#bartender smut

[itneverendshere]

addicted to your rafe!! you mentioned in the bartender!reader au that rafe shared his life story after their first time together and was just wondering if youd ever write about it? would love to read about rafe spilling all (in more ways than one hehe) and reader's reaction but only if its something youre interested in writing!!

i was planning on making the smut really cute BUT...it got a little out of hand bc they're both horny so....enjoy!!! but there's fluff i promise. and he spills everything (eheheh)🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😌🫢 thank you for the request 🩵🫂

i'll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands - r.c (+18)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: SMUT!!!!; a little angst by the end and lots of fluff.

It's past midnight, and you’re sprawled out on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You’re still in your ratty tank top and sleep shorts, some throwaway show mumbling in the background.

The night’s quiet, a little too quiet, so when you hear a low thump at the window, you nearly jump out of your skin.

But you know that sound. That’s Rafe.

You glance over just as his messy dark blond head pops up outside the window, blue eyes gleaming mischievously. Your heart does this stupid thing, and you’re grinning before you even realize it. You slide the window up quickly, shushing him though you know he’s careful.

"Hi,” You whisper, leaning into him the second he’s in, his broad shoulders blotting out the rest of the room.

“Miss me?” he murmurs back, lips quirking as he brushes a hand through your hair.

“Maybe a little,” You tease, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt. Rafe’s standing there in just a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt that clings to every hard line of muscle.

God, it should be illegal for him to look this good.

His hair is still damp at the tips, like he just came from a shower. He leans down and kisses you, his fingers moving to the bare skin at your waist. You’ve been doing this dance for two months now. All hot make-outs that never really go anywhere. Mostly because you’re the one always getting called away for shifts, for family, for whatever comes up.

But right now, right here? There’s no work, no responsibilities. It’s just you and him. And the way he’s looking at you right now, all hooded eyes and smirking lips, it’s driving you crazy.

“Why’d you sneak in, hmm?” You murmur against his lips, playing with the hem of his shirt. He pulls back, just enough to look down at you, a lazy smile on his face.

“Wanted to see you,” he breathes, eyes tracing over me like you’re something to devour. “Couldn’t wait.”

You practically pounce on him, shoving him back until he’s pinned against the wall by the window, his eyes widening for a split second before his hands are holding your hips, steadying you as you sit on his lap. You love it when he manspreads.

It’s so unlike you it’s almost funny, but at this point you’re desperate to feel him. You press yourself up against him, grinding slowly, and you feel the exact moment he realizes just how serious you are right now.

“Fuck, baby—” he groans as his grip tightens, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. But you don’t want him to hold back.

“I’m done waiting,” You breathe, pushing his shirt up and over his head in one quick motion. “Rafe—I’m losing my mind here.” His shirt hits the floor, and you lel yourself really look at him.

All muscle, golden tan skin, the little dip between his abs you’ve fantasized about running your tongue along. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times, but right now?

He’s a goddamn masterpiece.

“I’m so horny it hurts, okay?” You admit in a whisper, almost like you can’t help it. His lips twitch as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck.

You feel your cheeks heat up. It’s not like you’re shy around him anymore, not really, but this feels different. You’re usually more reserved, the one who lets him make the moves, but tonight...you can’t help yourself.

“Sorry baby,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips up, and fuck, you can feel how hard he is already, straining against his jeans, “Want me to fix it for you?”

You know what he’s asking. You’ve had this conversation before—kind of.

The two of you have been skirting around it for weeks now, with heavy petting and breathless goodnights. You want more. You hook your fingers into his belt loops, tugging at him, and he hisses, biting back a curse. 

“Bed” he grunts, half-laughing, half-panting as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you across the room.

You’re already tearing at his belt by the time you hit the bed, and he lets out this breathless, desperate sound, half-plea, half-growl that shoots straight through you.

“Need you,” You gasp, yanking the belt free, popping the button on his jeans. He’s still standing, hovering over you as you sit on the bed, and you look up at him, chest heaving, hair messy, eyes wild.

“Yeah?” he breathes, and there’s this edge to his voice. You smirk, tugging his zipper down slowly, deliberately, keeping your eyes on his as you push his jeans down his hips.

“Yeah,” You know you have him. He’s yours, and he’s done waiting, too.

Once his jeans hit the floor, he’s on you, all heat and muscle. Rafe’s hands grip your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looks down at you, breathing hard. 

“I was trying to make it special,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost gravelly. “Our first time.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, he’s so stupidly and unexpectedly endearing sometimes it makes you fall even more.

“This not special enough for you?” You tease, arching your back and lifting your hips, feeling the slickness pooling between your thighs. “I don’t do it for you?”

“Oh, you do it for me, baby. Believe me.” His voice drops an octave, “’M trying to be a gentleman.”

“I don’t want a gentleman,” You quip, your tone playful, “I just want you.”

He wants to give in, but you know he also wants to take his time. “You sure about this?”

“Rafe. My shorts are stuck to my skin.”

He breathes in sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, as he murmurs, “You’re not wearing any panties?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?” You tease, biting your lip, but you know you’re being a little reckless, teasing him like this.

He’s gonna get you good.

Rafe lifts his head, that infuriatingly handsome smirk still plastered on his face. “So you are, huh?” His voice is low, almost predatory. “You trying to drive me crazy?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool even though it physically hurts not to touch him the way you want to right now. “What if I am?”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. You arch against him, your breath hitching when he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear and sucks gently.

Your top hits the floor a second later. He’s kissing you again, his hands cupping you through your bra.

“Please,” you breathe, not even sure what you are asking for.

More, closer, something to stop the aching between your thighs. He seems to understand, though. He always does. 

He unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, taking you in inch by inch, “My pretty girl,” You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, but before you can think about it, he dips his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, he hums against your skin, the vibration making you delirious. His hand slids down to your shorts, pulling them with an easiness that makes your head spin.

Then they are gone, too, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes raking over your body with a look that makes you squirm.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Rafe,” you whisper, reaching for him. When he finally slips his fingers into your panties, you are already trembling. “Please,” you whimper, rocking your hips against his hand.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He’s touching you, his fingers finding your slick heat and stroking gently. You’re so wet his flingers glid right on. You gasp, hips bucking up instinctively as his fingers move across your folds, teasingly slow and close to your clit.

Rafe smirks, clearly enjoying how wrecked you already are.“Easy, baby,” his lips brush against your jawline. “We got all night.”

You’re past patience.

You grab his wrist, guiding his hand exactly where you want it. “Rafe,” you groan, your voice breaking a little, “I need more. Don’t piss me off.”

He chuckles, “So needy tonight,” he teases, but his voice is tight, like he’s losing it too. His fingers dip lower, stroking where you need him most, and you nearly lose it right there.

He lingers there for a moment, just barely grazing your slick folds, before pressing a finger against your entrance, warm and insistent. Slowly, he slides it in, and the sensation makes you moan—a slow, deliberate stretch as his finger sinks deep inside you. He curls it just the way you need him to, stroking your inner walls. It’s intimate, almost unbearable in how good it feels, the way he’s taking his time, drawing it out like he’s savoring every second. You tighten around him, wet and hot, and he groans softly as he adds another finger, filling you more, the stretch making your legs tremble.

“Fuck,” you whimper, your head falling back as he starts to pump his fingers in and out. The way his fingers stretch you, the wet sounds of him working you open, is filthy and intoxicating.

“Like that, baby?” His voice is thick with lust, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him. He’s so strong it makes you want to suck him whole.

You nod frantically, too far gone for words, only able to moan as he quickens the pace, thrusting his fingers in harder. Your walls flutter around him, tightening with every stroke, and you know you’re getting close—embarrassingly quick, but it’s been a while. 

His thumb circles your clit, and the sensation makes you cry out, your body arching off the bed.

“Oh God—please,” you gasp, your fingers clutching at his arm, desperate for more. He smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you’re panting beneath him. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, and he knows it.

His lips brush against your neck, teasingly slow, while his fingers move with purpose, hitting all the right spots. Your breath is coming in short, ragged bursts as your body answers to his. You can feel the heat coiling tight in your belly, and you’re practically shaking with anticipation.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, eyes locked on you as if he’s watching every bit of pleasure cross your face.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice just as wrecked, “Let me feel you.”

You’re so close it’s dizzying, you can barely catch your breath. 

He leans in, lips caressing your ear, “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I can feel you’re almost there. You’re so tight around my fingers—fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?” You can only nod, your breath hitching as his thumb circles your clit with just the right pressure, your hips grinding up into his hand instinctively. every word out of his mouth pushes you closer. “Look at you,” he coaxes, his voice like velvet, “So perfect.”

His fingers twist inside you, hitting that sweet spot, and your whole body tenses. The pleasure builds into a burning coil deep in your tummy, tightening with every movement.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, and all you can do is feel—feel him, feel the way he’s working you. The way he’s talking you through it. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, “You’re doing so good, baby. Let me feel it.”

His thumb presses harder against you, and your whole body jerks up. You cry out, a broken sound, your hips bucking uncontrollably as your orgasm hits you perfectly. Rafe’s fingers never stop, drawing it out, his other hand still gripping your thighs open “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Your body trembles beneath him, the pleasure still vibrating through you, and he’s right there, “Ride it out, baby,” he breathes, his lips kissing your temple, his voice full of pride. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. So fucking good.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as you shudder. He finally slows his fingers, easing you down gently, and when he pulls them out, you feel the emptiness like a loss. You’re still catching your breath, body buzzing from the orgasm he just wrung out of you, but you notice the shit-eating grin on his face as he glances down at his hand, fingers still slick from you, and then slowly brings them to his mouth.

He holds your gaze, never breaking eye contact as he slips his fingers between his lips, tasting you. It’s slow and the way his eyes darken while his tongue sweeps over his fingers makes you whine. 

"God, baby," he murmurs around his fingers, as he pulls them from his mouth with a soft pop, licking his lips. “You taste so fucking good.”

You’re breathless, watching him like you’re in a trance, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him tasting you like that, makes your legs open again. He grins, noticing how wrecked you look. “Didn’t think I could want you more,”

You’re still so turned on that you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together instinctively. His eyes flicker down, catching the movement, and his grin only widens as he crawls back up your body, settling between your legs, “Don’t tease.”

"Don’t worry, baby," his lips skim against yours, “Not teasing anymore.”

You don’t know where you get the strength to do it. But you do it anyways. 

As soon as Rafe settles back, you push him onto his back, taking advantage of his surprised expression, and climb on top, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest. You can feel the hard planes of his abs beneath your fingers, and the heat of him pressed against your pussy makes your mouth water. You can feel it building inside you, the need to take him, to ride him until there’s nothing left.

His hands settle on your ass, firm, but not controlling, giving you full reign to take what you want. His eyes are on yours, half-lidded and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Go on, baby,” he drawls, his voice like honey, “Show me what you can do.”

You don’t even remember pulling his boxers down.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You let yourself brush against the hard length of him, and the sensation alone makes you bite your lip to hold back a moan. His cock is thick, long and hot beneath you, and you grind against him slowly, dragging your wetness along his length, teasing the both of you. You’re rocking back and forth against his tip, dragging him in between your soaked folds and pulling huffs and puffs from his throat as he only grows more impatient by the second.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, your clit rubbing against his pubic hair with every movement, the friction doing it for you. His abs tense beneath you, flexing with each of your movements, and the sight of it—of him completely at your mercy—only makes you wetter. 

You lean forward, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the way his muscles move under your touch.

“You like that?” you murmur, your voice breathy, teasing, as you grind harder against him. “Like watching me ride you?”

Rafe’s head falls back against the pillow, all the way back, his jaw clenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, lifting his hips to try and shift his cock towards your entrance.

You lean in, your lips dragging against the side of his neck. He shivers under your touch, and the reaction makes you grin. You start off slow, pressing gentle kisses to his skin, your lips trailing from his jaw down to the spot where his pulse is beating just a little faster, teasing him with your breath.

“Right here?” you whisper, barely grazing his skin.

You can feel his body tense as you speak, a low sound escaping his throat. You roll your hips again, this time letting the tip of his cock catch at your entrance. You’re so wet that he slides in just an inch, and the stretch is enough to make you gasp, your nails digging into his chest. His eyes fly open, and you can see the tension in his body, every muscle tight as he holds himself back from pouding into you, waiting for you to take him fully.

You press your mouth to his neck and start sucking, enjoying the taste of him under your lips.

His grip on is borderline bruising and you love it when another low moan slips out as you work your mouth against him. You make sure to take your time, alternating between sucking and nipping lightly with your teeth, just enough to make him shudder beneath you.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice strained as you keep going, making sure to leave your mark. With a deep breath, you sink dow, slowly feeling every inch of him stretch you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming—he’s big, almost too big, and it feels so fucking good you almost drool. By the time you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the heat pooling in your belly all over again.

You suck harder, enjoying the multitasking, applying enough pressure enough to leave a dark bruise that he won’t be able to hide. His fingers dig into your waist, but he doesn’t pull you away—instead, he’s holding you there, like he wants to feel every second of it.

“Now everyone’s gonna know you’re mine," You manage to breath out, moaning as you grip his chest for support, spit slicked lips parting as you gasp some more, "You feel so good."

His eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, lips parted, breathing uneven. “Yeah?” he rasps, his gaze flicking to your lips before he grins, a little breathless. “Didn’t think you had it in you, baby.”

His hands slide up your waist, his fingers splayed across your ribs, guiding you as you start to move. You start to ride him, slow at first, grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction, combined with the way his cock fills you, hits every nerve just right. Maybe if it was someone else you’d be embarrassed to be panting like a bitch in heat, but it’s Rafe and you never felt so comfortable during sex before.

Every time you lift your hips and drop back down, you take him deeper, as you work yourself on top of him. His hands slide up to your tits, squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You pick up the pace, bouncing on him harder now, grinding down with each thrust, chasing that high. Rafe’s eyes are glued to you, watching every move you make, his lips parted, his chest heaving with each stolen breath.

“Fuck,” you pant, barely able to catch your breath as you ride him faster, “I want you so deep, so bad.”

He lets out a rough, desperate groan, his hips bucking up to meet yours, his cock hitting even deeper inside you. “I’m right here, baby,” he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back, “Take what you need. I’m all yours.”

His hands are on you, gripping your ass with a desperation that makes you mewl out. His fingers dig in, rough and possessive, and the way he’s groping you, like he can’t get enough, makes you want to never stop. Each time you move, his hands flex, squeezing and pulling you down onto his cock, it has you practically whining with every bounce.

“You’re driving me crazy. Just look at you, taking me so good.”

His grip tightens as you roll your hips, pushing your ass back against his hands, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You’re completely lost in the rhythm now, grinding down on him like you’re in heat, the friction of his cock inside you and the way his pubic hairs rub against your swollen clit making you lightheaded.

And then, out of nowhere, his hand comes down hard.

The sting of his palm smacking your cheek sends a shock through your body, and you gasp—half surprise, half pleasure. It’s rough, but fuck, it feels divine. Your head snaps forward, and you moan, the sound coming out needy. 

“You like that, huh?” Rafe growls, a smile playing on his lips as he watches you react. His voice is thick with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he just did to you. “Being spanked?”

You bite your lip and nod, too far gone to be shy. "Yes," you pant, your voice shaky with need. "Do it again."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand comes down again, harder this time, it makes your skin burn and clench around him. The pleasure spikes, white-hot, and you moan louder, your body arching into his.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this," He groans, watching you with hooded eyes, clearly loving how much you’re enjoying it.

You practically whimper, the combination of pain and pleasure sending you spiraling. You’re riding him like you’re losing your mind, your thighs burning. The way his hand soothes your skin, kneading the tender area where he just spanked you, makes you want to do this every single day for the rest of your life.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as he bucks his hips, meeting your movements with his own, driving deeper inside you. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel so good,” you hiss as you rock your hips faster. His tip hits that perfect spot deep inside you, again and again.

His eyes flick between your face and where you’re connected, and you can tell he’s close too. His grip tightens on you, nails digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he rasps, voice hoarse, “Fuck, you’re so good. You’re gonna make me come.”

Feeling you wrapped around him like that—so fucking tight, so warm—he can’t fucking stand it. Every time you slide back down, taking him all the way like you're made for it, he feels his mind slipping. It's like he's losing control, just hanging on for dear life, and every little throb around him pulls him closer to his orgasm, it makes him feel dangerously close to delirium. 

He uses one of his hands to grip and knead at the fat of your hip. You let out a high-pitched squeal and clench around him. "Baby," you cry out, pretty tears collecting on your lash line. 

He pinches your chin lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your skin, “You have to be quiet, pretty,” you glance up at your boyfriend, “The walls are thin, and you can’t—”

You interrupt him by leaning down and kissing him sloppily. You swirl your tongue around his, feeling the way his cock throbs inside you as he grinds up into you, hitting that spot every single time.

The sloppy kiss you planted on him shuts him up, but only for a second. His lips slide against yours, his tongue swirling in that messy, desperate way that makes your head spin. He groans into your mouth, rough and low, like he’s losing the control he’s trying to hold onto. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place as you ride him faster, bouncing harder on his cock.

“Look at you,” he grits, pulling back just enough to watch the way your face twists in pleasure. The way you clench down on him makes him groan, his grip on your neck tightening just a bit as his other hand lands another sharp slap on your ass.“You like when I fuck you like this, huh?”

You whine against his lips, your body trembling as he thrusts up harder, meeting each of your desperate bounces. You can feel the pressure building inside you, ready to snap. 

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles that make you drop your head forward, laying on your body on top of his. You can’t stop the way you grind down harder on him, chasing that final push.

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp, barely able to push the words out. “I’m gonna—”

And then you’re gone, falling into that mind-numbing pleasure as you come hard around him, your whole body shaking, thighs tightening around his as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re clenching around his cock, the feeling making him curse under his breath, his hips bucking up into you as he chases his release.

He rams up into you, full force, his breath coming out in harsh, irregular pants. “I’m right there,” he groans, “Gonna fill you up, you want that?”

