Nodding, body instinctively wanting to follow his direction, you settle yourself on his cock. Eddie groans at the warm slick that surrounds him, hands immediately moving to your hips to help guide you. Your entrance flexes at the base of him, and he tries to pull you straight down like he could find more space between your lips for his girth. “Jesus Chri-”

Eddie’s words cut off with a choke when you glide yourself forward, hearing your wetness spread along his dick. You whine at the feeling, Eddie’s cock stimulating not just your twitchy button but your soft, clenching hole. Shifting back, your legs twitch when his head, exposed as the surrounding skin is pulled back by the clasp of your lips, catches just right against your clit. A few more blissful drags, and you are whining, hands flat against Eddie’s chest, fingers pulling at the softness of his shirt. 

You wiggle your hips, close to hysteria at how good it feels to have Eddie this close. Eddie grins up at you, the pride on his face making you all the more desperate. He looks overwhelmingly pretty like this, hair fanned out across his jacket, lips wet and swollen from his constant licking and your own kisses. His neck, as blushed as his face and his cock, is exposed and tense. His dark eyelashes that flutter every time his head drags over your clit and emerges from between your lips. His eyes, dark in the centre where his pupils have swallowed up mahogany, flicker back and forth between your face and where his cock vanishes and appears again, enveloped and released by the wet split of your pussy.

“You feel me now, mm?” He says, sounding hurried like he’s trying to get it out before his voice is swallowed up by groans. “Haven’t even taken three of my fingers, but you thought you could just lie back and take my cock?” You bounce a little when his head flicks your clit this time, torturing the swollen button with him a little longer. “Couldn’t’ve done it right, not how my desperate girl needs it. Just wanna make you feel good, you know?” 

“Feels good,” you murmur, wiggling your hips to feel his cock flex and shift over all the tender skin where you are most sensitive. “You always feel so good, Eddie.”

“Yeah? That’s it, that’s it.” Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips, no doubt leaving you with marks that will be satisfyingly tender by morning. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, I love you-r pretty voice.” He swallows, eyes now fixed on your pleasured face. “Love when you talk to me.” 

“Eddie, m’gonna-” You start to shake, and his hands grab at your hips, helping you keep moving along him even as the stimulation edges towards painful. 

“That’s it, cum on me. Let me feel it.”

Your body spasms, letting yourself move only with Eddie’s pushing and pulling as the throb of your clit spreads through your body, sends tingles up your spine. You feel your clit numb for a second, know enough now about your own body what that means for the intensity of your orgasm. You sit on that precipice, gasping in air. 

Pleasure bursts, has you shaking and moaning and, unbeknownst to you, repeating, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” while the boy beneath you chases his own high, wanting to finish before you’re too oversensitive to keep your perfect warm pussy on him. 

Bending his knees, he grinds up into you, helping you slide along him. When he pulls your hips just so, and the tip of him barely catches the soft entrance of your cunt, Eddie finally cries out beneath you. The almost violent twitch of his cock between your legs makes you squirm, picturing that happening inside you. Eddie’s cum, thick and white, lands across his stomach in droplets, the last rope clinging to the tip of his cock in a way that, shamefully, makes your mouth water.

Sensitive, twitching, you rise from his body. Your shaking thighs fail you almost immediately, and you fall back on your butt between his open legs, a hand coming to cover your stimulated pussy like it needs protection. Eddie sits up, wipes his own hand across his stomach and draws his cum into his mouth with an ease that might surprise you if you hadn’t seen Eddie casually taste his own cum just about every time he’s orgasmed in front of you. 

This is what you meant, when you told May that being with Eddie is fun. Sex has always been something with disclaimers attached. Something to be enjoyed, but not too much. Something to get lost in, but not enough that you cross the line into acting slutty. It seemed to you like a tightrope nobody had shown you how to walk. 

And then there’s Eddie, who just watched you cum so hard on top of him that you immediately fell on your ass, and he’s grinning at you like he’s never been so proud of anyone in his life. “Now tell me that wasn’t way better than your pillow.” He reaches out for you, and you let him pull you into his arms, rest your head against his chest. You watch, warm in your face, while he tucks his softening cock, still covered in you, back into his boxers. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, tracing the blue lines of lightning on his shirt with your finger. Your thighs twitch again, and you laugh together, soft and breathless. You settle into that post high afterglow, letting yourself be comforted by how surrounded by Eddie you are. His arm around you, his chest under your head. You can hear the way his heartbeat shifts from an intense rhythm to a steady beat under your ear. There’s another sudden uptick just before he speaks.