You can barely nod, still lost in the aftershocks of your orgasm, but that’s all he needs. With one final, deep thrust, he comes hard inside you, groaning your name as he spills into you. His hands grip you tight, holding you down on his length as he empties himself into you, his whole-body twitching with the intensity of his release

His hands roam lazily over your back, the touch slow, like he doesn’t want it to end. He’s still inside you, softening, but neither of you make a move to separate.

His lips press a few lazy kisses against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You smile weakly, too blissed out to respond, and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. After a few minutes, you reluctantly lift yourself off him, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the loss of connection. Rafe lets out a content sigh, his hands still trailing down your sides as you move.

You flop down next to him, breath still shallow, your head resting on his chest. He immediately pulls you close, his arm wrapping around you, holding you tight.His hand stops moving, resting on your back, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a deep breath.

"My mom left when I was seven," he says, voice oddly quiet, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure where to start. It almost feels like he’s talking to himself more than to you. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm slung across his stomach, the other still lightly resting on your waist.

You lift your head, looking up at him, but you stay quiet, giving him space to talk. 

“She just… up and left. Told me she was going to visit some family and never came back.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh, his chest rising and falling against you. “I used to sit at the window for weeks, thinking maybe I’d see her pull up one day. But she didn’t. She never did. And I thought, you know, for a long time, maybe it was me. Like, maybe if I’d been better, she would’ve stayed. I don’t know—kids think dumb shit like that, right?”

You feel your heart tighten at the pain in his voice, and you reach up, brushing your fingertips against his chest. He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel him lean into the touch just a little.

“And Ward… fuck, Ward didn’t know what to do with us. He just buried himself in work, left me to deal with Sarah and Weezie. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was just a kid myself. I never accepted that responsibility, just kept running away from it.”

You can tell this is hard for him. His hand tightens slightly around your waist, like he needs to feel you’re still there.

“When I was sixteen... I started doing coke. Barry—yeah, that Barry—he used to sell it to me. Just to take the edge off, you know? Numb it all out. Ward’s expectations, Mom being gone, having to pretend like I had my shit together when I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything but getting high.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, his jaw tightening. You can tell this part of his story is the hardest to tell.

“I fucked up a lot. Scared the shit out of my sisters. I’d disappear for days sometimes, come home all strung out, and Sarah—God, Sarah would just look at me like... like she didn’t even know me anymore. Weezie was too young to get it, but Sarah? She knew.” He lets out a shaky breath, “I saw what it was doin’ to them. Saw how Sarah would flinch every time I walked through the door like she was waiting for the next disaster. It got bad—real bad.”

His voice drops even lower, almost like he’s ashamed.

“I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. The one scaring my little sisters, acting like a piece of shit. So I went to rehab. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going, just… left. I needed to get clean, for them. For me, too, I guess.”

He pauses, looking at you now, his blue eyes filled with something vulnerable, something that almost breaks your heart.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get out of it, but I did. Been clean since. That doesn’t mean I’ve figured everything out, though. I’m still... fuck, I’m still a mess most days.”

He’s never opened up to you like this before—not like this.You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, the simple gesture calming him a little. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“You probably didn’t sign up for all this shit,” he says with a half-smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Me, my addiction, all that.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to tell him you can’t handle it. But you don’t say that. Instead, you brush your thumb across his cheek, “I signed up for you, Rafe. All of you.”

“I don’t talk about this shit much. Guess I didn’t think anyone cared enough to hear it.”

You move, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look him the eyes properly,. “I care,” you say, your voice full of conviction. “I care about all of it. I’m here for you.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

His hand moves to hold your cheek, pulling you down to meet his lips in a slow, tender kiss. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“You have no idea what you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time deeper, his hand sliding up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

His lips trail from your mouth, pressing lazy kisses down your jaw, over your neck. He shifts, pulling you closer, your body molding perfectly to his. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, his lips hovering over your collarbone.

You shake your head, resting a hand on his chest. “You do. You deserve someone who’s gonna be there for you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You know this is a side of Rafe not many people see—probably no one else does. 

“Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says suddenly, the words spilling out of him in this quiet, almost reverent way.

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as you lean down, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

He chuckles softly, pulling you closer again, his arms wrapping securely around you. His cheek rests against the top of your head. You’re not going anywhere. And neither is he.

Rafe lets out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe your pussy made me trauma dump after sex.”

The crudeness of it makes you roll your eyes.

“Yeah?” You tease lightly, “That what you’re calling it?”

He swallows, feeling that familiar tightness in his throat, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating this time. You’re still here. “No. It’s...you. Just—being you.”

He doesn’t know how to say it any better, doesn’t know how to put into words what it means to finally be seen — not as the perfect son, not as a ticking time bomb — just as Rafe.

But you peck him, simple and sweet.

“I guess I’ll just keep being me.”

The next morning you’re standing in the kitchen, lazily pouring milk over your cereal, still a little giddy from the night before. Rafe left earlier, before anyone was up, whining about how he wished he could stay longer.

As you take a spoon, your sister walks in with Milo perched on her hip, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Monica stops in her tracks, a sly smile creeping across her face.

“Nice hickey you got there,” she says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward your neck.

You choke on your cereal like an idiot.

“Uh, it’s just a... a bug bite! A really aggressive bug bite,” you stammer, trying to sound convincing as you awkwardly touch your neck.

Right, you’d forgotten about that after round three this morning.

She laughs, clearly not buying it. “Right. And when am I meeting him? Are you gonna make him sneak through the window again?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Monica rolls her eyes, clearly enjoying this way too much. “What’s next? Is he going to slide down a fire escape to avoid us?”

You smirk back, shaking your head. “Only if you promise not to scare him off with your ‘get-to-know-my-sister’ interrogation.”

Milo, oblivious to the banter, tugs at your sister’s hair. “Mommy, can I have a snack?”

“Just finish getting ready for pre-school, buddy!” She turns back to you, still wearing that teasing grin. “Seriously though, when do I get to meet this guy? I need to know if he’s worthy of you.”

You shrug playfully, trying to keep your expression neutral. “We’ll see. Maybe next time he sneaks through the window, you can just happen to be in the living room.”

She gasps in mock horror. “Oh no, imagine the chaos! I might just scare him away on purpose.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly excited! You better let me know when he’s back. I want to be ready to intimidate him.”

“Noted!” You wave her off, still grinning, secretly glad that your sister is supportive—even if she loves to poke fun at you.

For some reason, it doesn’t scare one bit thinking about Rafe meeting Monica and Milo.

[joeyfranchise]

all eyes on you, all eyes on us

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: it’s halloween night, time to dress up with your best friend and get your party on. all is well until you see your ex at the party, the emotions rush back in… but he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. you keep letting him back in, he’s doing a number on you.

warnings: MDNI i’m sooo serious i love to block. semi-public sex, groping, hickeys, scratching, pinv, dirty talk.

word count: 3.3k.

note: this fic is based off the song So It Goes… by T. Swift! requested by my sweet friend @starsinthesky5! i also wanted to add a halloween element to it.. i hope you guys like it! (something funny in the tags hehe) (i do not own any pics used!!)

you could feel the bass of the music bumping through the floor, radiating through your feet and up your legs as your best friend pulled you deeper into the club.

she took your hand in hers, leading you through the sea of sweaty bodies to an open area in the room, somewhere the two of you could dance and let loose.

“you need this!” she assured you while you got ready. her claims were that recently you’ve been too uptight, you’ve been shouldering too much. and it’s halloween, so you need to have fun.

you agreed to come to the party, and even in matching costumes. she looked incredible in a dress identical to yours, but hers was white with gold fringe hanging from a slit in the leg. she wore a halo, gold jewelry, and red lips to match.

your dress was black with silver fringe, and rather than necklaces or bracelets you decided on two silver cuffs that sat tightly on your biceps. you painted glitter highlights on your cheekbones, and a dark maroon stain on your lips. you clipped two black horns into your hair at the top of your head. classic angel and devil costumes… but you didn’t care. you both felt good.

she finally stopped walking, dropping your hand as she stood in a vacant spot near the back of the club. there was a smoky haze that settled across the room, illuminated by the neon lights that were strung along the ceiling and the walls. you couldn’t quite make out the song that was on, but the beat was nice and you swayed your body along with it. you weren’t sure if you’d know anyone else here, but you were hoping to meet someone, even if just for a night of fun.

your friend was right. you needed to let loose. have fun. get laid.

“i’m gonna go get us a shot!” she yelled over the music, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder. your eyes followed her as she walked to one side of the bar, which wasn’t that far from you. she leaned over to speak to the bartender and then gestured back to you, presumably telling him why she wanted two shots. you locked eyes with him and - whoa. he was hot.

he smirked at you, eyes raking over your body, before looking back at your friend. his salt and pepper hair and stubble told you he was older - nearing his forties if you had to guess. he turned to grab a bottle of vodka off the shelf behind him and you ogled his form as you watched the muscles in his back and arms ripple. when he turned around, he looked back at you again. he poured the shots and your friend grabbed them, walking back over to you with her mouth wide open.

she handed yours to you and you both downed them, discarding the cups on a small table nearby. “the bartender is a total dilf!” she laughed, grabbing on to your shoulders. “totally!” you agreed, looking up to check him out again. “he was totally feeling you, babe!” she smiled. you weren’t focused on anything she said.

the bartender was now making a drink for a tall man, dressed in an all black suit. you couldn’t see the front of him, but you didn’t need to. you knew it was your ex. you could tell by his posture, the utter confidence in which he carried himself. joey fucking burrow.

flashback to your break-up

“you’re so difficult to deal with, you know that?” joe spoke, the way he sat made him look defensive. you held back tears as he threw complaints your way.

“we’re in public, joe. you’re not a fucking walk in the park!” you finally speak up, tilting your head at him to show him you wouldn’t back down. the chatter and soft music that floated through the restaurant weren’t doing enough to hide that the two of you were arguing. “this relationship hasn’t been working for a while, but it’s not just on me. you’re a diva sometimes. you make things difficult.”

he let out a snarky laugh, tipping his head back. his hand flexed on the glass he was holding, threatening to crunch it right then before he loosened his grip. you weren’t even sure what had started this fight, but you’d been at odds with each other recently, so it could have been anything. but when joe brought up working it out, you told him you weren’t sure you wanted to, which led you here. a fancy dinner in a quaint restaurant where everyone could see you falling apart.

“maybe you’re right. maybe it isn’t worth trying to work out. lets throw the last six months down the drain.” he said, his tone smarmy. he widened his eyes at you as he spoke, placing the ball in your court. the waiter came over to ask you how everything was, but he didn’t get a single word out as he took the two of you in, your anger and emotions sitting on the table rather than your meals.

“i’m sorry i just.. i don’t think this is working. i think our personalities clash too much.”

to be honest, you felt caged in. you felt like a hostage to your feelings, but you weren’t sure exactly why. sometimes joe’s barriers were difficult to break through, and you had an idea that was something that was breaking you down.

joe never had the intention of making you feel that way. he didn’t want to push you away, but he wasn’t the best at displaying his emotions. his temper was getting shorter and shorter. he had the tendency to take things out on you, and he hated it. but, if you wanted out, he couldn’t stop you.

neither of you said a word for the rest of your meal, the tension was palpable from across the table. he paid for dinner, although you offered, and you climbed into his car quickly so he could take you home.

he pulled into your drive, parking the car before leaning over the console to look at you. you felt stifled, the air in the car was thick with anger, sadness, regret. you grabbed the door handle and popped it open, but before you could get away joe grabbed your hand, turning you back to face him. you leaned into the car, waiting for his spiel.

“i’m sorry for making you feel upset. i’m sorry i couldn’t have been more for you.” tears spilled down your cheeks finally, all your emotions were rolling down your face leaving salty stains in your makeup.

he continued. “i really am sorry, i love you.” he said, looking down at the wheel.

“so it goes…” you respond, pulling your hand away and walking inside.

end of flashback

joe must’ve felt your eyes burning holes into the back of his head, because he turned around and smirked at you, catching you staring at him.

he took his drink from the bartender and walked away, back toward his group of friends. you tried to push him out of your mind and let loose anyway. you danced with your friend through five or six songs, and the thought of joe being at the party almost became a distant memory.

after a little while you were feeling hot, a sticky sheen of sweat coated your whole body. “i’m gonna gef some water!” you told your friend. you made your way to the bar, slightly excited to talk to the extremely hot bartender.

you sat down on one of the stools and waited for him to get finished making someone else’s cocktail so he could attend to you. he shook their drink in the mixer, poured it, then finally looked your way. a goofy lopsided smile spread over his lips as he walked closer.

“what can i getcha?” he drawls, leaning over the bar on his elbows. his face is now inches from your own, but you don’t mind it. he looks even better up close. “just some water, please. i’m just a little hot.”

he turns and grabs a bottle of water from a mini-fridge behind him, placing it on the bar in front of you. you unscrew the cap and take a long sip, accidentally letting a drop fall from the corner of your mouth and slide down your neck. you know he sees it, but he doesn’t mention it. after you finish drinking, you place the bottle down, twisting the cap back on.

the bartender starts speaking to you again. “i really like your costume, by the way. i saw you when you came in and… woah. you’re gorgeous. i’m j-” he begins to tell you his name, but he’s cut off.

“she doesn’t care what your name is, buddy. she’s my girl.” joe snaps. he must have seen you flirting with the man behind the bar and made his way over. “i’m not your girl, joey.”

he places a hand on your arm, running his fingers along the silver cuff. “‘can we go talk for a moment?” he asks you, tone sounding oddly soft. the bartender looks back and forth between you. “i can have him thrown out.” he says, completely seriously. “it’s okay,” you tell him, reaching across to pat his shoulder. “i’ll go talk and be right back.”

you hop off the barstool, ready to walk away with joe, but then you remember your friend. your eyes scan the room to find her and you aren’t shocked to see her making out with one of joe’s friends. “she’ll be fine.” joe says, taking your hand and leading you through the crowd. he stops in the middle of the dance floor, pulling you close against him as you allow him to take the lead, moving along with the music.

“very fitting costume.” he smirks, looking you up and down. “what are you supposed to be?” you ask.

he reaches his hand in his pocket, pulling something out. he holds up a white masquerade style mask. “a magician.”

he lifts it up to his face, putting it on with the strap going around his head. he’s smirking. curse the phantom of the opera for making you think this costume style was hot. his hands find your hips, pulling your body closer to his. it’s like you can feel every set of eyes in the room on you. joe feels you tense up and watches you as you scan the room.

“i promise all eyes aren’t on us, babe.” he whispers. “but i think they are.” you reply. “what did you even want to talk to me about?” you ask, pushing at his chest to create some distance between you.

“i miss you.”

you scoff out a laugh. he misses you? he knows this’ll never work. joe cradles your face in his hands. “you know we don’t work, joey.” you argue, once again trying to pull away from him. “we don’t,” he agrees, small smile playing at his lips, “but the sex does.”

you can’t disagree with him on that front. “why try to find some random stranger to sleep with when i’m here, when i know your body and what you like?” he challenges, leaning down so his lips are ghosting over yours. he’s right.

you don’t give it any more consideration. you don’t allow yourself time to back out. you smash your lips into his with fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck. he kisses you back with just as much intensity before pulling away, grabbing your hand and leading you through the club again.

“where are you taking me?” you ask him breathlessly. “one of the private rooms.”

he pulls you through a beaded curtain that hangs on a doorway, roughly pushing you up against a wall. “i’m not fucking you on one of those beds or couches or whatever they are. that’s so unsanitary.” you protest.

“i know that. that’s why were gonna do it against the wall.” he smirks.

“anyone could walk in here and find us!” you say, worried about being caught. “let loose, that’s what makes it fun, baby.”

his lips find your neck, biting and sucking at the skin. “jump.” he murmurs. you hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. you reach up and pull his mask off, tossing it somewhere across the room. your fingers tangle in his dirty blonde curls.

his grip is firm as he holds you against the wall. you tug on his hair, bringing his lips back up to yours. he slips his tongue into your mouth, sliding it against yours. you can feel him straining against his dress pants as his hips roll upward into yours.

“joey, fuck me.” you breathe, your voice hoarse. he chuckles at you. “still so eager for it, huh?” he teases.

he uses one of his arms to press you into the wall, sliding his other hand up your dress and tugging at your panties. when he realizes this angle won’t work, he drops you back down til your feet are on the floor and helps you step out of the lacy black thong. he shoves it in his back pocket before standing up, telling you to jump again. his hand bunches up your dress, exposing your bare core to him.

he kisses you again, one of his hands working to undo his belt and pants. you glance down slightly, watching as he pulls his thick cock from his pants. your arms remain around his neck, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. he brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting on it before reaching down to run his fingers through your folds, not that you really needed it.

from seeing him in the costume, the thrill of potentially getting caught, and knowing that he knows just how to get you there, you’re soaked. he takes his cock in his hands, sliding it through your folds before finally pushing into you, inch by inch. you gasp at the size, even though you know from plenty of experience exactly what he feels like.

the air in the room is thick as he begins thrusting into you. the sheer force of his hips slamming into yours is holding you against the wall, but you still help him remove his jacket anyway, and you pop the buttons on his shirt as he bites and sucks at your neck again. you’re satisfied when you can finally get your hands in enough to rake your nails along his back. if he plans on marking your neck, you’re going to tear his back up with your freshly manicured nails.

“fuck, you feel so good. so tight.” he says, tongue soothing over a mark he left on your neck. “i’m so full, joey.” you reply, finally pulling him up to look into your eyes again. he reaches up and places a hand on your neck, applying the lightest pressure. “ah, your favorite necklace.” he teases. you place your hand on top of his, pushing on his fingers so he’ll squeeze harder. he does, but only briefly, all the while his hips are still pistoning into yours. when he removes his hand, his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles into it. you can tell he’s close, and he’s trying to get you there too.

he presses gentle kisses into your lips as he speaks to you. “come on baby, i know you’ve got one for me. let me have it.” he coaxes.

it doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, cumming hard all over his cock as warmth spreads from your horns to your toes. you’re squeezing joe, sucking him in and he cums soon after, filling up your cunt with his cum.

you press your sweaty foreheads together for a moment, the slight intimacy of the moment making both of you reminisce. you don’t let it last long, you can’t. because you know this doesn’t work.

“joe… can i.. have my panties back?” you ask, trying to make your voice sound playful so you don’t completely ruin the moment. he pulls out of you and lets you down. you squeeze your legs together, hoping that none of his seed will run down your thighs.

“sure.” he says, fishing them out of his pocket. “not sure what they’re gonna do for you, though.”

he’s right, but you need to slip something on, to create at least the tiniest barrier. joe awkwardly scratches at the back of his head before fixing himself, and then buttoning his pants. he fixes his shirt, slides his jacket on, and makes himself look as neat as he can.

“um.. thanks joe. that was nice.” you slip out, voice cracking. saying goodbye would be awkward for you both. joe doesn’t respond verbally, instead he just leans in and kisses your forehead before walking away. you unfortunately have to walk out after him, looking for your friend. she’s still kissing joe’s friend, but you think you’ll have to interrupt to tell her you’re just going to head home.

joe turns to look at you. “i’ll have tee tell her you left, just make sure you text her when you get home.”

“tee?” you ask, looking puzzled. “my teammate tee? that’s who she’s kissing.” you nod knowingly. you turn away from him then, heading for the exit, walking as slow as you can so that no evidence of what you’ve just done with him leaks out of you. when you’re almost to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

you turn around and you’re face to face with the bartender. he looks you over, smirking. he can tell by your appearance that barely any talking was done, but he doesn’t care. he shoots his shot anyway. he hands you a slip of paper with his number on it, winking at you before sauntering back off to the bar. you glance around the crowded club again, your eyes landing on joe. he’s already dancing with another girl. you’re not jealous you tell yourself. he’s not yours, nor are you his. you tear your eyes away and walk out.

you make it outside, hailing a taxi and telling the driver your address. it doesn’t take long to get back to your building. you pull out your phone and keys, which you’re surprised you didn’t lose after the events of the evening, and head up the elevator to your floor.

you unlock the door, stepping inside and kicking your heels off before locking it again behind you. you tiptoe to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting it heat up. you look back at your phone, two new text notifications showing on your screen. you open them one by one.

bestie: girl!!! let me know when you make it home! i’ll probably be going home with this cutie i met!

you respond to her quickly.

you: home! have fun 😋

the second text is from joe, go figure.

joeyyy b: so it goes, huh?

you don’t respond to his message, you just heart react to it. you really aren’t in the headspace to talk to him right now, because if you respond you’ll end up inviting him over, and you can’t have that. he’s not good for you, you aren’t good for him. you’ve let the pieces fall naturally into place. it’s over between you, even if you both still have the slightest residual feelings left.

before you step into the shower to wash the day away, you click new message at the top of your screen. you type the bartenders number in and… are you really gonna do this? fuck it.

you: hey, it’s y/n. the devil from the bar. 😈

when you see typing bubbles pop up almost immediately you squeal, locking your phone and slamming it on the bathroom counter before undressing and stepping into the hot, steamy shower.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

bartender!dick grayson who spots you leaning against the bar one night in a tantalising red dress, trying to shrug off some drunk loser who keeps insisting you let him buy you a drink. dick steps in to suggest that maybe the guy’s had enough for one night, and it’s time to head home. he pauses there, but his eyes finish the sentiment—leave, or I’ll make you.

bartender!dick grayson who gets to chatting with you once the asshole’s gone, quickly realising you two have some pretty serious chemistry. he offers to make you a dirty vodka martini, claiming it’s his specialty. “it’s on the house,” he promises with a wink.

bartender!dick grayson whose eyes darken slightly as he watches your lips tease the rim of the glass, barely noticing the way you’re staring at his black t-shirt pulled taut over his muscular frame. your skin is hot, and you don’t think it’s from the vodka. he tells you he’s off at 11:30, a suggestive smirk on his face.

bartender!dick grayson who leaves sloppy kisses down your neck as soon as you’re through his apartment door. his large hands roam your body and squeeze the soft flesh of your ass, holding you flush against his muscular torso.

bartender!dick grayson who has your legs around his head within minutes of getting you sprawled out on his bed, your pretty red dress crumpled up around your waist as he devours your needy cunt with all the ferocity of a starved lion.

bartender!dick grayson who turns you over to fuck you from behind, just so he can watch your glossy pussy grip his cock like a vice as he pulls out of you slowly, before sinking back into you hard. he groans at the filthy sounds you make for him, gripping your hips to ground himself.

bartender!dick grayson who gives you the best orgasm you’ve ever had, even though you’ve known him for less than three hours. he talks you through it as you tremble around his length, his tone almost cocky—“fuck, look at you, sweetheart. feels good, doesn’t it? all for me, huh?”

bartender!dick grayson who grits his teeth as he pulls out of you to cum over your pretty ass, knowing he’d much rather fill you up and watch you drip instead. maybe next time, he tells himself with a smirk, knowing you’ll be back again for more.

[venuiscmind]

Bartender!Ellie & Co-Worker!Ellie <3.

Just some headcannons for the 3-5 part series im cooking up since I finally have time to write!!! Please show some love for this as it will really motivate me to write more for this. Smut below!

read this.

w.c 1.1k

Bartender! Ellie who has you stunned the first day you see her in her all black, tight, fitted uniform. Sleeves rolled up to her veiny, tattooed forearms, dripping with the syrup from the cocktails she was shaking over her shoulders. Dark, black pants that fit her legs perfectly as she moves around the bar.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps her eyes fixed on you while you bend down to hear a customer's order in the busy and loud bar. You turn feeling eyes on you but only see Ellie turning back to pour a drink for a customer.

Bartender! Ellie who gradually opens the buttons of her black shirt during her shift when it gets too hot, showing off the pale but flushed and sweaty skin underneath, adorned with glinting silver chains.

Bartender! Ellie who flirts back with all the pretty girls who press themselves against the bar trying to give her their number. (She throws them out after every shift because they’re lacking something she can't place).

Bartender! Ellie who is immediately in the face of a man who has stepped a little too close to you and has gotten too loud and rude for her liking.

Bartender! Ellie who drives a pretty, sleek car to work and is constantly offering you rides to and from work because you shouldn't have to worry about driving yourself.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps you up till 5am after your shift texting you about anything and everything she could think of to keep you talking, all because she liked hearing you talk.

Bartender! Ellie who pull off her shirt over her head and immediately sinks against the heat of the shower but can't get you out of her head for some reason.

Bartender! Ellie who is constantly offering to make you drinks after your shift when the bar has been closed down, leaving only the two of you to lock up together.

Bartender! Ellie who has to keep her eyes focused on pouring your drink instead of looking at the curves of your form sitting up on the top of the dark marble counter. Her heart (and other places) flutter seeing you like this.

Bartender! Ellie who's tattoo flexes while she clenches her fists when you're not looking, trying to keep herself grounded while she watches your legs cross atop the bar, something she would never be able to catch if she hadn't secretely swapped shifts to be able to lock up with you.

Bartender! Ellie who takes off her apron and button up shirt to change into a loose dark hoodie that makes you swallow hard. She pulls up her hood letting loose tendrils of hair fall out of it before manspreading and turning her keys in the ignition.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps on the silver rings she wears during her shift to clench the steering wheel as she speeds into your neighbourhood blaring music with the windows open at 4am after work. (She later swears she wasn't even driving that fast).

Bartender! Ellie who has to take a breath when you invite her into your house which is impossibly tidy and she actually offers to take off her shoes because of this.

Bartender! Ellie who has to hold back her questions of whether she can marry you or not when you offer her glasses of water and bits of food you can scrounge up for her.

Bartender! Ellie who stares at you, feeling her pupils dilate and her breathing turn rough just looking at you standing in your kitchen.

Bartender! Ellie who stands up and hooks her arms around your middle and rests her head on your shoulder as you do the dishes at 5am.

Bartender! Ellie who begs you to "please tell me I'm not the only one who feels like this because I can't keep ignoring this because fu-".

Bartender! Ellie who is shocked when you turn around to put her face in your hands and smile at her, inches from her face, stroking lovingly. When she slowly moves forward you pull back an inch wanting to savour this look on her face, basking in the mutual desire that you both felt.

Bartender! Ellie who whispers " are you sure"? against your lips with her green eyes boring into your own. You nod, and murmur "Yes ellie, I've been sure for weeks" and press your soft lips into her soft and slightly chapped lips.

Bartender! Ellie who has to move her hands from your hips to the counter to steady herself once she allows herself to give into the sensation of kissing you. She can't think with her hand and mouth full of you, and only you.

Bartender! Ellie who pulls back and finds herself being pulled into your bedroom, your fingers interlaced with hers, never leaving her seperated from you again.

Bartender! Ellie who sits back on your bed, watching in awe of the woman before her, as you strip off your work shirt and pants, leaving you in your soft underwear in the light of dawn, peaking through your curtains.

Bartender! Ellie who grips your hips like her life depends on it when you climb into her lap and lies back against the sheets, face and skin turning pink as you press yourself against her toned body.

Bartender! Ellie who lets you strip her down in kind and lets you kiss down between her tits, pawing at them as you press your lips against the soaked spot on her black boxers. She has to remember to breathe when you pull them down leaving her in nothing.

Bartender! Ellie who feels exposed and vulnerable, shaking underneath you while you lick and slurp against her soaked pussy, tasting her like she was the sweetest thing in the world.

Bartender! Ellie who groans out "oh fuck me, right there"- and holds your head gently against her clit when you suck on that spot that has her arching off the bed, her eyes rolling back into her skull. She wraps her legs around your head and shoulders and begs, actually begs you not to stop because she is so fucking close to cumming all over your tongue.

Bartender! Ellie who forgets to breathe again when she feels your fingers press against her slicked and soaked entrance and push into her causing her to melt, shake and press against you to push them deeper inside of her.

Bartender! Ellie who cums when you suck just at the right time with your fingers pushing in and out of her, hitting that sweet spot in her over and over.

Bartender! Ellie who pulls you up by then chin to kiss you, and taste herself fom your mouth and brings your hand up to your lips to taste her again. She then kisses you deeper than you had ever been kissed, tongue invanding your senses until all you can think of is her and her only.

LOL i actually got so horny writing this but hope you enjoyed!!! more to come very soon i promise <;3. - Venuis!

Btw asks and submissions are open so give me some inspo plsplspls xxxx

[bangaveragewhitewine]

snowed in⋆⁺₊❅

Eddie Munson x Reader (from Happy Hours, but can be read as a standalone)

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: My first contribution to @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas revisits Bouncer!Eddie and Bartender!Reader as they brave a blizzard together. 

Content: Cosy and domestic overall. Mentions of sex (oral m & f recieving, penetrative sex). Spit / spit kink mention. Vomit mention if you squint. Hints to anxiety.

December 1993

Silhouetted by the brilliant white sky, he looks like spilled ink framed by the wooden window frame. Accidentally beautiful or intentionally dark and mysterious, a Rorschach print filled with meaning, you want to mount him on the wall and admire him from every angle. 

Eddie gazes out at the falling snow, the way it blankets the city streets below. He watches the flakes float and fall, fat and frosty from the fit-to-burst clouds above, and twists the red phone cord around his fingers as he listens to Wayne on the other end. 

You can’t see his face from your spot on the couch, curled up beneath a blanket with fuzzy socks and your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, but you would bet all of your earthly possessions that he’s wearing his worry beneath his bangs, pinched between two dark brows. You would also wager that Wayne is insisting he is fine and dandy, teasing him for fretting like an old woman (but secretly feeling heart-warm that his boy cares so much). 

Your tea is cool enough now to sip without scalding your lips (which Eddie would gladly kiss better if such a tragedy would occur). You smile into the cup when he laughs low and throaty, warming you inside out. 

“We’re good, Wayne. Yeah, the bar’s closed tonight, we’re staying put.” Eddie twists slightly to look over his shoulder and winks at you, “Yeah, I’ll tell her.” In socked feet, he shuffles back from the icy-cold glass and turns his back on the blizzard beyond. “You too, old man. Tell Laurel hi from us… Call me tomorrow, okay? Bye, Wayne. Bye.”

You watch him place the phone and its cradle back on the sideboard once his fingers have been untangled from the cord. “How’s Hawkins?” you ask.

“Pretty bad. They closed the Plant, that never happens.” 

He picks up his coffee cup, drains the dregs, and comes to join you on the couch. Eddie is grateful when you lift the fuzzy blanket for him and lays himself on his front with his head against your heart. Going quiet, he sighs and soaks in your warmth before continuing - you can feel the tension wash away now that he has spoke to his Uncle.

“And Wayne? He sounded in good spirits.”

“Mmhm. He’s good. Staying with Laurel, her heating is less-shitty. They’re stocked up on groceries for a few days, so it’s fine.” His voice is muffled against your sweater, but you can feel his relief that Wayne and his girlfriend have each other and don’t have to brave the blizzard alone. Just like you and Eddie. Being snowed in alone would royally suck.

You had enjoyed the light dusting of snow that came at the start of the week, braved the sub-zero temperatures to keep the patrons of Jackie’s happy and drunk, and endured a busy Walmart with Eddie to stock up the fridge and cupboards ‘just in case’. It was fun at first, writing your initials in the snow and pegging snowballs at Eddie, laughing until your ribs ached when you tried and failed to dodge his retribution and cold hands. But winter in Chicago was no joke and overnight, a dump of powdery white perfection and a frigid wind had frozen the midwest. Luckily, the bar closed early last night so everyone could get home safe and sound. The phone call from Frank this morning woke you both up and alerted you to the city at a standstill; there was no need to open the bar tonight and maybe tomorrow. With nowhere to be and nowhere to go, you both curled up again to sleep the day away.

A few hours later, Eddie stood by his sleepy promise to keep you warm by burrowing beneath the blankets and making himself at home between your thighs until you were both sweaty and satisfied and the bedroom windows had fogged up behind the thick curtains. 

You started cooking a lasagne as Eddie called around to make sure your group of friends were safe and sound and fully stocked up for the next few days. He cancelled guitar lessons planned for the next few days, bidding farewell to the extra cash that makes the Holidays a little more extravagant for you two. When Eddie joined you in the kitchen to help chop and taste-test, he brought loose plans to meet in the park and build a snowman tomorrow if the blizzard permitted. He watched the clock, giving  Wayne time to sleep after his night shift; intrusive thoughts of black ice and snow drifts and his Uncle frozen to the bone tightened the tension in his shoulders and made him restless. Finally, he was able to relax once he knew everyone was coping, and once he knew Wayne was safe and warm a two-hundred-odd miles away.

You watch a few episodes of Twin Peaks with the lights low and Eddie falls asleep for a while, looking younger and so peaceful. An unplanned day off is exactly what he needed, wrung out from extra shifts at the bar and guitar lessons and odd jobs he picks up along the way - a day here or there working a sound desk for community theatre, slotting in as a session musician, and learning the ropes at a local radio station (sometimes you even get to hear his voice on the air, though that’s usually when he forgets to mute himself, or his laughter breaches the booth). His ability to try his hand at anything, watching him persist and flourish, makes your heart ache with how much you adore him. Though you do wish he would not spread himself so thinly some weeks, especially now when the days feel so short, when the bar is getting busier as the Holidays tick closer and the days off are fewer and fewer. This snow day, you think, is some sort of divine intervention and you let him sleep on for a little longer than he might like - there’s nowhere to be, nowhere to rush to.

Now the apartment you share smells like the rich and warming lasagne you made together and cheesy garlic bread. Outside, the snow is settling and you sit together at the little dining table with candles and two beers in lieu of wine or something fancy. Eddie’s cheeks are rosy warm and one dimple is stained with a speck of tomato sauce that you will wipe away so gently and call him your ‘mucky pup’. Taking the opportunity to make this an impromptu date night, he attempted to serenade you in butchered Italian until you had to cover his mouth with your hand. 

“Baby, I love you so so much, but we’re going to get another noise compla- Ew! Did you lick me?!” 

You wiped your spit-damp hand on his face as he cackled and threatened to not give him an edge piece of the lasagne - as if you would ever deny him his share of that crispy cheese topping, as if licking your hand was any worse than living with his boyish burps and flatulence, as if you haven’t nursed him through food poisoning, as if your eyes don’t roll into your skull when he spits in your mouth while your legs are up on his shoulders.

Two empty plates sit in front of you as you share memories of snow days passed and agree that this might just be the best one both of you have ever had. Better than the giant snowman Wayne helped him build when he was eight, better than the big hill you went sledging on when you were ten, better than every cup of cocoa with marshmallows that warmed your cold hands after snowball fights. 

Soon you will stand side by side in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes as you agree on a movie to watch and and wondering aloud if the snow will settle enough for a snowball fight fuelled with hipflasks of warming whiskey with your friends tomorrow. Eddie will call Wayne one more time before bed, and you will talk in the darkness of your bedroom as you fall asleep curled together under too many blankets.

Neither of you is sure what tomorrow will be like, but you both know that you won’t have to spend it alone.

Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments and likes are loved, cherished and adored!

[loveshotzz]

for your blurbs:

‘bent over a table while something bakes in the oven.’

with my favorite bartender. maybe it’s his birthday or somethin’ :)

Hi bf 🥰 I hope you enjoy your boyfriend being a birthday boy menace.

A/N: this blurb is with bartender!eddie from my whatta man au, but can be read as a stand alone. just know it’s your bartender boyfriends 32nd birthday.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ for smut,fem!reader, dirty talk, mild food play, spanking, cream pie for days

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to see the cake before the party babe?”

Eddie’s voice echoes down the hall from your bedroom, an annoyed sigh escaping from between your lips when you stop stirring the chocolate icing you’d just ask him to come try.

“That’s the bride before the wedding, and you weren’t supposed to be hereeee.” You call back in an irritated song when you remind him of his three a.m. decision to come and see you after his shift at The Foxy Lounge using the significance of today to get you to say yes. “But since you are, I want the birthday boy to tell me if this is sweet enough for him.”