“I was missing you, too.”

You shift, look up at him from his chest, find him staring at the ceiling. 

“Sometimes my life has felt like being dealt one bad hand after another.” His gaze shifts then, eyes finding yours. “Now, I think, maybe I was saving up for something really good without realising.” 

Eddie Munson; town freak, rumoured Satanist, bad news for sweet girls like you, on the floor of his van, arms wrapped tight around you, says; “You’re a lifetime of good luck, sweetheart.”

And then you know. 

Next Part

[inkyquince]

Patreon Post: Wren's Unionising Perks (Wren)

content warning: Cheating, Cucking, Nasty Wren really into Remy's spouse

Wren always got what he wanted. Not while he was growing up, no, never then. But when he reached his twenties, he found out there’s a lot he could get, either with his winning smile, or with quick hands. Then his tongue could worm himself into some good graces in more ways than one. He liked getting what he wanted. Suddenly, he could put food on the table. Suddenly, he had a favourite leather jacket. Suddenly, life was a breeze and nothing could bring him down.

So, all in all, fuck you.

Fuck you.

God, he’d love to fuck you.

Regular little love story, you and Remy. Horse Ranch meets Riding School. Horrible father meets Horrible Future Husband. Married within 6 months.

Wren didn’t hate a lot of things. Bad hair days. Shit hands when playing poker. Maybe when those shark teeth cut his fingers when spending his Friday lunches at the prison. But fuck, he hated you. He really hated you. He hated you till his stomach was painted with his own cum, his cock sore as his fingers gripped the base too tightly.

Cute townie, trotting in here. Can’t ride a horse, looks lost when Remy rattles off facts about why his cows are the most excellent, didn’t even own a pair of boots until you ruined a pair of your fancy shoes in the mud. Real cute. The kind of adorable where if someone like you, with a face like that, Wren would definitely have you in his bed after a charming little riding lesson and some flirting. But he couldn’t. Because of that fucking golden ring adoring your finger.

He did do his best at first, keeping away from you, real polite, only sometimes swinging by to help out when you got lost on the stupidly big estate. One of his winning smiles, a squeeze of your elbow, and then he could disappear back into his work, only sometimes glancing over to see what you were up to. Sweet little thing. Sweet thing that he won’t lure into his bed at all, god no, because he will be fired at best, killed at medium, and turned into one of Remy’s best bulls at worst.

Which was annoying. He didn’t even pay attention to you. It’s like that one time when he was a wee sprog, his somewhat friend had a toy that they hadn’t played with in a while, and then acted so annoyed when he stole it for himself. Like, what did he expect? When people put stuff aside, Wren will usually take it and be halfway out the door before they realise it was gone.

He just happened to think that the same rules should apply to you. Get left in the corner too long, and he’s allowed to step in. No one puts baby in the corner and so on and so forth. But apparently Remy and the Church of England were against his very reasonable thought process.

Luckily, you seemed to agree with his thought process. Somewhat.

You were obviously bored. Leaning against the bedroom balcony, watching the cows be led out. Wren looked up from his horse, the scene mocking Romeo and Juliet as you barely looked at him, and he was getting a lovely view of your legs. But you did notice him. Soft brown eyed boy with the wicked smile. You didn’t get to meet him properly, only formally. Remy just vaguely gestured at him, called him Wren and moved on, with one gloved hand pressing against your back.

A gesture Wren also liked to do with you.

Spotting you, bored, petting one of the horses. Hand against your back. Inviting you to a poker game. You accept.

The others worry. They can’t have fun like they usually do. Nothing scandalous or perverted, not while the boss’ spouse is sitting so pretty at the table. You were fun, it turns out. Only got more fun as the others became drowsy and passed out from all the shots. Only you and Wren awake.

How could he resist?

Tit for tat, he offered. Which you countered with “Tits for Tattoos?”, which amused him. You pull off your shirt, in return to see one of his tattoos. He likes you naked, and you like him… Showing off to you.