You wipe your hands on your sleep shorts that you haven’t been able to change out of yet, turning around only to be crowded against the counter in a blur of black and ripped denim by mister thirty two himself. Your palms land flat against his chest as his full lips start peppering kisses all over your face and the giggles he gets only encourage him further. The hard formica pressing against your back becomes smooth against the bottom of your thighs when he lifts you up to sit on it instead. You squeal his name when he pushes himself between your legs with the kind of smile that gives you butterflies like the first night you met him.

“I really like it when you call me birthday boy.” Wiggling his eyebrows, you can still see the dimples that poke his cheeks under his scruff, while big ring-covered hands find a home on the curve of your ass pulling you closer to the edge. The silver chain attached to his wallet that dangles from his belt is cool against the skin of your calf from the A/C when you wrap your legs around him.

“I’m not surprised in the slightest,”You grin, unable to stop the way one of your hands fluff’s out his freshly washed curls. The softness from your deep conditioner is evident against your fingertips. “Now are you going to try this frosting or not before Steve takes you away.”

“I also really like when you’ve got a lil attitude like this,” Eddie teases, nudging the round end of his nose with yours as he leans to try and steal a kiss only for the plush softness of his full lips to hit your cheek instead and it actually makes him whine a little, “come on, it’s my birthday.”

“Try the frosting and maybe I’ll reconsider.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you catch the way he has to physically pull his eyes away from your now pushed up tits.

He sucks the skin of his teeth, looking at you with a narrowed stare before raising his eyebrows at you in a silent challenge. Nodding before shrugging a little too casually, he dips his index finger into the rich velvet, the boars head that dons it catching in the sunlight.

“Fine, I’ll try it. No problem baby, anything for you.” His tone is the only warning you get before the chocolate that matches his eyes is smeared sloppily across your lips.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of your open mouth when you gasp, doing what you asked of him while also still getting what he wants. His hand reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm letting the pad of his thumb coax you open for him with a swipe of his tongue collecting the chocolate from your bottom lip before meeting yours in the middle with a low groan. It’s a battle for dominance before he sucks yours gently, getting your back to arch and fingers to bury themselves in his curls, melting into him just like the sugar.

He grins into the kiss when the heels of your feet start to dig into the curve of his butt, your irritation from before forgotten with a roll of your hips. He smacks his lips against yours once, twice, three times before he pulls away more than proud of himself when you look at him with a dazed smile and glazed over half hooded eyes.

“Mmm, I think I need another taste. What do you think?” His nose ring bumps against your heated cheek when he kisses you again, this one softer, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip while his finger makes its way back into the bowl of chocolate by your hip.

“I think it’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want.” The double meaning in your words doesn’t go unnoticed, black pupils taking over coffee ground eyes.

The sarcastic remark he has about your attitude just minutes ago is quickly forgotten when your hand wraps around his wrist bringing his frosting covered finger to your lips. He can feel the warmth between your thighs that lock him in place, cock twitching against the seam of his ripped jeans when you lick a long stripe up the side before bringing it entirely into the heat of your mouth. Hollowing out your cheeks as you suck, his eyes hit the back of his head with a muttered ‘fuck’ and a rock of his hips in search for the kind of friction only you can give.

You release him with a loud pop that bounces off the walls of your kitchen and you’ve never been more thankful for your roommate to be out of town. There’s a hunger in his stare that wasn’t there before when it meets yours and the fingers spread across your ass grab at the soft flesh pulling you closer. The evidence of your teasing makes you moan when it presses against your clit.

“Gonna let me bend you over then?” The gravel in his voice is unmistakable, leaning his forehead against yours as he looks at you from under thick lashes.

“Uh huh” you nod, letting your top lip connect with his bottom one in a dare, a deep exhale blowing through his nose when he smells the chocolate on your breath.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he grins, stepping back just enough for you to get off the counter, both of his hands finding your sides to help you down, “just like your icing.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you make a show of letting your body slide down the length of him with a smile. Nipples hardening under your tank top as they rub down his chest. He curses under his breath, licking his lips when you turn around to press your ass firmly against the throb in his jeans. A teasing thrust from him has your palms find the counter top for support, while his hands wrap tight around your curves.

“Fuck, look at you.” He’s mesmerized by the dip of your back as you arche for him, the hem of your shorts stretching over the fat of your ass, riding up just below your cheeks. He wants it to be his birthday every day.

“Better hurry up before Steve starts callin’” You tease looking back over your shoulder with a wiggle of your hips.

“Hmmpf '' Eddie huffs with one more thrust, ringed fingers curling around the sides of your shorts, stepping back just enough to let them pool at your feet. “He can wait, this is more important.”

He grabs a handful of your ass, spreading you apart to reveal just how wet you already are and the sight of it makes him groan. He works on the button of his jeans, metal clinking when they fall to the floor.

Dripping for him, he slides the tip of his cock along the seam of your cunt with ease, catching against your clit making you keen. You push back for more and the heat of his palm connects to your cheek with a smack, the metal of his rings adding an extra sting that makes you gush.

“Don’t be rude baby, I’m the birthday boy.” He reminds you, watching how your ass jiggles the way he likes.

“Don’t get cocky - ohmygod” The air is taken out of your lungs when he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in without warning, the stretch when he bottoms out with his chest to your back makes your eyes pinch shut with a whine.

“I think you like it,” His words come out right next to your ear in a breath of peppermint and chocolate that make goosebumps rise along the back of your neck.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he stands up straight, fingers digging into the dough of your hips when he pulls almost all the way out before filling you back up to the hilt. Circling his hips, his tip bullies the spot that makes your toes curl and the flutter of your walls encourages him to start his unrelenting pace. The first three strokes make your jaw go slack, fingers curling around the edge of your countertop, the ends of your nails scratching against the wood underneath.

“Always feel so good baby, Jesus - sucking me in like she can’t get enough.” The lewd sounds of your slick and the slap of his hips against your ass fill the quiet of your apartment, a low whine pulling from your throat when he adjusts hitting a different angle.

“Eddie - fuuuck.” You can’t find it in yourself to care how pathetic you sound, not when two calloused fingers start playing messily with your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yeah sweet girl? That feels nice?” Hunching over you, his strokes get deeper the tip of his nose nudging the shell of your ear.

“S’good” you manage to get out, pushing your hips back meeting his.

His hold on your waist becomes bruising as he keeps making circle eights with the pads of his finger to your puffy clit, while the pattern of his thrusts start to get sloppy when he feels the way you tighten around him like you're close. The slow burn that started deep in your gut starts to become all consuming like this, one of your hands releasing its grip from the counter to cover on top of his between your legs. A low chuckle vibrating in your ear when he picks up the pace.

“Yeah, it’s like that?” You can hear the grin in his voice, and your smart mouth from before is gone. All you can do is nod, your arousal coating both of your fingers and leaving them to slide messy in a way that has your chest tighten, and your mouth fall open.

“Give me my present then baby, come on, give it to me then. Wanna feel you on me all day.” He grunts nipping at your earlobe, and it’s enough to get him exactly what he wants.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” Your eyes squeeze shut when you scream his name, your orgasm washing over you in a burst of heat as he thrusts into you hard enough to push you on to the tips of your toes with every one.

“Shit - that’s it, that’s fuckin’ itttt.” The feeling of your walls constricting around him so much that they try to push him out only makes him bury himself deeper as he paints your insides white. Muscles tensing with his release before they go limp when he melts back into you, huffing out a laugh that fans against your neck.

“The icing is great sweetheart, I can’t wait for the cake.”

[oneforthemunny]

take as needed |bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader|

prompt: a hectic week at the hideout has you burnt out, fed up, and on the path of destruction. eddie is in your path, and tries to course correct.

contains: minors dni. smut. dom!eddie x sub!reader tones this time. soft!dom!eddie. emotional release spanking. masturbation male. angst, fighting, they're kinda mean to each other but ends in fluff. based off this blurb from a while ago.

"Behind you." Veronica held the beers over you, shimmying through the crowded back area towards her customers at the end of the bar.

It was way too busy for The Hideout- for Hawkins. College was out for the summertime, all the college kids that fled as fast as they could after graduation were dragged back for the summer. Most of them would rather be at some stuffy bar that with their families, and you couldn't blame them, so they found there way here. On a Friday night, slammed and the karaoke machine in full effect from nine til midnight. Thankfully, you got off at ten, only an hour of enduring the screeching off note wails of the drunken patrons.

"Great song choice, man. Super metal." You looked up to see Eddie, all black even in the summer heat, sliding behind the bar, fist bumping the drunk kid who'd belted Welcome to the Jungle complete with the filthy moans into the mic. It had made everyone laugh, hoot and yell out encouragements at him. Everyone but you, it just irritated you.

"Hey there, pretty girl." Eddie muttered, grabbing your waist while he slid past you. "When you get a chance, can you make me a drink, please?"

"I'm super busy right now, Ed." You huffed, fishing a pen out of your back pocket, setting it on the bar for the drunk sorority girl to sign.

"I know, baby," Eddie cooed, ringed hands rubbing down you arms gently. You knew the act was to soothe you, calm you down, but it did nothing to relax you, only pissing you off further. "Whenever you get a chance. 'm on my break. You need any help? Wha'dya need me to do? How can I help?"

"No." You grit, shoving the ice scoop into the clumped, melting ice with a rather hard shove. "Can you just get out from behind here? It's crowded enough, Ed. 'M boiling and you're in my way."

"Easy, ease up." Eddie frowned at you. "Just trying to see if you need any help."

"I'm fine." You slammed the glass down on the counter, Veronica's eyes cutting over towards you carefully. You'd been on edge all night, frustrated and annoyed from the moment you walked in, such a contrast to your usual very sweet and bubbly demeanor. The customers seemed to notice too, seeing as your tips were practically cut in half, even on a busy night.

You tilted the bottle up, not even bother to properly measure the amount of vodka you were dousing into the drink. Veronica raised her brows at Eddie, shaking her head gently. You pressed the lemonade tap before turning to him. "I'll make your drink if I have time."

"I got it." Veronica offered, pulling two glasses out. "What do you want, Ed-"

"-I can make it, Veronica." You sneered, jamming a straw in the drink and adding it to the tab. "Just gimme a goddam second."

"Hey," Eddie's eyes narrowed at you. "What's gotten into you? Take a fucking chill pill and relax."

"I am relaxed." You sneered, slamming the drink on the counter in front of the wide eyed girl. "You are pissing me off."

"Hey, the both of you," Ellen huffed from her place behind you. "Why don't you both go on your fifteen." She suggested. "Cool off, alright?"

Eddie didn't give you a chance to protest, wrapping his arm around your bicep lightly, dragging you back towards the kitchen. You grumbled the whole way, whining about your tips, scuffing your feet along the sticky tile, until Eddie pushed the back door open.

"...and fucking Veronica has been taking all the regulars tonight, and I get all these young fucks who don't tip. Fucking bitch, like, she knows that's not fair-"

"-What is your problem tonight?" Eddie frowned.

You blinked, a scoff leaving your lips. "Me? What's my problem? Are you- are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah. You're being mean tonight. What's going on?" Eddie's jaw clenched, teeth grinding together.

"Oh, fuck you, Eddie. I am not being fucking mean, you're such a-"

"Hey," His ringed hand caught your jaw easily, light but firm. "Enough of whatever you're pissed about, alright? You gotta get yourself together. You're being mean to everyone. Not a good look. Killing the vibe, babe."

Your lips pursed, shoving him off of you. "You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that?" You sneered, reaching for the handle of the door. "I'm killing the vibe- fuck you! I'll kill the vibe if I want to."

Eddie's hand smacked onto the door, shutting it before you opened it completely. "What has got you acting like this?" Eddie demanded. You shoved him again, reaching for the handle. "Hey, stop it. I'm being serious, alright? Did someone mess with you? You're supposed to tell me or Ellen. I'll take care of them you know I will. Won't let them mess with you. Just- Can you tell me what's going on with you. Why are you being so mean tonight?"

"You're so fucking annoying." You huffed. "Nothing it wrong with me. You're just pissing me off."

"Yeah? Well, you're pissin' me off, too." Eddie snapped. You faltered at his biting tone. "Pissing me off, and everybody else off with your horrible little attitude."

"I don't have an attitude." You mumbled.

Eddie scoffed. "Yeah fucking right. You've been awful all night, and honestly, I'm sick of it. So is everyone else, so you better stop it now. Alright?"

It was your turn to scoff, a heavy eye roll accompanied. "Yeah? Or what? Huh? What the fuck are you or anyone else gonna do huh? Send me home? Cut me? Please, be my fucking guest."

Eddie moved, pinning you to the door, hands on yours, closing around them firmly. "If you don't quit acting so bitchy and mean, then I'm gonna treat you mean. Give you a taste of your own medicine." Eddie growled, eyes pointed in a fiery glare that had your knees buckling.

"You got me? Keep this shitty little attitude up, and I'm gonna drag you to the back and give you an attitude adjustment. That what you want?"

Your heart jumped at the threat, tummy flipping and pooling with warmth. "Y-You're not going to-" Your voice shook, Eddie's challenging look cutting you off further.

"No? You sure? You really think I won't? Keep it up." Eddie snarled, letting your hands go. "I'm sure everyone would love to see you get put in your place after how awful you've been tonight."

You let out a shuddering breath, watching him reach for his reds, sifting through the pack, curls falling in front of his face. Eddie turned to you, cigarette around his lips. "What?" He asked, flicking the lighter. "You want one?"

Your nose scrunched, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open furiously. Eddie rolled his neck, inhaling deeply. It was going to be a long night.

Though your attitude subdued through most of the night, enough that at least you weren't so hateful outwardly, not slinging mean comments. Instead, you took to glaring, shooting daggers at Eddie. Thankfully, the bar died down enough for the two of you to go home in time, Ellen giving Eddie a wary look over your head while you wrote your time.

"Fuckin' asshole." You sneered, sifting through the wadded bills, flicking the cash into the drawer.

"What's wrong?" Ellen asked, passing the check to the group of girls across the bar.

"That jackass only tipped a dollar." You grit, tucking the singular bill into your bra. "Six beers and four shots, and he tips a dollar? What a piece of shit."

Ellen's lips pursed. "Well, maybe if you were nicer-"

"-I was nice." You snapped defensively.

Eddie's shoulders tensed at your tone, even from his place by the door he could hear it, much clearer now that the place had started to clear out.

Ellen's brow raised, looking at you then to Eddie. He could feel his face flush, mortified at your attitude. "You know what? It's died down, and you..." Ellen shook her head. "Veronica and I can close up tonight. You can go home early."

You scoffed, dumping the glasses into the tray. "I don't have a ride. I came with Eddie. It's fine, I'll start the-"

"-No, Ed!" Ellen waved him over. "You two go home early, alright? Last calls in an hour, it's dying down. We got it."

Eddie wanted to die, melt into the floor. He felt like he was in grade school again, getting in trouble because someone was talking to him, grouped in with the trouble when he was innocent.

You didn't argue, huffing when you split the tips in the jar, stomping away towards the back. "Ellen, hey, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with her tonight. I think she's just in a bad mood-"

"-That's an understatement, Munson." Ellen grumbled, eyes rolling. "Did you two fight or something on the way here?"

"No, we didn't-"

"-Because I'm glad you two are together. I think you're real cute, but if it's going to effect your work like this. I'll have to stop scheduling you two together." Ellen gave him a pointed look. "And that's really gonna be a pain in my ass."

Eddie swallowed, hands buzzing, twisting his rings nervously. "No, I get that. It won't- You don't need to do that. I'll get it under control. This was just a one time thing. She's just having a bad day."

Ellen held his gaze, a stern glare that had Eddie's heart picking up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I hope so. I'm choosing to believe you because I agree, that," Ellen waved towards the back where you were no doubt sulking. "Is out of character."

Eddie nodded, muttering a sigh filled apology. Ellen waved him off. "Hey just make sure you two are good on Tuesday, alright? We'll start fresh. Have a good weekend."

"You too. And you, Veronica, thank you." Eddie waved, pushing the swinging doors towards the back.

He found you next to the lockers, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, foot tapping in annoyance. "What took you so long?" You snapped.

Eddie flinched, blinking back at you in disbelief. "What?"

"I've been waiting. It took you forever." You huffed. "You usually run out of here and tonight, when I'm already in a bad mood, you take forever? Are you just trying to piss me off?"

"Are you?" Eddie snapped. Your eyes widened, face falling at his tone, furious, annoyed.

"What?" You swallowed.

Eddie shook his head at you, grabbing the lock on his locker, spinning the combination. "You're..." Eddie scoffed lightly.

"What? I'm what?" You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

"You're being a real asshole tonight." Eddie looked over his shoulder at you. "Embarrassing, acting like this. Getting sent home early? How are you not embarrassed?"

Heat filled your chest, heavy and suffocating, different that the bubbling rage from before. "I thought you'd be ready to crawl in a hole after Ellen sent you home." Eddie flung the metal door open, letting it hit the others with a loud clank! that had you flinching.

"Then you get me sent home too, and you've got the fucking audacity to be mean? To talk to me like that?" Eddie glared at you over his shoulder. Your frame shrunk, heart pounding in your ears. It was the most subdued you'd been all night.

"I-I didn't get you sent home-"

"-The fuck you didn't." Eddie scoffed, grabbing his keys, his wallet out of the locker, smacking it shut. "You wanna know what was taking to long? I was talking to Ellen. She was telling me if we can't keep our personal life out of work, we can't work together. I was trying to tell her that we didn't get into a fight, and she didn't believe me."

Eddie took a step towards you, time card in hand. "She couldn't believe you were just mean like that unprovoked." Eddie shoved the card in the clock. "So what? You mad at me? Is that what's going on?"

"No." You muttered, looking down at your beat up sneakers, covered with sticky stains from the night.

"So what then? Care to tell me what's wrong? I mean, shit, we're getting sent home now. Feel like you should let me in on what's goin' on." Eddie threw his hands up, keys rattling between his fingers.

"Nothing's wrong-" You sneered, barely registering the ringed hand that caught your chin. Fingers squeezing your cheek in a firm grasp, pulling your gaze to Eddie's.