You win a hand, he has to share embarrassing stories, tattoos, see if he can tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. He wins one…

He gets to taste that pretty little mouth. Lick your teeth as his lean hands grip your thighs, pressing you close. Wren gets to grope and squeeze and touch, feeling his thigh get warmer from where you are perched so cutely. Best of all, he could tell that Remy had yet to do his husbandly duty and fuck you like a whore. You were his, and the thought of shoving your face into the pillows of the marriage bed to fuck your hole raw never crossed his mind.

Idiot.

Well, Wren was his right hand man for a reason. Pick up the slack where Remy can’t.

It isn’t the marriage bed, but it’s his, and fuck, you look good. Debauched and spreading your legs just for him. To be fucked, a couple of paces down from your mansion, in his little cottage. He couldn’t breed you, obviously, but the thought of keeping you full, sated and a happy little spouse for his friend had him stroking at your stomach greedily. All his, at least for most nights in the week, and maybe every other midday break.

Yes, Wren settles on, as he fucks into your hole roughly, enjoying the arching plane of your back as you grip his thin pillows and covers. Yes, this is how it should be. Enjoying a tight little thing in his own bed.

[peachybutch]

How Good the RvB Main Cast is at Cooking, Ranked from Best to Worst

1. Donut

Donut gives off the vibe of one of those gay men with a baking channel on YouTube. This man's out here rolling up to the red team monthly dinner club with frenched rack of lamb with a pistachio mint crust and wine accompaniment, then earl grey souffle with creme anglaise for dessert. He spends hours experimenting with new and interesting ingredients. Remy Ratatouille, send-you-back-to-rural-France ass man. Donut's food fucks hard and everyone knows it.

2. Grif

You really think my man Grif loves food as much as he does and doesn't know how to make it? C'mon. He doesn't, like, relish the act of cooking as much as he does having a good plate of food at the end of it. And he's not typically much for sharing. But my guy makes a damn good short rib and bechamel lasagna. Give him the day to let something slow cook, and god damn.

3. Wash

Wash has been living off of MREs for probably his entire adult life, but I feel like he's got a few dishes he can whip out for a date night, or if he's feeling fancy. He knows how to read a recipe, and he has a pretty good idea of what flavors go together to make something good. He probably has a really nice papardelle with vinho verde sauce that he has sitting around in the back of his head for special occasions.

4. Tucker

Okay, Tucker isn't a bad cook by any means, ok? He's great with breakfast food specifically. It's just that he isn't especially fancy about it. He was probably, like, a line cook at Denny's in high school, so all his food tastes like food you would get at Denny's. Which isn't a bad thing! You would just never call Denny's "fine dining". He has his niche, and he does it well, and he never feels even a little bit inclined to do anything different or better.

5. Church (Alpha)

Church isn't much of a foodie right off the bat, but someone's got to pack Caboose's lunch, and he ends up learning how to cook fairly well after that. After a certain point, he figures out how to make things from scratch--mostly things like chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, pancakes.

6. Simmons

I feel like Simmons mostly lives off of shit like green smoothies and homemade granola. Like, hardcore, low carb, vegan, all organic, high protein diet. And, like, it doesn't taste BAD. But it definitely isn't the kind of thing you bring to the red team dinner club. He does make a really nice sunbutter brownie that he has to hide from Grif.

7. Caboose

Caboose has been banned from using any objects in the kitchen that involve a heat source--which isn't HIS fault! How was he supposed to know that you're supposed to take the spoon OUT of the mac and cheese before putting it in the microwave? That's just a recipe for a cold spoon! Anyways, he manages just fine without the microwave, thank you very much. He can make ants on a log like it's nobody's business. Cleaning up afterwards is another matter entirely.

8. Carolina

Carolina is one of the most competent individuals you will ever meet. She could kill you in under a minute, in 30 different ways, and that's just with her bare hands. The fourth time Sarge tries to recruit her into red team is by inviting her to the monthly dinner club. She shows up empty handed, and when Donut very politely asks what she brought, she replies that it's very interesting that they expected the only woman on the team to go all out with cooking. They move on. Carolina spent 5 hours in the kitchen this afternoon trying to figure out how to use the oven. But they don't need to know that.

9. Tex

Now, listen. Tex can't be called a bad cook, precisely, because that would require she cook for herself or others. Which is something she does not do. That's what Church is for, isn't it?

10. Sarge

Sarge refuses to step foot in a kitchen after the fifth shouting match about how flamethrowers are not a universally recognized kitchen appliance.