His eyes lidded, nostrils flaring down at you. "You better watch it." Eddie gritted. "Keep this shit up, and I'll lock that door and fix that attitude in here."

Your tummy flipped, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat. Agitation fizzled into arousal at the threat. You cursed yourself for feeling that way.

Eddie's eyes squinted, head tipping towards yours slightly. "That what you want?" He huffed, hand still firm on your cheeks. "You acted like this because you wanted me to be mean to you-"

"-No." You sneered, wiggling in his grasp, scared he could feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "That's not why."

"So tell me why." Eddie's hand loosened, eyes still pinning you with his gaze. "Tell me what's goin' on."

Your chest sunk with a heavy guilt. Burnt out from tireless hours of work, cranky from lack of sleep, annoyed that Ellen let Pat off for the week when the place had never been busier. All of it eating away at you throughout the week until you finally snapped.

"I just wanna go home." Your tone was softer than before, still teetering on huffy. "I don't want to be in this place for another second. I'm so sick of being here."

Eddie nodded, tongue sliding over his teeth. Keys clenched in his hand, he stayed silent. The car ride uncomfortable silent, neither of you speaking first, the hum of the radio the only refuge.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Eddie broke the silence after nearly an hour. The two of you had gotten back to his trailer, going your separate ways to cool down. He finished a cigarette on the steps, let you do whatever you needed to inside.

He found you by the sink, scrubbing your makeup off. Mascara and eyeliner smeared down your lids, normally, he'd laugh. Squeeze your sides and tell you how metal you looked, silly and playful until you were giggling with him.

Not tonight.

A part of you wished he would have. It would have made you feel better.

That gnawing feeling of uncomfortableness was eating you alive from the inside out. Had your chest feeling tight, skin crawling with irritation. It had only grown worse, now that you were left to reflect on the night- on how you acted.

Eddie moved into the mirror behind you, pulling his shirt off, tossing it in the hamper. You brought the wash cloth back to your face, cleaning the smeared makeup from under your eyes.

Eddie's shoulders slumped. "C'mon." He sighed, softer this time. "What's wrong, baby?" His hands slid over your arms, pressing a small kiss to your shoulder. "Tell me what's goin' on. I know something's wrong."

Your nose burned, pressing the warm washcloth to it. "I don't know." You muttered, opening the mirror, plucking the faded lilac case from the shelf.

"I just... I don't know." Your eyes rounded, locking with Eddie's through the mirror. "I just- I don't know how to describe it. I just feel off?"

Eddie nodded slowly, hands resting on your back gently. "Off, how?" Eddie hummed, arms wrapping around your body, pulling you into him. You didn't fight him, melting into his embrace instead. "Tell me what's wrong, honey. I just want you to feel better."

Your head tilted back to his chest, his arms heavy over your frame. "Just off." You muttered. "I feel like I need to just get everything out. Hit the reset button because I'm just so- so, bleh."

Eddie's lips curled gently, swaying you lightly in his arms. "I just am, like, unsettled. I'm so tired from work, but then I get home and I can't sleep, and then people are so fuckin' rude-"

"-Who's rude to you?" Eddie pressed, frowning behind you.

"Just the kids." You roll your eyes, shoulders tensing. "Snotty college kids. They think they're better than you or something."

"So come get me when they do that." Eddie's chin hooked over your shoulder lightly. "I'll take care of them. Kick 'em out."

"Then we'd have nobody." You shook your head lightly. "It's just- I don't know. I just feel really off." You paused, craning your neck to look at Eddie. "I feel like I need to get it all out."

Eddie stilled. "You-You want me to help you with that?" He knew what you were asking. "You want me to... To spank you?" It wasn't the first time you'd done this, still his cheeks burned at the word.

Your sex life was far from vanilla, teetering on outright debaucherous at times. He was no stranger to being mean to you in the bedroom, just like you weren't to him. Still, when you'd asked him the first time, to give you emotional release in this way, it felt a little odd to him at times. To bring pain to you, even if you asked, when all he wanted to do was smother you with affection.

Still, he'd do anything for you. You knew that, he did too.

It was why he swayed so easily. Your eyes rounding, lashes batting so sweetly up at him. "It really would help me feel better." His heart skipped, a sweet tone he'd been longing for all night. "I really think it would help."

Eddie nodded, hands sliding down your arms again, squeezing your elbows gently. You picked the hairbrush off the counter, handing it to him, taking his free hand and guiding him to the bedroom.

He let you settle over his lap, wiggling until you felt comfortable, a pillow under your face. Eddie twirled the hair brush in his hand, fidgeting while you settled. It was still new. How hard did he hit in this scenario? Did he soothe you? Scold you? Say anything at all? When you were playing, it was easier. In a headspace that came naturally with the moment.

"Ok," You hummed, turning to look at him, cheek pressed to the pillow. "'m ready."

Eddie hesitated. "You- And you're gonna tell me, right? When you want me to stop?"

"Yes." You nodded gently. "Just don't stop until I'm crying."

Eddie's cock throbbed, a roller coaster like drop in his stomach at your words. "Baby, I'm serious-"

"-I am too." You frowned. "Eddie, I promise I will tell you if it's too much, but... just please? Until I'm crying then you can stop."

"O-Ok," Eddie's breath stuttered, hand smoothing over your pantie clad ass, cheeky cotton panties that had his brain trailing off. "I'm gonna, I'm starting."

You settled back into the pillow, Eddie's hand rubbing down your back soothingly. Your free hand snaked up, folding over the middle of your back, fingers wiggling at Eddie's. A sweet gesture that made his heart swell, interlocking his fingers with yours, pinning your hand gently to your back.

The hair brush's smooth wood pressed to your ass, tapping in a warning that had your hips clenching lightly. Eddie hesitated, bringing the hairbrush up, then lower, readjusting his aim, before letting it fall. A soft clap met with a tiny grunt from you.

"You can do harder than that, Ed." You muttered.

"Harder? Are you sure?" Eddie hoped you couldn't feel his heart beating. "I don't wanna hurt you when you're not feeling good, baby."

"You're not hurting me. You're helping me. I swear." You said softly, squeezing his hand gently, reassuringly. "You can do harder than that. I'll let you know if it's too much."

Eddie brought the hairbrush higher, sending it soaring down with a firm smack that had your breath hitching. He waited, your hips squirming in his lap.

"That was good. Just like that, Ed." You whispered, taking a deep breath in through the burn in your nose.

Two identical hits fell to each of your cheeks, a tiny squeak of a cry coming from you. Your grip tightening against his hand with every fall of the hairbrush. Eddie was more confident, fell into a rhythm that felt more comfortable.

Hips wiggling, tiny whimpers and cries coming from you, rotating from cheek to cheek, lower then higher. Eddie brought the hairbrush down, a flick in his wrist that was sharper, stinging against your skin.

A tiny hitch, a sniffle that sounded watery had his ears perking. Eddie paused, feeling the hitch in your chest. "Keep going." You gritted, a white knuckled grip around his hand. "Keep going, Ed. Please."

Eddie brought the hair brush down again, twice, sharp flicks that had you crying out- a real cry, broken and breathy. Unsure, Eddie shushed you sweetly, letting the hair brush fall onto your upturned ass again.

"Shh, it's alright. You're doin' good, sweetheart. Let it out." Eddie rasped, cracking the hairbrush down again. "Doin' good for me."

The next fall of the hairbrush had a cry breaking though your throat, tears springing in your waterline, threatening to fall. The bubble in your chest filling fuller and fuller, close to bursting with the building irritation on your ass.

"You're doin' good. I know you've got to be feeling better." Eddie soothed. "You still good? Need me to stop."

"No," You cried, shaking your head. "K-Keep going, Eddie, please, keep going. D-Do it fast. Fast ones."

Eddie let the hair bursh rain down in quick successions, all over your ass, sharp smacks that had you gritting your teeth in irritation, eyes clenching shut until finally, you felt a wave wash over you. Heavy with emotions, it crashed into you, body shaking in sobs.

Face pressed into the pillow, you cried into the soft cotton, rubbing your face against the pillow case to soothe yourself. Eddie slowed, stopping when your hand loosened in his, body slack and shaking with sobs.

Eddie held you, arms tight around you though it felt like it was more for him. Soft coos and whispers, a hand rubbing down your spine. He hoped you couldn't feel his erection pressing into you. He felt torn, arousal he couldn't help but felt wrong when you were crying. Sobs so deep, stuttering in your chest and rocking your frame.

He hadn't realized how exhausted you were, a pang of guilt ringing through his chest when you started to slump in his arms. Usually, he'd get you calmed down, finish off the night between your legs, to make you feel better or maybe him.

Tonight, he let you settling into the mattress, rolling you onto your side, tucking the pillow under your knees, how you always slept. He wasn't sure how it was comfortable, teased you about it the first time he saw it. "It helps with my back, I swear." You had giggled, hiking a leg up over the pillow and settling into the mattress. Eddie didn't care how you slept, honestly, if it meant you'd sleep next to him.

Settling you under the blankets, Eddie carried the hair brush back into the bathroom, setting it back on the vanity's counter. He pulled the Jergens off the shelf, hand wrapping around his length, relieving himself. Tomorrow, he'd take care of you, spend the day in bed with you if you wanted, hopeful but certain that you'd be better in the morning.

[hellishjoel]

little black dress

10k / pairing: bartender!joel x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: You’re breaking things off with your douchebag situationship at one of your favorite little dive bars because lord knows you’re gonna need a drink or two. The bartender, Joel, is happy to offer his assistance. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, swearing, alcohol consumption, slight angst, toxic ex-boyfriend putting hands on you, dom!Joel, dirty talk, pet names, oral (f receiving), titty attention, unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), I think that’s it!

A/N: I’ve held this in my vault for WEEKS. Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @macfrog for helping get this piece to completion! I quite literally couldn’t have done it without them and without their input and encouragement.  Also -- this is my first 10k fic! how exciting!!

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

Your breaths grow heavy with impatience, waiting to feel him. Him soaking up your slick wasn’t enough. He finally got the hint as your hips rutted back into this touch, hearing his hellish low chuckle at your desperation.  “So-” your breath hitches as you feel his tip nudge in, “fuckin-” you clench your eyes closed as his first few inches break you in two, your jaw dropping, “tight.” He bottoms out in one swift thrust, filling you up to a level you didn’t even know you possessed.  “Joel!” A broken cry unleashes from the depths of your throat, you didn’t need to see him to know how big he is. You can fucking feel every single inch of him. 

You had never gotten dressed up for a breakup before. 

As you looked yourself over in the mirror, you were reminded of what you discussed with your friends last night. 

You felt a little on edge when you revealed to your friends over a girl’s night that you wanted to break up with your short-term boyfriend Chris. The relationship was only a couple of months old, but the guy was a douchebag. And you realized it too late. 

“He was such a waste of your time.”

“Oh my god, he was an asshole to you.”

“Girl, I hope you do a revenge breakup on his sorry ass.”

“A revenge breakup?”

Ahh, yes. The revenge breakup. For wasting your time, efforts, and emotions on Chris, you deserved to have a little fun in the form of revenge.  You’d put on your favorite little black dress, do your hair and your makeup, wear a red lip, and show him that you don’t need him. 

But now as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, you felt like you were playing dress up. You weren’t really this confident, this bold. But your pouty red lips said otherwise. Your favorite perfume said otherwise, as well. After a slow turn in the mirror, long legs on show with a short black dress adorning your curves, you decided you would be a man-eater tonight. 

You would have preferred to break up with him over text, but you decided you were together for a little too long not to break things off in person. 

Despite what you looked like on the outside, your heart was a tangled mess of emotions.

When you first met Chris at one of the fancy bar lounges on the east side, he was the standout of his friends. Tall, blessed with dark blonde hair, perfectly clean-shaven, still dressed in a work suit to join in on the Friday night happy hour. You quickly learned a lot about him. He had an apartment in the city, but his permanent residence was in the neighboring state. He liked golf, basketball, and football. He was a family guy, close with his parents. After buying you a drink, he told you he worked at a finance agency, a large one at that. 

The professionalism in itself made you swoon. You couldn’t help it, he seemed put together and men who had a plan were attractive to you. 

Needless to say, you went home with him after he was whispering in your ear all night long, his large hand planted possessively on your hip, derailing any other guy in the room who thought about trying a conversation with you. 

It could have stopped there, should have stopped there. But he was smart, and his face wore a permanent smirk that put you in a destructive tailspin. So you kept seeing each other. He took you out on lunch dates, got you into the trendy clubs, and put the two of you up in hotel suites from time to time for a nice weekend away. 

It was fun while it lasted. His charm eventually wore off, and you realized he was just… a completely selfish douchebag.

 You were ready to break things off. 

And so it was decided. You looked hot. Too good for him. Your roommate insisted that she could come with you for moral support dressed as a casual bargoer, watching the show for herself behind a bar menu. The idea made you bubble up a laugh, but you really wanted to do this yourself, for yourself. 

Your stomach was in knots the entire Uber ride over, leg crossed over the other as you drew shapes into the material of your clutch. You wanted to arrive a little earlier than the set time with your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend-fling, needing a drink or two of encouragement. 

The Blackbird was a corner bar that had survived the rapid changes of downtown for the past ten years, or so. Initially around when there was a small gas station on the opposite corner, now it was neighboring a family diner and a video rental shop. 

As soon as you enter down the cement stairs and through the dark green door, you’re greeted by a stage to your right where local bands came in and played. After walking past the pool tables that desperately needed new felt, you pass an old golden jukebox that was playing 80s dad rock. It fit the atmosphere, you had to admit. Some Guns N’ Roses started to play after just finishing a Twisted Sister song. 

Maybe it was the fact that you were entering into a small dive bar, easily becoming the best-looking person there by a mile and a half, but it was the confidence you needed. 

Eyes were on you, a small smile fluttering on your lips at the discovery.

Cigarette smoke filled the air, your heels clicking casually against the hardwood floor as you used the space as an off-duty catwalk. Pool balls clattered, matching the fast-paced beating of your heart. 

The Blackbird Bar offered little lighting, aside from the bulbs that hung above the pool tables and a few old neon signs. The walls were decorated in well-loved decor like old license plates and tacky bar signs. There was a $1 bill hung up in a frame, most likely the first bill the bar had ever made. It's a crowning little achievement in all of its dust-covered glory. 

The bar stools could use new upholstery and a fresh coat of paint might do the wall wonders, but people didn’t come here to enjoy upscale aesthetic and fruity drinks. They came for cheap booze and company from the regulars. 

An empty string of barstools waited for your company at the end of the long bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness the bar was veiled in. 

Your fingernail traced over the slight scratches on the bar’s surface, someone clearing their throat knocking you loose from your thoughts. 

“What’ll y’ have?” 

Your head was so clouded with what you might say during your impending breakup that you didn’t think of what you wanted to drink. You could really use some liquid courage.

“Uhm..” You paused as you looked over the bartender, your eyes adjusting as you watched him clean a glass with a rag before he tossed the cloth over his shoulder. 

He was older, a little shaggy looking. He wore a tattered dark green henley with a waffle print, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You ordered your go-to drink, slowly swirling your straw around the ice as you anxiously watched the clock tick closer and closer to your planned time. 

“Hey beautiful.” Shit, he was early. 

Your eyes widened as you quickly set down your drink, signaling to the scruffy bartender and tapping at your glass to request another.

Chris entered your space with a charming smile, his pungent cologne instantly piercing your senses as your eyes gazed over his square jawline. 

“Hey.” You teetered on your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress, feeling that it was all of a sudden far too short for the evening. Like it was shrinking up your body. 

Chris quickly picked up on your not-so-warm greeting, his head cocking as he set down his jacket on the bartop. 

“Interesting pick for the bar. I could’ve taken you somewhere uptown.” 

The comment made your gut clench, especially since the bartender was right in front of the two of you, making your drink as he silently listened to every word. 

“I actually really like this spot. Feels less pretentious than uptown.” You bit back, maybe a little too much venom in your comment. 

Chris playfully threw up his hands in surrender, smirking down at you as he took in your appearance. Slightly smeared red lipstick and an all too tight black little dress. 

“Alright, uptown is pretentious now, I’m glad you updated me.” His comment was snide but laced with a hint of teasing, your hand instantly reaching for your drink once it was crafted by the bartender. You mutter an apologetic thank you. 

“Hey,” Chris spoke up as he raised two fingers to flag down the bartender. “Can I get-”

Before he could finish, the bartender had walked off further down the bar lane, grumbling under his breath as he went to fulfill another customer’s order. Chris scoffed and tried to brush it off but it made you smile. Well deserved. 

Once Chris finally did receive his drink, a corona with a lime, he started to tell you about his week in the office. Unprovoked. 

Apparently his coworker was brutally fired, his department was on their third secretary within the year thus far, and he was up to his ears with his end-of-the-month reports.

You weren’t sure what drink number you were on. The bartender kept giving you glances every time he poured your glass back up, his eyes signaling to Chris as he kept speaking over you. He looked just as annoyed as you felt. 

“And Chambers is just.. all up my ass about finishing it ahead of schedule but I keep telling him, y’know, Dude, it’s not due until Monday. Get off my ass about it. Right? Right?” Now he was laughing like his life, and his story was really all that interesting. Like everyone was hanging onto every word he ever said with enthusiasm. 

He kept wagging his beer around in his hand as he spoke, using mannerisms to go with his exquisite storytelling. 

You muster up a noise to give him some sort of implication that you were interested. However, the more you drank, the more you realized how uninteresting he actually was. Who talks at someone like this for 45 minutes? When did he ask you a question about you? Did he know shit about you?

“Hey,” your voice sounded power drenched which quickly captured his attention. His eyebrows raised as if you were interrupting his train of thought. 

“Do you remember what I told you I studied in school?” Your head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed on his. Despite the volume in the bar, you could still feel your heart thumping in your ears. 

He tried not to look phased by your question. After a pause on his end, he mustered up an awkward chuckle before clearing his throat, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“How long have I lived in the city?” 

You watched as his eyes flicked off to the side, his lips parting as if he was hoping the right answer would just come to him. 

“Uhm..”