11. Church (Epsilon)

One time, while blue team is shooting the wind, Caboose asks Epsilon what his favorite breakfast food is. Instead of calling Caboose a dumbass, as per usual, he instead goes into extensive detail about how he eats computer keys like cereal. Caboose tries it. It isn't very good.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for cutting my best friend out of my life after she gets married?

Okay so my best friend (F23) and I (F23) have known each other since preschool, though we haven't gone to school together since then. We've always been into the same things and it's awesome. We don't live near each other, but we always video chat at least twice a month, generally every week, since we were in 5th grade. We've only ever had one big fight. (I came out as bisexual in hs, she was a homophobe. We didn't speak for 6 months, then came to an agreement. I'm still bi and we go to different churches so im already a sinner for that from her pov. it works. She's more accepting now.) Anyways about two yrs ago she met a guy (M25). She didn't tell me until they'd been dating for a couple months. They got engaged last winter. I met him the next day. Since then, I haven't spoken to her once, in person or via video chat, without him being there or showing up. Since she met him she quit engaging in any interests we shared that he didn't, even before they were engaged. Most the texts I get from her are about this guy or his pets or his family. I think I know more about him then I do her some days. We never chat one on one. We'll go out for lunch and she'll bring him. We'll video chat and he's right there. And she tells him everything - even things I told her in confidence. And I can't even tell her I'm upset because he's always there! He reads all her texts! He doesn't seem like a bad guy - he does really love her, but I just don't have much interest in him. I'm an introverted autistic and I just don't like most people. He treats me like I'm already his friend and they constantly invite me to hang out with them but I just want my friend. I already agreed to be her maid of honor and the wedding's in less than a month, but I'm considering just cutting her out after that. She doesn't feel like the friend I grew up with anymore. I don't feel safe or like I can trust her now. WIBTA for doing this?

What are these acronyms?

[trashbag-baby666]

MOTA High School AU HC’s: Buck and Bucky.

I’ve been seeing other people talking of a MOTA high school au. So I just would luv to drop all of my HC’s for mine that I’ve been working on with @ihearteugeneroe !!!

Edit: I’ve been writing these and I’m just going to make separate posts for separate characters because I really went over my head with this one!

MOTA Masterlist!!

Buck/Bucky:

•Gale comes from a very wealthy family. His parents are both lawyers and he has two little sisters who are twins.

•Gales family is somewhat religious like church on the holidays but his grandparents are super religious. His grandma does not like John at all.

•Meatball is also the Clevens family dog 3:

•John is an only child of two emotionally unavailable parents who should be divorced. His dad had an affair when he was 11 and they then moved from Wisconsin to Wyoming for a fresh start. There he meets the rest of them. His parents fight all the time and he gets stuck in the middle of it. So he stays with the Clevens a lot.

•John and Gale are the co captains of the football team.

•John was always picky but as he was forced into playing football and he doesn’t really like it. His dad is always on him about his body and it’s now weened him into a full blown eating disorder.

•Gale is very much aware and he started making lunch to bring John at school that was easy on his stomach.

•When they go out John ONLY orders chicken strips and fries. That or John and Gale will pick something out together on the menu and share it.

•Buck is an AP/Honors student. He gets straight A’s and he knows his parents have high standards for him.

•John on the other hand has ADHD. He struggles in school, specially with math.

•Gale helps him out a lot with his homework. He’s always so patient with him and making sure he understands what’s going on.

•JOHN IS A FUCKING BAND KID ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?

•he plays trombone and he’s in marching band.

•Gale loves watching him perform the halftime show at football games in his football uniform.

•John also is in theater. Not like every production but the ones he really likes. He’s not great at singing but he’s a good actor and makes everyone laugh.

•John and Gale take electives together for fun like home ec or jewlery class. One time they took a class about raising kids together and got to do an infamous ‘baby project’

•John, however though is a CERAMICS GOD!!!!

•he’s besties with the art teacher and she lets him come in and throw on the wheel anytime he has study halls.

•Gale is OBSESSED with watching John throw on the wheel. He’s so obsessed with his hands and it drives him crazy.

•Gale is a total stoner versus where Bucky DRINKS.

•Gale wears glasses but he always has contacts in. When John sees him in glasses though right before bed he goes INSANE!!!