“Uhm?” You mocked, a nasty smirk on your lips. It was taunting.

The more he couldn’t answer your questions, the angrier you got. You mocking him seemed to get his blood boiling. 

“What do I do for work? What are my hobbies?” Your red lipstick kissed the straw as you took another sip while you waited, crossing your leg over the other as your foot casually bounced while you watched him squirm. 

You continued to roll out question after question. You enjoyed watching him writhe under your scrutiny, finding out that he didn’t fucking know you at all. 

Someone you considered to be so put together, so refined, and so charming was really just a douchebag clown masquerading in a suit. 

The grip on your drink tightened, and you’re not sure if it was the alcohol or the anger you bore, but something gave you the nerve to throw the remnants of your drink on him. 

The liquor splashed across his white button-up shirt first, your half-melted ice cubes followed by pelting his chest. 

Satisfaction and surprise filled your gut, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you tried to hide a laugh. The crowd of regulars watched from a distance, a few gasping while a few others snickered.

He looked furious. 

“You fucking-- bitch! What the hell!” He was still shaking off ice cubes, pieces of his blonde hair falling down and presenting him as disheveled.

“If that wasn’t answer enough for you, I don’t want to see you again. We’ve been on countless dates, and you don’t remember a damn thing about me.” 

You didn’t care that people were watching, you were putting on quite the show for them in your little revenge dress. 

Chris scoffed at you in disbelief, shaking off the liquid that clearly stained through his shirt. You could feel your chest swell with a sense of pride and courage. Your body felt warm, stained with confidence as red as your lipstick. 

“You’re fuckin’ sick, you know that? You’re a fuckin’ psycho!” He was nearly laughing at you, the insults scraped at your throat and made your confidence cut down an inch.

“Just-- get the fuck out of here, I don’t want to see you again.” 

Suddenly, something you weren’t expecting was his hand tightening around your forearm. It stung, his iron grip burning into your flesh so hard that your fingertips already felt numb from the lack of circulation. 

You let out a whimper of discomfort, your big eyes looking between his talons pressed into you then back up to his twisted face.

He yanked you into him, your heels scraping the bottom of the floor-- or maybe that was the screech of his barstool he pushed out of his way on the hardwood. 

“You really think you’re all that interesting?” His eyes were narrowed in on yours. “You were just an pair of open legs.” He muttered in disgust. 

Your eyes hardened, jaw tightening shut as both anger and sadness twisted inside of you until it created a damaging tornado. You couldn’t believe you saw interest in him or anything at all.

“Hey-” A voice so low and booming broke you out of your thoughts, both of your heads snapping to the bartender who was staring daggers into Chris. 

“You don’t touch a lady like that in my fuckin’ bar. Get the hell outta here.” His voice relaxed in volume, his scary stature and piercing eyes were enough to thrust a splinter of fear into Chris. But of course, being the cock that he was, he wouldn’t let it seem like the bartender phased him. 

“This doesn’t concern you, man. Best if you just drop it-”

“Or what?” The bartender’s words cut quick as his head cocked up, eyes narrowed on Chris’s. Challenging him. Goading him to fight back. The bartender even stepped closer to the bar’s edge, making Chris step back a foot or two despite the bar being a direct barrier to the two. Chris’ hold didn’t slack, it became stronger. Your nails started to try and pry away his hand from you, but his grip was solid. 

You looked to the bartender, a silent plea for his help behind your eyes as you were still lightly fighting against the grip Chris had on you. The anger Chris felt towards the man reflected in his hand around your forearm, a short cry coming from your lips as his fingertips bruised into your delicate skin. 

“What did I just fuckin’ say?” The bartender was rounding the bar towards the two of you, Chris quickly dropping his hold on you as the man neared closer. This idiot had never been in a fight before in his life, and he surely wasn’t going to start with the tall, broad bartender who probably beat up drunk assholes every other night.

You were so hypnotized by their interaction, the feeling of the bartender’s hand gently on your back before he became a barricade in front of you. His broad arms crossed in front of his chest and he was still looking for a fight out of Chris.  

He looked scary,  but in a more protective way now. Now that he was so much closer, you had a better look at him. 

His flesh was seared with the signs of life, soft lines on his forehead and by his eyes-- probably from the permanent scowl he wore like how people put on their glasses every day or a watch around their wrist. He had a speckled beard, but a prominent mustache on his upper lip, both the hair on his head and his facial hair wore a brief streaks of silver.

His nose was aquiline, it fit him perfectly. He was long in the torso, broad in the shoulders, and drawn in at the waist. The henley shirt he wore looked like it could barely fit around his biceps, the material stretching to accommodate. He was handsome for a stranger you had paid little attention to all evening. 

“You alright?” You could tell he was talking to you without looking, his voice more serene. 

“Yeah.” Your voice sounded shakier than you wanted it to, the whole interaction being a shock to your system. Your hand delicately stroke over where he held you, the ghost of his grip still aching on your skin as small bruises were sure to form later. 

The bartender’s attention was back on Chris after being assured you were alright. 

“You heard her. Get the hell out of here.” The bartender’s head cocked behind Chris and to the door. Once the bartender got involved with your fight, you could feel the presence of the tough pool table guys pause their game to make sure the situation was handled. 

Outnumbered, Chris scoffed before he yanked his ice-covered jacket from the bartop, his eyes on you as he shook his head, his nostrils flaring. “Keep her. She’s not worth the fuckin’ trouble.” 

The bartender had enough of Chris thinking he was in charge of the situation. He planted his hands at the top of Chris’ chest, giving him a harsh shove that had him staggering backward, still trying to maintain his balance as he was shoved out the door repeatedly. 

“I don’t usually ask twice, consider yourself lucky.” The bartender’s words were cut with steel. He looked so calm and unbothered like he picked fights with random guys every other night and it was no big deal. 

The crowd of regulars at the bar cheered him on until Chris was swiftly shoved out the door and you could hear his body scuff against the cement steps outside. 

You finally felt a flood of relief course through your body, the adrenaline had come and gone, but the racing of your heart hadn’t subsided. 

You let out a hot puff of air as you brought the scattered barstools back to their home under the bar, seeing a pair of hands help you align the last one. It was the bartender, and he was watching you with eagle eyes.

“I’m sorry-” you quickly blurt, shaking your head and pressing your hand to the side of your neck to find some sort of relief. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene or put you in a situation-”

“You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” He was quick to cut in and assure you, your bunched-up shoulders slowly relaxing as he resumed his spot behind the bar. 

You sort of wanted to leave. You hated the unwanted attention your hot-headedness created. Even though he was the asshole, you still felt like it was your fault. 

“Sit down.” His voice demanded, your eyes softening as your head whipped back up to look at him.

“I’ll remake your drink, just… sit down.” You shifted on your uncomfortable heels before giving in and satisfying him with a little nod, returning to your barstool as he came by and made you another drink. 

“Can you-” your voice perked up and tapped at your glass gently. He paused his motions as he looked down at you. “Can you make this drink as responsibly strong as you can?”

His lips tightened, trying to hide a smile poking out from the corner of his mouth. 

“Sure, Trouble.” You watched as he tipped the alcohol in, letting it fill up with the ice before he added only a good splash of mixer. Thank god. 

The breakup with Chris was warranted, but it was hard thinking about having to start all over with someone new. Hopefully with someone better. You weren’t one to drink by yourself like this, but the burn of the alcohol sliding down your throat felt better than the ache you felt festering in your chest.

As the night went on, the bartender didn’t seem keen on being more than a few feet away from you. He’d fulfill a patron’s order on the other end but always end up back by you, meandering himself to keep busy. You had watched him clean one beer mug three separate times now. Sometimes you made eye contact, only for a fleeting second before he looked away. 

He kept asking if you were alright. Yeah, I’m alright.  If he could do anything. You’ve already done more than enough. Thank you. Finally, he broke. 

“So… you wanna tell me who that guy was?” He asked, topping off your drink as you sighed and swirled your straw around. 

“He was... I don’t know. A boyfriend, I guess.” You waved around your drink as you spoke, your eyes meandering around the bar. 

“Whatever we had, it didn’t last long.”  You tutted up a short laugh at your little joke. You took in a deep breath through your nose, your shoulders rising before they dropped on the exhale. 

The bartender shook his head, almost looking inquisitive. 

“Why d’ya laugh?” He asked curiously, his arms spread as he planted his palms into the bar for balance as he kicked back one of his boots to rest behind the other. He was so broad and handsome.

“Oh,” you paused and covered your face for a moment in embarrassment that he called you out on it. “I said it didn’t last long, the relationship, but like.. Y’know.” You trailed off and shyly smiled, setting your hands back in your lap as you caught his eye contact, however, now he was holding it with you. 

“What?” He pressed further. But he knew what. He just wanted you to say it. 

You let out a short nervous bubble of laughter, shaking your head. Oh, fuck it. The alcohol was helping you relax, and frankly, you wanted to laugh at Chris. You didn’t owe him anything. 

“He didn’t last long. The relationship didn’t last long, and he didn’t last long. Y’know. In bed.” You felt the need to over-clarify now, taking another sip from your drink, your eyes clenching closed slightly as the strong alcohol made your face tense.  

The bartender’s mouth chipped up into a crooked smirk, shaking his head as he looked over you for a moment. You remembered what you were wearing, your little black dress doing wonders for your cleavage resting just above his bar. 

“‘S’a damn shame.” He finally said, shaking his head as he threw a white cloth up onto his shoulder, his attention fully on you now as the bar had begun to die down throughout the night. All that was left was a set of people playing pool and one cigarette smoker on the other end of the bar, his eyes tiredly captured by the random game show on the television. 

“What is?” You ask curiously, your straw slurping ice now as you sighed and pushed the glass away, shaking your head at him to signal you were done for the night. 

He paused before answering you, taking your glass from the bartop and throwing down the ice into a tray then the glass into soapy water. He shook his head and shrugged as he wiped his hands. 

“Jackass twenty-somethings not knowin’ how to make their pretty girlfriends finish. Damn shame.” 

Your lips parted, your doe eyes on his whiskey-colored ones. Your stomach twisted, a tug between your legs so strong it felt like you were battling an internal fire. 

Finally, you just laughed. It was out of shyness and shock, but it was a laugh. 

“Is that so?”

“So it is.”

“I don’t even know your name.” 

He didn’t let you go another second without it. “Joel.” 

Your head cocked to the side, your confidence bubbling up as you sighed quietly. “Joel.” You repeated back to him, the two of you slowly nodding to one another. Now you were the only thing his eyes would look at. You sort of wished he would look somewhere else, to let you fucking breathe.

But he pinned you right there in your barstool with his gaze, in his bar. It was crazy to think something fruitful might actually come from the train wreck that was tonight.

Maybe put together looked something more like Joel. Someone a little older, experienced. No wedding ring, a barely-there smile that seemed to only come out on special occasions. He amused you, even if it was just for tonight. 

“So, Joel,” your hand reached out, pointer finger gently grazing over the top side of his hand that was planted in front of you. His skin was warm, your nail grazing the soft hairs by his wrist, and the band of the watch he wore. “What are you trying to say?” 

His expression didn’t break, if anything, there were minute details you noticed. His jaw clicked tighter like there was someone slowly turning a tight wheel that controlled it behind the scenes. His shoulders bunched a bit more at his upper back, his body tall and looming and strong. But his eyes stayed on yours, consistent, dark, and beautiful. 

“I can show you better than I can tell you.” His words were laced with a promise you were begging him to fulfill. You weren’t sure how much longer you could last with this nagging feeling between your legs begging for relief. 

Your intimate conversation was cut short with the final clatter of a pool ball, the black 8 ball sinking into a pocket. 

You finally let out a breath, one you didn’t know you were holding in. You glanced to the side, away from Joel’s protective gaze as you watched the men hang up their pool cues on the wall mount, grabbing their leather jackets as they came to set their empty beer bottles on the bar top and thanking Joel before they exited. 

His hand came up in a subtle wave, not even shaking his hand back and forth, just throwing his hand out there to say a silent farewell. 

Your breath quickened at the thought of him alone in the bar with you. If it wasn’t for the chain smoker dulling both of your fantasies. 

Joel caught your wandering eyes, following them down the lane to the final patron.

“Paul, do you know how late it is?” Your eyes fell to Joel’s fingers as he covered the clock behind the counter methodically. 

The smoker, who you learned was Paul, finally pulled the cigarette away from his dry and cracked mouth, glancing around to see how empty the bar had become. Besides you and Joel. 

“Your wife is probably waitin’ for you at home. Best if you start headin’ out.” Joel said as his head tilted to the door next to him, the man nodding with wide eyes. 

“Oh, she is gonna kill me. That woman,” he mumbled something else you couldn’t quite hear from your end of the bar, smiling as Joel snuck a glance at you as he ushered Paul out. He’d stay here all night if Joel didn’t tell him to head on home. 

Your nerve finally made your long legs move, heels landing on the hardwood as you slowly walked the length of the bar, your fingers dancing along the top. You felt a few chips and divots in the wood, years of wear and tear exposing itself to you.

Joel flicked the lock on the door and flipped the sign. Sorry, we’re closed!

The action in itself made you feel spoiled. He wanted you to himself for the rest of the night, he didn’t want anyone interrupting. Goosebumps flooded your skin as you leaned back against one of the pool tables, the light above you making you have an angelic silhouette. 

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the jukebox, the only thing eliciting noise in the otherwise silent bar. With a push of a button, the music halted. 

“What? No music?” You asked. Your voice had a slight echo now. 

His heavy footsteps loomed closer, his eyes on yours and never straying.

“Rather hear you.”

Well, there went any remaining ounce of respect you had for yourself. 

 You initiated the first contact, needy at this point. Needy for someone to take care of you just for tonight. Joel was more than willing to take on that role. A means to an end. 

Your soft hands landed on his exposed forearms, moving upwards until they hit the rolled-up sleeves of his dark green henley. You had to force yourself to breathe when you felt over his biceps, your warm palms coming to rest on his broad chest. 

“I could have handled it you know. Before you intervened.” Your words elicited a slight grumble from the man in front of you. From Joel. 

“I’m thankful, but… I had it under control.” Your fingers continued to dance over his upper half. 

He let out a gruff and shook his head. “Not from where I was standin’, Trouble.” His voice was curved with cockiness. This was the first time you really took hold of his southern accent. It came out when his voice was lust drenched. 

He challenges you, and your attitude matches his stubbornness.

Joel’s hips are against yours now, you can feel his jeans against your thighs that your dress doesn’t quite reach. His hands are a warm welcome on your hips. They’re gentle on you in the same way they’re possessive, eager to have you but wanting to approach you with a sense of tenderness. 

“I had it.” You were persistent.  Your arms moved to wrap up around his neck, intertwining your hands and feeling the soft curls on the back of his head. 

“Sure.” 

The distance was closing between the two of you now, his body moving with a flirtatious sense of stealth. 

He watched you with a stoic face. He seemed so unphased. Your touch alone was often enough to have gentlemen attempting to take you home. You were methodical in that sense. But maybe so was Joel. 

He was a total stranger, but knew little things about him. Stiff, silent, impossible to read, a human shield, a protector. He would have knocked Chris out with a single swift swing of his heavy fist if he didn’t let you go, you knew he would have. Because he was watching you both all night like he had a gut feeling. 

Joel’s tundra-cold voice broke you out of your thoughts for the third time tonight, his large hand coming up and pushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear before he cradled your cheek. His actions were soft, his words were filth. 

“You got a real mouth on you, y’know that?” His eyebrows were furrowed, the indents on his forehead and eyebrows exposing themselves. 

A proud smirk danced on your lips, your arms tugging Joel in closer. He could choose to stay still, he’s strong enough to resist your tug. But he lets you. Because he wants to. 

“So I’ve been told.” 

You can feel a breath leave through his nose, a sigh of contemplation. Teetering on the idea of falling down into the unknown with you. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hands tighten on your hips, hoisting you up to sit on the pool table’s edge. The position makes your dress roll up your thighs, a broken gasp leaving your mouth as he finally fills the void between the two of you with a heavy kiss. 

It’s tongue and teeth at first, meshed and mangled as you both searched for dominance. His tongue danced with your own before you were tugging on his lower lip. You swallowed Joel’s low grunt, his hands falling to the outside of your thighs with his thumbs pressing into your skin. 

Fuck, he was spreading you further. The dress rolled to the very top of your legs, his body sliding through the opening as his warm body consumed you. He tasted like mint. He was probably tasting the alcohol he was pouring you all night. 

You fisted his hair at the nape of his neck to hold onto some sort of control, but he was persistent. 

Joel was invading your senses on all fronts until finally, you had to wave your white flag.

“Joel,” Your voice came out in a desperate breath on his lips, his head quickly nodding as if he already knew what you needed before you had to ask. 

“Lie down, baby, lemme take care a’you.” He kissed you once more before pulling away, his head nodding up once, instructing you to lay back. 

You felt bashful as your shoulder blades hit the pool table, still spread perfectly for him.

His expert hands pushed the dress up your hips, lifting your ass off the edge to let the material pool around your stomach. 

His warm and possessive hands claimed the lower half of your body. He bent down to take you in, pouted lips kissing your naval while his heavy eyes studied your reactions. 

A breath was caught in your throat as you felt his hands on the inside of your thighs, brushing over the front of the red panties you wore. He was thinking the same thing you were, you could see it the way he dropped a small grin. Same color as your lipstick, pretty girl. 

 “Fuck,” you whispered, using the strength you had left and sitting up on your elbows. You were too turned on not to watch him work. 

Your fingers wound into the salt and pepper curls atop his head, biting down on your lower lip as his fingers continued to ghost over cotton. 

His thumb began to teasingly stroke over you, brushing over your covered clit and sending electricity through his touch to your core. 

Joel hooked his thumbs into the sides of your underwear, bringing up your legs to take them off with ease. You scoot closer to the edge of the table, scoot closer to him.

“What?” You ask, his bemused grin now eliciting one from you too. “Think I’m desperate?” You ask, a little on edge for his answer. 

A man of suspense, you watch as Joel shrugs off the question. 