[gravedigginbbydoll]

pencil shavings and shared smiles {pt.4}

Fem! Teacher Reader x Teacher! Eddie

Previous Masterlist Next

AN: Hi friends! Sorry this took so long, I was struggling to finish this chapter and figure out how I wanted things to go but here we are ! Enjoy! (Also pls reblog and like if you enjoy it!)

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: Minors DNI!!!, Noncanon, Hawkins AU, Normal Hawkins, Rumors about Eddie, Eventual Smut, Very fluffy, Outcasts and Bullying, Mentions of Loneliness, Flirting, drinking, violence/fighting, drug usage, mentions of death, Fem!Reader, use of nickname Tish in place of Y/N, older! Eddie, short-haired Eddie, 1995/1996 Hawkins, F! Reader has a dark past, F! Reader is a former goth lol, angst.

Summary: First day of classes, and the day is not too hot for you. 

Following that peaceful afternoon with Eddie, you slowly started to unravel bits and pieces about the man. At the same time, he slowly got you to open up more and more. You had spent your following few lunch breaks between training periods with him, even one day bringing old faded polaroids to prove your brief stint in the goth scene. Eddie had nearly lost it when you showed him a photo of you at a goth club in your hometown, a dark little underground venue fondly called ‘The Church’. 

“Tish, I barely recognize you. Your makeup and clothes! I thought I was the black sheep!” He exclaimed, chucking with pink cheeks. He had started calling you ‘Tish’ as a joke, referencing Morticia Addams. He thought himself incredibly clever when you revealed you had taken French in high school and at your college. 

You had not let him off easy, making him bring proof of ‘The Hair’ Harrington and his own wild mane he had bragged about to your next lunch in the library. He had done as promised, bringing multiple polaroids of himself and his friends. One had him and Steve, along with Dustin and Mike, who you know now as Nancy’s brother. They all had arms slung around each other, Dustin sandwiched in the middle as the shortest in the lineup. Eddie had a mischievous smile, his hair much longer, and his brunette curls wild. He wore a jean vest with patches, a leather jacket underneath, and a worn-out Metallica shirt. It was the same Eddie you knew, but his face had no smile lines or soft wrinkles. Steve looked the same, but his hair looked like it was reaching for heaven, which made you laugh a bit. The other photos all had Eddie in similar attire, and you could even point out some of the people you recognized. 

“See?” Eddie teased. “Told you I was metal, Tish.” 

You were wishing for those lunches and teasing jabs from Eddie currently as you anxiously got ready for your first day with students. Before moving to Hawkins, you mostly worked as a sub due to… extenuating circumstances. You had your first day planned out, opting to do introductions and explain to students what you hoped to do as their first reading while also setting expectations for the classroom. What you hadn’t prepped for was your neighbors having loud and obnoxious sex all night, leaving you lying awake for hours before finally succumbing to sleep. You were now shaky and tired, trying to pull on your heels, leading you to misstep and break your other heel while twisting your ankle. Pain shoots up your leg, and you slide down your wall, a sour mood spreading. You pull off the heels and sigh, trying to calm your nerves and turn the day around. 

Flats it is. 

The ride to school is relatively calm, save for the headache that’s trying to creep in. There’s a bit of traffic, but nothing crazy. When you reach the school, you feel your stomach drop at the sight of parents dropping off their children and teachers’ cars parked in the lot. You check your wristwatch, hoping you didn’t read the time wrong. Instead, the numbers flash at you in mocking tones. 

It’s 9:00 am. The school day has already started. 

You feel your chest tighten as you rush across the parking lot and into the building, trying to dodge the few kids running around the hallways late for their homeroom. When you finally make it to your room, you see none other but Mrs. Doyle standing in your doorway, crossed arms and disapproving, staring at your homeroom class seated at their desks. You scramble in, smiling apologetically at the older woman’s scorn, rushing to your desk, and throwing your purse into your chair as you head to the board to quickly write your name. When you spin back around, you see something on your desk. A candy bar. Next to it is a note scrawled in messy handwriting. You gently pick it up, reading the message. 

Good luck on your first day, Tish. Knock ’em dead. 

A smile finds its way onto your lips, and you straighten up, beginning to introduce yourself to your homeroom class, a new sense of determination and courage finding its way into your heart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you reach lunchtime, I feel the slight boost of confidence beginning to wear off. Your students didn’t seem excited by the reading or explanation of the assignment, groaning at the prospect of homework. 

You sit at your desk, rummaging through your bag, when you hear a knock at your door. You stop to look up, your heart skipping a beat at the idea of a familiar head of curly hair being behind the door. Instead, it pops the head of the ever-scorning Mrs. Doyle. Your heart sinks. 

“Mrs. Doyle, hello. How may I help you?” You smile politely, swallowing down your nerves. 

She enters your classroom, closing the door softly before turning to you; her stern expression has not changed since this morning. 

“I came to discuss your tardiness.” 

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you nod, trying to offer an apology. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Doyle. I truly appreciate you watching my class this morning. I promise-” 

She cuts you off with a hand raised, her mouth pursed in a hard line. “Now, I’m not sure how they do things in ‘the big city’ or wherever you’re from, but here tardiness is unprofessional. Especially on the first day. Let us hope it’s a one-time mistake.” 

You nod, smiling shakily, your hands trembling. Guilt and shame consume you. “Of course. My apologies.” 

She shakes her head, heading out the door, but stops to look at you first. “Just know… this job isn’t for everyone.” 

You feel your stomach drop to the floor, panic creeping through your system. 

She smiles a sickening faux grin. “Well…good luck, dear.”

As she closes the door, you try to control your breathing. You eventually feel your body relax and decide to look through your bag again to find the small sandwich you managed to throw together during your rush to get ready. You feel your stomach growl and your frustration grow as you realize you left the sandwich out on your counter. You decide to calm the rumbling of your stomach with the candy bar Eddie gave you, but you still feel hunger gnawing due to forgetting breakfast this morning. You groan and lay your head on your desk. Today is quite a day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end of the day is finally reached; the students race to get out of school and head home to comics, games, and TV. You smile softly at the children running out of the school, memories of your own youth playing in your head. Some things don’t change. 

You are about to head to the teacher’s lounge and grab a coffee before starting lesson plans when an older gentleman dressed in a button-down shirt and nice dress pants comes to your door. He smiles at you. He’s handsome and clean-cut, but you don’t recognize him. 

“May I help you?” You offer a smile, though confusion swims through your brain. 

He smiles wide and holds a hand that you take and shake gently. “Hello. I’m Mr. Robucks. I’m Jimmy’s father.” 

You hold back a grimace, recalling Jimmy as the well-dressed yet rude boy who didn’t pay attention in class and had attempted to sneakily stick gum in one of the more timid girls’ hair. You stopped him with a stern glance, but he still unnerved you. 

“Ah, yes. He’s in my 2nd-period class. Is there any concern or something I should know, Mr. Robucks?” You furrow your brows but smile softly, trying to not let your nervousness show. 

Mr. Robucks chuckles and shakes his head, his grin wide. “Please, call me Chris. And no, I just figured I’d introduce myself. My boy can be mischievous, but he’s a good kid.” He looks you up and down, making your skin prickle and crawl. “Although, not sure how he could focus with such a young and beautiful teacher.” 

You fake a laugh, trying to be polite. “Oh please, Mr. Robucks. Thank you.” 

He jokingly squints at you, wagging a finger. “Now, what did I say? Call me Chris.”

You smile tightly, grab your bag, and head towards the door. “Well, Chris, it was nice meeting you, but I’ve got to get going-” 

He stands before the door, looking at you and smirking, tilting his head. “Well, I do hope we see each other often. Perhaps I can show you around town.” 

You feel your throat tighten at the offer, trying to keep your fake smile and politeness from cracking. “Perhaps. Good day, sir,” you state, trying to brush past him. 

He steps aside to let you, but you can feel his eyes on your back, watching you walk the hallway. 

You hurry your steps towards the teachers’ lounge, closing the door behind you and letting your head lean against the door as you sigh, trying to regain calmness and a sense of control. 

“Tish…?”

Even in your frazzled state, you recognize the low timbre of his voice and turn. He’s sitting at a table with Steve and another relatively young male teacher to his left. His eyes are full of concern and confusion, and he leans forward. You walk toward the table, an apparent slump in your shoulders. You sit across from the men at the round table, looking up at them wearily. Eddie reaches across the table and squeezes your hand, his hands warm and calloused, the rings he wears a cool contrast against the heat of both of your skin. 

“What’s up, Tish? Hard day?” His usually teasing tone is soft and cautious, and he keeps his soft hold on your hand, rubbing a thumb back and forth across your hand. 