You watched as his eyes came down to admire what was previously concealed, your lips parting as he let out a hum in reaction to seeing your soaked core. All because of him, all for him. 

Sinking down on his knees before the pool table, your hips rutted forward a few more inches to close the distance. His toying with you was aggravating. 

Joel hooked one of your legs over his wide-set shoulder, his large hand coming up to pry the other one up and open. One of your heels nearly sunk into one of the pool table pockets. You whimpered out as you eventually kicked them both off, hearing one pair clatter to the floor on the left of Joel, then the other on the right. 

His lips were on you like a magnet, a heavy sigh leaving your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed. Your gut was tight, feeling it create its own knots as Joel licked an exploratory stripe up your glossy slit with his tongue. You gasped at the estranged feeling. 

“Fuck,” he moaned out, a short yelp leaving you as the vibrations were shot up your center. “Taste too good not to go down on.” The compliment left you in a swirling heat, feeling your walls flutter desperately for him. 

“Joel, you can just-” you paused, not realizing how frantic your words sounded. You sounded frantic enough for him to stop his tongue in his path and look at you like a deer in headlights. 

“‘Somethin’ wrong?” He asked, hesitant concern crossing his features. “You alright?”

As much as you liked his attention, you felt awkward about him tasting you. Only one or two guys have ever done this for you before, neither making you finish. You just remember moaning their names until they stopped, letting them think they had succeeded. Good oral sex took experience, trial, and error. You just didn’t want him to waste his time on you.

But now that his tongue was gone, you realized how good he was making you feel. It made you realize that your slick was already devoured by his lips and his taste buds purely because he wanted to. But you still had that nervous gut feeling that it was out of some sort of chivalrous act. I’ll do it because it’s polite, because it’s only courteous. 

“You just- you don’t have to, okay? I understand if you don’t want to, is what I’m trying to say.” Despite your words being laced with little pants of trying to collect yourself from the pleasure, you still offered him a respectable out. “We can just fuck, get to the good part for both of us.” Your heart thumped in your chest, looking to him with shifty, sympathetic eyes.

Your statement made his head roll to the side, his lips parting. He almost looked disappointed.

“You don’t want me to?” He finally asked, your heat still begging for his attention. You could feel your thighs trembling under the warmth of his palms spreading your legs apart. 

Meekly, you finally push an answer up and out of you. “No.” Your words were breathy, eager, desperate. “Don’t want you to stop.” 

Joel gave you a slight nod, his eyes looking over you for a moment before he settled back down by your core. He kissed up the inside of your thigh, his beard hairs scratching after the soothing touches of his mouth. 

“Good. Now let me make you feel good.”        

His words made your stomach clench, your walls fluttering and begging to be filled. By the look in his eyes, he had seen it. The way your arousal was quite literally dripping and becoming sticky on your skin. 

You could feel his hot breath fanning over your core again, your hips chasing the feeling. You decided to lay back once more, just wanting to relax with Joel’s head between your legs. 

His palm on your leg moved to plant your hip down into the pool table, halting your movements and holding you still. The anticipation was all too much, and you let him know that by whimpering out his name. 

He wasn’t exactly slow, it’s like he was learning. With each lap of his tongue, letting it move up to your clit and then down to your entrance, he was taking the time to learn you. 

You purse your lips as your eyes flutter closed, letting out a genuine gasp as he began to suckle on your clit. The motion eluded something deep in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but it didn’t hurt. Feeling his mouth suck and tug on your aching clit, his teeth just lightly grazing your sensitivity felt like powerful lighting strikes setting a wildfire loose in your core. 

“S’that feel good, pretty girl?” He whispered, trying to learn what made you tick.

“M-mhmm,” you whimper-moaned shakily in response, not finding it in you to lace together more than a few syllables. 

One of your hands braced the edge of the table while the other fisted his hair, gripping the dark strands and keeping him in place. As if he was going anywhere. 

You could feel Joel slowly untying the knots you had made in your stomach, plucking open one and then the other with each stroke of his tongue. 

He liked your taste, he liked pleasuring you, he liked that you liked how good it felt to be given this type of attention. Attention he was sure you hadn’t rightfully experienced before. 

You were eager for more but shy to ask. Joel, being the mind reader that he was, moved his hand that was dedicated to holding down your hip and brought it to glide up your slick. His wet tongue made slow figure-eights around your clit, broken moans tumbling from your mouth as you let your eyes dip open and then closed as waves of pleasure began to consume you in an even rhythm. Joel’s rhythm. 

His mouth kissed at the inside of your thigh once more, having to bite down into the flesh to conceal his excitement. It made you smile and whine. You wanted the marks of his teeth, you wanted the prints of his hands on you. His were welcome.  

He slowly sunk a finger into your pleading entrance, letting a breathy sigh enter the air above the two of you. The only sound in the empty bar was your eager moaning. 

His mouth gave you much needed relief, your pussy taking his finger to the knuckle while his tongue continued to create generous circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

That’s when you felt it. The it no one had given to you before. The it that left your mind blindsided. 

He was only one finger inside of you but his tongue was working magic. You started to mewl out feverish moans of his name, the hand in his hair clenching tighter and causing a sting to radiate across his scalp. The leg hiked up on his shoulder was shaking, your heel digging into his back to guide him even closer if that was humanly possible. 

“Joel, holy shit,” you whimpered, head coming up to look down at him. His lips and mustache were glistening in your slick. “I’m s-so close.” 

You didn’t have to convince Joel like you had to convince the others. Your moans were authentic, your cries of passion genuine. 

Joel listened, he kept his pace, the pace that had you shattering like a freshly broken mirror. 

“J-.. Fuck Joel, your fingers,” you whimper, your walls fluttering around where he was pumping into you with just the one. 

“Mhmmm?” He elongated in a questioning tone, not freeing his mouth from you to respond. He wanted you to say it. You threw your head back in frustration and nodded quickly with your chin to the ceiling. 

“A-Another, another finger.” You groan out. You could feel his smirk plastered against your clit, feeling his cheeks raise with his smile against your shaking thighs.

You don’t need to ask twice. Joel’s inserting a second finger and you can feel yourself stretching for him. He picks up his pace again and the it you’ve been fantasizing about is happening. 

Your toes curl, the heel of your foot still indenting into his back as you let out heavy pants into the air. Your back arches as your walls tighten around his fingers while Joel curls them in the perfect spot, your hand fisting the edge of the table as you searched for words to resemble how good he was making you feel.

Joel kept untying your knots, plucking open one after the other, after the other, until-

“Holy f-fuck! Joel!” Your body convulsed with your orgasm, your hard nipples peaking in your dress as your lower half started to grind against his mouth for the ultimate finish. You were seeing white, your moans and the squelching noise your wetness made filled the room. 

His fingers worked you down from your orgasm, your chest rising and falling as you came back to life. Freshly resuscitated after a life-altering orgasm. And one you didn’t have to fake. 

His fingers were covered in your cum-mixed arousal, he didn’t waste any time sucking them clean as his eyes connected with yours. An exhausted whimper left your throat. Your lips were pouty, eyes as wide as a doe as you sat up to face him. 

He pushed himself off his knees, your leg dangling free from his shoulder. 

Your foreheads came to rest against one another, both taking a breath to collect yourselves. His beard definitely gave your thighs a little burn rash, but with how good he made you feel, the slight pain was worth all the pleasure. 

“I’ve never had someone go down on me on a pool table.” 

Your fingers aimlessly drew circles in the felt, your other hand reaching up to swipe your thumb clean across his bottom lip. 

“Ever been fucked on a bar?” His eyes dark and tantalizing, his voice lacking true emotion and replacing it with grit and lust. Good. That’s the last thing you want right now. You don’t need emotions tonight. 

“Mm-mm.” You said as you shook your head, the two of you wearing matching smirks. 

You were glad you and Joel were on the same page. Neither of you seemed interested in anything more than sex tonight. 

Joel was about to help you down from the pool table, a wave of heat splashing your already warm face. He turned back when you dropped hold of his hand, lightly squirming on the table. 

“Just-” You’re a bit embarrassed, you don’t want him to feel sympathetic. “I need a minute. For my legs.” You gave him a shy smile, and he wore a crooked cocky one in return. 

You glanced down as you tested a foot on the floor. Your stems felt like jelly, as if you had just run a marathon, but really, Joel was just pulling an earth-shattering orgasm from you.

Joel was quick to shake his head, his body coming back to yours. 

“Don’t need you walkin’ barefoot on the floor. I’m a little behind on cleanin’ up the place.” His words made you stifle a laugh. 

He was okay with eating you out on the pool table and fucking you on his bar, but god forbid you might step on something sticky. 

You wonder if it’s because he feels protective of you. He wasn’t going to let some dickhead break your arm tonight. Not in his bar. 

“I’m fine.” You say as you haul yourself up, planting your palm into his bicep for leverage while you put on one heel and then the other. You could walk on your own.

“You wanna fuck me on your bar, baby? You do this with all the girls?” You ask as the heels clicked on the floor, one after the other. 

His pace catches up with you, dark eyes watching your every move like a predator meeting prey. It would scare you if you didn’t know how good he was with his tongue. 

“Only the real pretty ones with delicious tasting cunts.” 

Your lips parted at his words, merely watching as his pace kicked up a notch. You felt your back slam against the bar as Joel consumed your front and he was kissing you once more. 

His kiss was magnetizing, commanding. Open your mouth for me. Let me taste you. 

You obeyed, feeling him slip in and have his taste. Your hands reached for your dress that was bunched around your stomach, pulling your lips from Joel though he was apprehensive to let you do so. The material tangled your hair but you were quickly tossing your dress aside, eager to have him back in your space. 

His eyes lingered on your tits, his mouth on yours, but now his hands- god, his hands, they were massaging and cupping them in his palm. 

You let out a strangled whimper as he pinched your nipple between two fingers, still sensitive from your orgasm across the room. 

He enjoyed watching you squirm, your jelly legs already coming back.

“So fuckin’ greedy.. Can barely hold yourself up.” Joel’s words were gritty, lost in the depths of his heady lust. You wondered how big he was, you could see the heavy outline through his jeans.

While he played with your tits, his mouth now slobbering on your nipple and making your core tremble, your hands were on his old leather belt. Pulling the excess to the side and flicking open the pin. 

He takes over, pushing down his jeans to the tops of his thighs. You smile seeing his dark green briefs, the same green as his henley. 

“I guess we’re both matching tonight.” You teased, snagging your pointer finger into his briefs and tugging until it snapped back into his waist. 

“Turn around pretty girl, wanna feel that pretty pussy around my cock.”

Your stomach was already bottoming out, all those knots Joel had untied on the pool table were now forming again. 

You whimpered as you eagerly turned around, your saliva covered tits now plastered to the bar as you bent over it. The bartop gave you a shiver, considering how cold it felt while bare. 

You whipped your head to the side when you could hear him shifting out of his boxers, his belt clattering with his movements. You flicked your hair out of your way as you tried to get a look at his lower half but he was flushed behind you in no time at all. 

Joel wrapped his hand around his base, his other hand on your hip as he guided you to stand between two barstools. He slid his tip in your fresh arousal, smirking as he watched you grip the edge of the bar. 

“Such a pretty fuckin’ girl. Need a man to make you feel good, not a boy.” 

His words released a whimpery moan from you while you nodded, each time his tip teased your entrance made your heart race just a beat faster with anticipation. 

“Need you, Joel.” 

He nods, his open palm splayed on your lower back and right hip as he admired the curve of your ass. 

Your breaths grow heavy with impatience, waiting to feel him. Him soaking up your slick wasn’t enough. He finally got the hint as your hips rutted back into this touch, hearing his hellish low chuckle at your desperation. 

“So-” your breath hitches as you feel his tip nudge in, “fuckin-” you clench your eyes closed as his first few inches break you in two, your jaw dropping, “tight.” He bottoms out in one swift thrust, filling you up to a level you didn’t even know you possessed. 

“Joel!” A broken cry unleashes from the depths of your throat, you didn’t need to see him to know how big he is. You can fucking feel every single inch of him. 

Your cunt was in shock, your tight walls clenching desperately around him as you began to flood over him with your arousal. 

You began panting into the wood of the bar, the pain greeting you in a hot flash. 

“Oh f-... god,” your knuckles were white gripping the backside of the bar. You could hear Joel behind you, moaning at the way your walls expanded graciously for them. 

“Good girl, alright baby, come on, baby,” His voice was heavy, wrapped up in his lust as he hiked up one of your legs and set it on the barstool. “So fuckin-” his heavy breath fanned across your back as he pulled he retracted his hips, “perfect for me.” He said as he reeled them back in, filling you to the max.

Your leg up on the barstool released a new angle for the two of you, your eyelashes fluttering as Joel found a previously undiscovered spot. 

He started slow, letting your body adjust to him. How could someone as good-looking as Joel be humble about a dick like this? And he knew how to fucking use it. 

You were trying to moan his name, but they just kept coming out in hot pants. 

“Joel, Joel, fuck Joel!” The pleasure had now replaced the pain, a sweet sting at your core every time he ground his hips into you just right. 

Joel’s thrusts never wavered, they were deliberate and calculated as he filled you to the brim. His cologne was invading your senses, mixed with his sweat. 

He collected your hair in a loose ponytail, peeling your face off the bartop as your chin angled up to the ceiling. The pool table may have been for you, using his mouth to get off. But now, this was for Joel. Joel was using you good and hard, and you fucking loved it. You loved that you were what he needed tonight, and vice versa. 

The sound of Joel’s hips clapping against your ass echoed throughout his bar, your hand coming back to grip onto his forearm for some sort of leverage. Some sort of control. Some sort of… anything. 

But Joel made it clear that he was in charge tonight. 

His tempo edged you. Once you fell close to another crashing orgasm, his thrusts feeling like they were hitting you at a million miles an hour, suddenly slowed to the flow of bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic. It was torturous the way he had you mewling out his name in desperation one moment and then the next, he had you whining for more. But every time you neared the finish line, the overwhelmingness of it all was stronger, and you knew Joel felt it too. 

Joel didn’t want you just to feel good, he wanted to change how you saw sex. No more laziness from a partner, no more vanilla positions, no more faking orgasms. This was what it felt like to be fulfilled by the real thing. 

No matter how hard he tried, both of you were losing strength to put up with the passing of another orgasm. 

“J-Joel-” He could barely hear his name with the sound of his front snapping into your behind. “I’m so- fuck me,- I’m so c-close,” You were sure to have bruises on your hips tomorrow, the wooden edge of the bar being nailed into you. “I’m close, please!” you whined, beginning to throw yourself into each of his thrusts which worked up a good grunt from him. 

“Feel so fuckin’ good around my cock,” you twisted your head back as you felt his arm snare around your hip, his fingers slowly circling around your sensitive bud. You were gasping for air, seeing stars as he actually fed you what you wanted. He was ready to let you cum. 

Your eyes weakly watched him as he fucked you over his bar. Eventually, you had to push yourself off of the front because it was pinning your hips into numbness. Your leg came down from the barstool, your back still bent over as you used your palms to flush against the edge of the bar to hold yourself up. Your head whipped back again as you became obsessed with observing him. 

“You like watchin’ me fuck you, sweetheart? Little fuckin’ troublemaker.” 

There were no words, it was too late. Your head dropped as your nails chipped into the wood, letting out a cry of his name as Joel continued to untie the knots in your stomach, all of them falling loose until you came. 

You heard him let out a long and low groan, your barely-open eyes turning back to watch the sight of Joel finishing. 

Joel could feel your walls pulsing desperately around his swollen cock, his fingers getting a little messy with your clit but he kept at it, he wasn’t going to disappoint you. That’s when it hit him, where he couldn’t hold on anymore. 

He spilled his white hot cum into you, rope after rope until it was coming out in shorter streams inside your cunt. You and Joel were moaning in unison as you both finished together.

After a few moments to breathe, you gently pat his hand that was rubbing lazy circles in your clit, feeling his warm palms move to your hips as you slowly straightened out together. 

You flipped your messy hair out of your face, smirking tiredly as you looked over him while he tugged his jeans and briefs back up on his hips, your eyes hypnotized by watching his rough and calloused hands easily secure his belt on. 

“Uhm..” You paused as you shyly searched around for your dress a few barstools down. You went to retrieve it,  Joel taking it from your hands and slipping it back on your body. You watched his face, his eyes looked through you. 

Your thumb came up to his lips, watching as he did a minute flinch with how fast your hand invaded his space. 

“Relax,” you tease, swiping away the red lipstick of yours that melted on the edge of his pretty mouth. He slowly relaxed as he watched you clean yourself from him, his warm palms still holding your aching hips. 

You sighed, your body and mind tired from being completely blown out. Your feet were sore from your heels, you were ready to take this dress and makeup off for good tonight. 

You watched with a teasing smile as Joel did a shitty job with a wet rag cleaning up where you were thrust against his bar, shaking your head at him.

“Missed a spot.”

He tutted dryly. “Funny.”

You collected your clutch and your other belongings, seeing the spot at the end of the bar where the ice you had thrown at Chris had long ago melted and was now a puddle on the floor. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out.” Joel’s voice erupted from behind you. 

Your hand clutched the stray 8 ball on the pool table Joel had you laid out on, dragging it to the corner pocket before you went to meet him at the door. He unlocked it to let you out, even going up the concrete steps with you. 

“It’s fine, Joel.”

He shrugs and shakes his head, looking past you once more. 

“I know. Just wanna make sure you get in the cab alright.” He waved up his hand and stepped into the street, signaling a car until one pulled up to you both. You didn’t know what time it was, how late it had gotten. You probably had several missed messages from your friends to hear how your revenge breakup went. You couldn’t wait to tell them how tonight turned out for the better. Because of Joel.

Finally, he was really looking at you. And you had no idea what to say. Your lips parted, looking up at the older man who sort of saved your night.

Your eyes said it all.  Thank you. 

He just nodded and cocked his head towards the cab. 

“Night, Joel.” You tugged open the door to the cab, tossing your purse in the backseat before sliding in as gracefully as you could. You should forget about being graceful at this point after what you’ve done. 