You feel heat rush through you but look up at him, your eyes threatening to overflow with tears, but you fight it with a tight-lipped smile. “Honestly? Not the worst I’ve had.” 

He gives you a pointed look, shaking his head. “Uh, uh. I don’t do well with bullshit, Tish. Spill it.” 

You feel your heart warm before sighing. Then, you launch into the story, explaining everything from the late night you had due to your obnoxious neighbors (which Eddie promptly got up during to make you some coffee, with as much sugar as possible), the students hating the assignment (Steve and Eddie reassure you that the kids are just upset that summer is over, and the art teacher you come to know as Will reassures you that when he had his first year at Hawkins Middle, the kids tore him to shreds), Mrs. Doyle scolding you for running late (Eddie promptly threw up a middle finger and said ‘fuck her’), to the weird father trying to flirt and make passes at you (Eddie and Steve both threw up the finger then, scrunching up their noses). By the end, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest. 

You hold your coffee cup, the warmth radiating off your mug spreading through you. You sit with the three a bit longer, laughing at Eddie’s over-the-top gestures. He’s telling a story about his first year teaching and how he fell flat on his face in the middle of the parking lot, making himself look like he’d gotten in a fight. He’d jokingly told his students he was an ‘underground boxer.’ One of them believed him, causing parents to call the school to panic and some of the older teachers (including Mrs. Doyle) to really chew him out. 

After a bit more casual conversation, Will heads home, grabbing his briefcase and waving you goodbye. Steve then checks his watch, cursing as he runs out the door, claiming he’s late for “movie night” with Robin. You and Eddie are left alone, the teacher’s lounge relatively bare as most of your coworkers left to rest and recuperate from the first day back. Finally, you stand up to go, remembering your plan to work on the reading assignment and try to make it more fun for the kids. Eddie stands, grabbing his stuff as well.

You take in his appearance discreetly as you grab your things, and your toes practically curl. You finally noticed his attire and felt something swirling in your stomach. Eddie is wearing a black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to showcase a smattering of tattoos along his forearms. He still has his chunky silver rings and guitar pick necklace, though you see it more now with one of the shirt’s top buttons undone. You feel your thighs squeeze together as you try to shake off the thoughts. 

Eddie heads to the door first, opening it for you. When you approach him, he does a dramatic bow, head tilted down as he draws out his words. “After you, milady.” He glances up at you, eyes twinkling with humor. 

You giggle softly, faking a curtsy. You try to imitate a posh accent, failing miserably. “Why, thank you, Sire.”

You walk through the doors, Eddie walking beside you. You’re both mostly silent, holding your bag on your shoulder, Eddie’s hands in his pockets. When you near your hallway, he turns to look at you, a shy smile gracing his face. Your heart pounds as you look up at him. 

“Say, Tish… Do you like stargazing? What with being a lady of the night and all,” He teases, dimples appearing as his deep and warm eyes stare into you, their coffee hue warming your insides. 

“I’m not opposed to it. Why? Is someone offering?” You tease, fighting the grin that wants to cover your face. 

He shrugs, walking backwards towards his hallway, away from you. His grin is wide and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Your heart flutters. 

“Could say that. Maybe you should meet them in the parking lot at 8?” 

Your stomach churns with excitement as the smile you’ve been fighting spreads like wildfire across your face, and you feel your emotions bubble out of you. 

“Maybe I will.” 

He shines with excitement and joy, his grin never dimming in brilliance. He keeps his front to you before pivoting on his heel and holding a hand in a wave. He calls out over his shoulder, tone light and teasing.

“Hope to see ya there, Tish.”

taglist: @bebe07011 @corrodedcoffincumslut @kurdtbean @nerdflash @kimmi-kat @aheadfullofsteverogers

[winterspiderpurrs]

So, this has been in my head for a while, and when you asked for prompts I got so excited, because I love your writing so much!

What if Tony had the reputation of always having younger partners, never underage, but some people still judged since they where around the age of his son Harley, so when Harley slept with his father's partner people bat an eye. Now what if Harley had a boyfriend no one knew about, Peter, whom he obviously cheated on. Peter didn't know who Harley's father was (somehow idk) and Tony and Peter end up meeting somewhere, and although they are not looking for a relationship they do sleep with eachother as well as talk about their situations, never naming anyone. Somehow Harley finds out, could be Tony presenting Peter as his partner after a few months OR Harley gets married with Tony's ex partner, and Tony doesn't want to go alone, so he invites Peter.

Sorry for the delay! I typed it up and just now realized I never posted! Hope you like it! @no-name-for-me

****************************************************

Who knew this was where he would be this time of year. Things were finally going right for Peter. After two horrible depressing years, Peter had finally broken up with his boyfriend Harley. There were too many fights, cheating, telling Peter that he wasn't good enough, not good enough in bed, good enough in his career, not good enough to bring home to meet his family.

Sure, Peter knew he was worth more than what Harley had said, but it was so hard to get over the hurtful words and actions of his partner. Never had dated really before he found Harley. It was great in the beginning as it always went, but after a few months, Peter was willing to overlook all the problems so he wouldn't be lonely.

But after catching Harley again, on his birthday no less, cheating on him in HIS bed? In HIS apartment. Well. Enough was enough finally.

Peter kicked Harley out, then once hisblease was up, gotten a new place, changed his phone number, and started seeing a therapist. Which is funnily enough where he meets his current boyfriend. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark has a reputation, a revolving door of women in his life. At one point, when he was younger, he was more of a partier. The drugs didn't help his reputation. That wasn't him anymore. The truth is harder to be seen. Sure, Tony went out on lots of dates, but most of those have been set up by friend of a friend.

Some are just more about networking. But every time he thought about getting serious with someone? To be exclusive- he finds his partner either trying to swindle money or secrets. But recently, it's his own son Harley who has become the problem. His past 5 prospects have all been caught with his son in various states of dress in his penthouse. And the last one? Well, Harley now claims to be in love with, and they were going to get married.

That was the turning point for Tony. He decided to get sober, and start therapy again. It was fate that one day he was running late and ran into someone as he was exiting the elevator. Big brown doe eyes catching his eyes.

Then it became a thing he noticed, and while they didn't attend the same doctor, they were in the same shared practice. They started running into each other more. Eventually, the conversation started, and they just clicked.

Short run in in the waiting room turned into lets get coffee before, to lets do lunch, to hey lets do dinner. Which lead into.

" My kid is getting married. Its a complicated situation, but I would love it if you went with me"

" Of course Tony! I remember you telling its the ex too.. I'll be with you the whole time. "

Then the wedding day. Peter waited outside of the church for Tony to text him when he could come in. Tony was currently helping the grooms side get ready before guests arrive.

" This is pathetic even for you. What are you doing here?"

Peter freezes when he hears that voice in that town. He puts his phone in his pocket, frowning before turning to look at Harley.

" I'm hear at the request of my partner. What are you doing here?"

Peter can feel his phone vibrate in his pocket but he ignores it. Harley was dressed up in a suit. Was he a groomsman in this wedding? Its possible.

" I'm getting married. She is a model. "

Peter blinks and stares.

" No.... wait your Tony's son? The son who slept with his father's girlfriend? Oh my god..."

Harley frown, that wasn't public knowledge, and even then how did Peter know who his Father was? He made sure they never met.

" How do you know that? Why are you here?"

Peter rolls his eyes and puts his hand on his hip.

" I already told you. I'm here with my partner, I'm his plus one. Has all that ego blocked your hearing?"

Harley narrows his eyes. Peter has never talked back to him like this except the first few months they were together.

" What's going on here?"

Harley looks over at his father as he walks down the steps meet them.

" This father is my sorry excuse of an ex. Claiming he was invited to my wedding. Honestly just a pathetic reason to try to get me back."

" I wouldn't want you back even if you were the last human on earth"

Tony looks between the two blinking.

" Wait hold the phone. This is the asshole ex who verbally abused you and cheated on you almost the whole time you were together?"

Harley looks between Tony and Peter with a bewildered look on his face.

" Yes he was. And as I told him. I am here with my partner. So Harley. If you will excuse us, WE are going to take our seats"

" ..what"

Peter walks over to Tony and wrapped his arm around Tony's arm. He leans over and kisses Tony's cheek. " Let's go inside and find our seats"

There Tony and Peter enter the church, leaving a stunned Harley outside. The wedding continues on, and with minimal scandal. If you don't count Tony and Peter getting caught making out and maybe a little bit more.

The news report skim over the wedding of Harley Stark and focuse more on the fact that THE Tony Stark is off the market, with a much younger MAN. And said man sporting a brand new ring that definitely was not on his finger at the start of the reception.