“You gonna tell me your name before you go?” How could his question come from curiosity but his voice was as cold and bare as ever. His hand was in the window of your cab, as if holding it in place from taking off on him. 

His interest made you smirk, your hand playfully plucking his fingers free from his grip on the window before giving a little shrug and not saying a word.

His eyes stray from yours and look down the road, seeing him cross his arms in front of his broad chest before he continues. “Alright, fine.” He said with a little nod. “Do you think I don’t pay attention to ID’s when I check ‘em?” He says your name, testing the waters as a shy smile creeps on your lips, his cocky little smirk was enough to make your eyes roll. “That’s alright, I’ve been calling you Trouble all night anyway.” 

You sighed tiredly and smiled, tapping the cab window. “Goodnight, Joel.” You say before falling back into your seat and giving the driver your address.

“Goodnight, Trouble.” 

Joel saw you off before disappearing down the concrete stairs into the Blackbird, your fingers gently ghosting over your red lipstick as you watched the city fly by. 

---

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[stargirl-in-dilfspace]

It Will Come Back - Logan Howlett x f!reader

[a/n: hi!! It’s been a minute but your girl is back with some good ol’ wolvie. another joel fic is in the works, and possible a part two to this one depending on feedback <3 love yall]

Warnings: angst, brief smut (NSFW), cage fighting, alcohol, cigar, mention of cat death :(

Content/themes: angst! cage fighter!logan, bartender!reader, not really an age gap idk I see reader as a full grown established adult, based of the hozier song, reader & lo hookup in this chapter but don’t get together, fear of love, mild smut, big stray cat metaphor, possible mutant!reader, reader has a sexy car so, brief section on their backseat of her car sex, the claws come out (or did they?), idiots who deserve comfort and love and need to recover from years of trauma to love each other because they are meant for each other

Summary: A stray Wolverine finds his way into your bar looking for the cage fights. But you both find something you swore off a long time ago. [1.3k words]

You knew better. You’d known better since you were told at age 7 not to feed the stray because he’d keep coming back. But you never really learned your lesson, since that cat proved to be the sweetest of them all. He’d curl up to you when you left your window open at night, push up against your legs in the backyard when you’d come home from school, hiss at any other person or animal. That’s why they put him down, when the neighborhood decided he was too aggressive.

Love like that wasn’t something you'd ever find again. The unconditional protectiveness you received all from simply feeding a stray with your kindness. And that's how you got him killed.

Never again.

To say your love life was parallel to a nun’s would be an over exaggeration. No man had ever drawn in your love the way a stray could.

The tragedy that is a stray.

Maybe you gravitated to working in this bar because everyone here was a stray. Everyone an orphan, who was someone’s, once. It helped that the cage fights were rather entertaining. Watching grown men lose their shit over losing bets, dealing out drinks left and right, everyone who came through had a level of respect for you, everyone’s favorite bartender.

“What can I get you?” Your voice flowed with the familiar words, watching the new face turn up to make eye contact with you, a cigar hanging from his lips, a good head of hair and a worn face.

“You the lady to talk to about getting in on these fights?” He asked, giving you a questioning eyebrow.

“No, Jimmy takes all the bets around here, pudgy guy, beard, back right.” You pointed past him, to Jimmy. Instead of following your finger, he gently waved his hand, looking back at you.

“No, are you the lady to talk to about fighting?” He rephrased, and you grinned. Fresh meat, right?

“Sure, I need a name.” You replied with the grin still on your lips. He looked fit, you wondered if he’d be getting his shit rocked in the cage within the hour. Or preferably by you, and not in that cage.

“Logan.”

“I need a fighting name. Privacy, and whatever.”

“Wolverine.” He puffed out the cigar’s smoke, a smell that this place already reeked of.

“The Wolverine, that's a new one. Welcome.” You smiled more genuinely, waving over one of the announcers, alerting them to your newest competitor. “Can I get you a drink, while you wait?”

“No, just the fights.” He replied, observing you in a way that made it seem like he was taking all of you in.

“Sure you can take more than one round in the ring?” You tilted your head a bit, observing him in the same way, the tension something burning that you squeezed as you spoke, as if it’d choke him up.

“You’d be surprised.” He cracked a grin, you almost wanted to take that in a different way with the way his eyes lingered on you.

————————————————————

You weren’t exactly surprised that he was a good fighter, but it's been 3 hours of continuous beatings, without a cut or a bruise to show for it, he liked to make eye contact with you, doing some dance on that tightrope you were both walking this evening. You wouldn’t complain about the view, since he started he’d shed the jacket and shirt he’d had on. It helped that he won every fight, with a somewhat practiced ease, which made plenty of viewers upset for the losses of their bets.

As the night winded down, bets closed, drunks left angry or big winners. Some frequent patrons lingered on your stools, or in the seats. You watched Logan return to the same stool as earlier.

“Would our very own Wolverine like a beer?” You offered again, wiping up some spilled beer on your bartop.

“Logan’s fine. And yeah, hun, whatever you’ve got in a bottle.” You were used to terms of endearment used by men for you around here, but nothing like the way it fell off of his lips. It made something burn in your body, a sense of nervousness and excitement, that had you grabbing the first bottle you could for him.

You popped the top, moving it over yout bartop into his hand, and part of you wanted to ask how he was unscathed from all the beatings he’d supposedly taken.

“Anything else, Logan?” You asked, more soft than you intended, taking in his appearance. What was it about this particular stray that you felt needed you? Like the way your neighborhood one had? It felt pathetic, the way you tried to straighten yourself out after the slip of your voice.

“No, darlin’. Unless you’ve got a name for me?” He grinned the same way he had earlier, and you could feel the blush dusting your cheeks.

————————————————————

That’s how you made it to the backseat of your black 67’ Ford Galaxie, being fucked like you don’t think you ever have been. Something about digging your fingernails into his skin, the way you couldn’t even see any indents with how hard you pressed, maybe it was the dark? Your legs wrapped around his hips, secured by one strong arm, the other holding himself up above you, buried in your hair. He didn’t seem the affectionate type, maybe you were wrong.

You were so lost, you couldn’t distinguish the small praises and growls on his breath, even if they met your ears like a goddamn symphony.

Something made you make eye contact with him that night, making what should've been a regular hookup into something much more intimate than it should be.

————————————————————

Maybe he shouldn't have looked into your eyes that night. Maybe he shouldn't have given himself a taste of something he should never have deserved once in his life.

But he did.

And by the time you were asleep on him, maybe he should have woken you up, told you he should go. Maybe he should have denied himself the tug you had on something deep inside him, what could be a tug on the heart he swore he didn't have.

But he didn't.

And in the morning when you said goodbyes, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been, at least to him, he liked watching over you that night. He craved that tugging he felt inside of himself to curl up with you, so close you couldn't ever leave him, so close that he would let nothing hurt you.

After years of losing every person he’d ever loved, some wall stayed built, a locked door that kept him out of the warmth of your embrace.

————————————————————

You figured you wouldn't see him again for a long time, he’d told you he was a wanderer, traveling from place to place, with no home to call his own.

He reminded you of that stray cat, and maybe you should've ran the moment you felt like you needed to give him comfort and the home he deserved. You swore you’d never let someone who needed you die again.

But this was a man, a man whose mind had to be wired differently than a cat’s. But something told you part of it wasn't wired differently, the something that heard to skint of metal in the dark of your backseat when he’d damn near growled and come with you.

If the man wasn’t like your stray, why did he have the claws to prove that he was? You reminded yourself that was your imagination, because just as you turned your head to the sound, the glimmer of metal was a figment of your fucked-out mind, not really slipping back between his knuckles.

Hung up on a hookup? How pathetic. You’d never see this man again, he'd never stumble into your bar again, looking for a fight, and finding you instead.

Finding something neither of you wanted to give a name, yowling at the door you stayed on either side of, pleading to come in.

————————————————————

[a/n: I LOVED writing this!!! PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed, it’s much appreciated PLUS it will help me know if yall want another part to their story <3]

[meowsuguru]

eyes on me

Dancer!Reader x Bartender!Geto

౨ৎ cont: suguru geto x fem! reader, unprotected, first time squirt, oral f!receiving, confessions.

౨ৎ word count: 4.5k

౨ৎ a/n: my life blood ty to whoever reads < 3

It’s been an awful night. Smoke clings to your skin, hair, teeth, and tongue as you come back into the club from the backdoor. Just a quick break, allowing nicotine to ease the tension in your brain. The head rush gives you just a moment’s respite, but it’s quickly overtaken the moment you step back into the club. The neon lights that adorn the walls flicker. It only serves to emphasize your mood, and it’s the most sour of moods. All thanks to the countless men who have touched despite the “no touching” rule and the incessant requests. 

“Let’s meet after you get off work.” 

“If I give you $1000 can we fuck?” 

“I’ll slide a little bit more your way if you take care of this problem.”

It’s gross. More than that, it makes you feel dirty. 

It’s the same every night. Same sleazy men, with the same revolting dispositions. You’re just here to dance, something you love doing, to make a little money for college. It’s simple. It should be easy. You’re great at it. 

But, as you have the bouncer throw out another handsy client, it doesn’t feel as easy as it once did.

You hate it. It burns in your chest. You’ve been dancing here for almost eight months, and it’s starting to wear on you. Your head is spinning, tunnel-visioned on getting out. Gotta get out. Gotta get-

“Somethin’ wrong?” Calls the bartender, perceptive as you shake your head, snapping out of the daze you were in. 

“Nothin’, just the usual. It’s been a lot of scum these past few weeks,” you sigh, relieved to be talking to a friend. 

“You seem pretty frazzled. Need some water?” He offers as he wipes down the bar. 

It’s 10 minutes to closing time and the only clients left are the filthy stragglers who frequent the club every night. The bouncers make their rounds, cleaning house as they urge the clients to leave.

“You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here,” you hear one of them say. 

You nod, sitting down across the bar. A tall glass is slid to you, ice cold with condensation already frosting the outside. You take big gulps, your anxiety from the night calming slightly the longer the liquid slides down your throat. 

Suguru Geto never offers you drinks on the clock. He knows to take care of his girls. But, with the way you’re feeling, a real drink sounds better than nice. 

“Suguru,” you say, and he turns his head to meet your gaze. 

“I need a drink.” 

He looks at you pointedly and sighs. 

“You’re still on, princess. You know I can't serve you.” 

“I’m off in 10. Let me have it just this once. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t serious.” 

Suguru is a principled man. He believes in what he believes, and it’s nearly impossible to sway him. So when he says “no alcohol,” he means it. You groan, finishing your water. 

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a beat of comfortable silence, taking your empty glass and setting it to the side. 

“Not really,” you admit, laying your head on your arms. “Seven minutes. Then I’ll take my drink.” 

Suguru frowns, but eventually relents, nodding.  You watch as he cleans the leftover glasses from the night, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, signature one lock falling in his left eye. Suguru is good-looking, you think, but you’d never sleep with a coworker. Your job is already dramatic enough, no need to add fuel to the fire. Nevertheless, you quietly admire him as you wait for the time to pass. 

“Five minutes gives me enough time for a dance,” you say, “Need to end this night on a good note.” 

Suguru hums, eyes never leaving the glass he’s drying.

“Watch me?” 

When you ask this, you don’t know why. Suguru is nice to you, sweet. He cares about all the girls at the club. Perhaps you want to share your love with your friend. You really do love dancing, you think, as you walk up the steps of the stage.

The DJ spots you and puts a song on, something unhurried, languid, smooth like silk. You bring yourself up around the pole, two arms locked on tight as you swing your legs up. Your legs twist in a familiar way as you spin, slowly, letting your body fall backward as you grab the metal with your hands. You hang upside down now, legs crossed above your head. The way you move is easy— intentional— like this is something you were made for. You kick off, one leg at a time, arms holding still against the metal as you spin, slowly, fluidly like water. A glance at the bar tells you Suguru is watching just as you’d asked. Eyes closing, you continue to dance. 

Your song ends and you walk back down the stairs, eyes gazing at your feet.

As you walk up to Suguru, you notice he’s returned to cleaning up the bar. You tap your nails on the bar, quirking an eyebrow up at him to get his attention. He looks up, with that damned crooked grin. 

“You watched me.”

“Beautiful as ever.” 

You give him a soft smile, but it’s quickly dropped as your lips are pulled into a tight line. He notices this and sighs. 

“Fine,” he starts, “what’ll you take?” 

You hum, pleased. He rolls his eyes.

“Vodka soda, pretty please.” 

Suguru makes the drink easily, setting it in front of you with a cocktail napkin underneath. You bring the glass to your lips, relishing in the feeling of the alcohol hitting your tongue. You don’t stop: tipping your head back, letting the drink fill your mouth and slide down your throat. A bit spills out of the corner of your lips and you stop, the heel of your hand tenderly wiping up the stream. The way your lipstick smudges is not lost in Suguru’s gaze, as his eyes flick between your lips and your hand. 

“Easy, princess,” he warns, handing you a fresh napkin. You take it graciously and dab down your chin and chest where the drink spilled. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you answer curtly. 

“I think you do.” 

You regard him for a moment, a nasty side eye as he looks at you with that same damned smile. His eyes are so soft, so inviting. You consider it, as he stands there, letting you drink instead of closing up. The way he calls you princess, only you, the way he is always always there to lend you a shoulder. It’s just so easy for Suguru to break down your walls. 

“I’m tired, Suguru.” 

You hang your head, drawing circles on the bar counter. 

“Tired?” He asks, giving you an opportunity to explain. 

“With- with everything. I can’t just sit here and be demeaned all night every night. It’s exhausting,” you start, pushing your drink away. He grabs it and puts it off to the side. You don’t need the liquid courage for this now, you’re in the safe company of a friend. 

The club has been emptied by now, most of the lights turned off as the dim bulb of the bar hangs above you. Your breath shakes, and you wrap your arms around yourself. 

“I know,” Suguru’s eyes soften, “I know.” 

“I love to dance, and I need the money– the money isn’t even that good, it just-” you trail off, unsure of how to voice your anxieties. 

“I can’t keep doing this.” 

“Then quit,” he says simply. 

“It’s not that easy, Suguru-”

“I know. Sorry, bad advice,” he supplies. 

You say it’s okay, that he’s not your therapist or your life coach or anything of the sort. He shakes his head and flicks the light switch, leaving you two in the dark of the closed club. 

“Want to go for a drive?” He asks, your eyes adjusting to the dark finally as you make out his form. 

“Yeah.” 

–

You find yourself, dressed back in your daytime clothes, in the passenger seat of Suguru’s Jeep. Black interior, black exterior. This guy really has a vibe, you think. You throw your duffel in the back seat when you sit down, and Suguru turns the key, engine roaring to life. You don’t question where you’re going; you don't care where you're going. You roll the window down, feeling the wind hit your face. You close your eyes, remembering easier times. Suguru glances at you, and rolls his own window down. 

He drives, out of the city, and neither of you speak. The dying night’s air kisses your cheeks and ruffles your hair, sparring a bit of hope in your chest. It blooms, like love, and you watch the moon be chased down into the day. You hope and hope, tossing your frustrations away as each leak of light peeks higher in the skyline behind you. 

“I don’t want to be tired anymore,” you say into the wind. If Suguru hears you, you don’t know. 

He just drives, out and up.

–

You arrive at a plateau, abandoned in the dawn. The clouds are down far below your feet, orange skies breaking through the fog. You hop out of the car, sneakers hitting the gravel with a crunch. It makes the breath leave your lungs, the view. You turn, facing Suguru, your hair blowing around your face. He pauses as he comes around the front of the car, looking at you. His eyes are soft, as they always are. You tear your gaze away and look down at the city, far beyond the clouds, as the sun comes up over the horizon. 

 “I like to come here sometimes, when I’ve got too much on my mind,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I can see why.”

Suguru comes to your side, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

There is a chill in the air and you wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your nose into the collar of your hoodie.The two of you fall into another comfortable silence, the air stilling around you two. You lean up against the hood of the car, feeling the heat radiate off of it, warming your bones.

Suguru inhales, and exhales. He inhales again. In a rare display of vulnerability, he speaks. 

“You can’t let them get to you,” he starts; your name leaves his lips in a whisper. “They don’t mean anything, all those guys. You can’t let them break you.”

You look at him, and he looks ahead. 

“It’s getting too hard to ignore,” you reply, frowning. 

You look forward again, tearing your gaze away from his profile, face illuminated in the orange glow of the sunrise. 

“I think I need to quit dancing.” 

“Don’t. That was bad advice,” Suguru says, chuckling.

“I’m serious.” 

He looks at you now, eyes softer than you’ve seen.

“You’re the most beautiful dancer.”  

You tear your eyes away, staring at the sun. You squint, pulling your hoodie up over your nose this time. It’s funny. You can still see the stars in the sky, even as the sun comes up. It chases the night away, and you feel a warmth in your chest. A once-spirited young girl, broken by the brutality of her field. You sigh, letting it go, chased away by the day just as the stars were. Letting the hoodie fall below your chin, you look back at Suguru and find him still looking at you. His eyes roam your face, not scrutinizing, memorizing. As you open your mouth to speak, he shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

– 

Suguru drives you home. The drive is quiet, save for the low music. You play the conversation in your head over and over, mulling over what you should do. When he pulls in front of your apartment complex, you turn, facing him. 

“I won’t quit,” you say, eyes fiery and newly determined.

“Good,” he smiles, “I’d miss you too much.” 

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” you laugh, the first genuine one in a good while.

“You’re makin’ me soft, princess.” 

You shake your head. 

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” You ask, your stomach doing somersaults as he gazes at you with that stupid, dopey, lopsided grin and those half-lidded eyes.

“You’re my favorite girl,” he supplies simply, like it’s so obvious. 

“I bet you tell all the girls that,” you scoff.

“Nope. Only you,” he chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your skin a little bit too long to just be a friendly gesture. It’s tender, and there’s this look in his eye you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow. Sure, Suguru is smoking fucking hot but he’s also your coworker, which could make things awkward. You really don’t want another reason to hate work. But, you decide to throw caution to the wind, and see what happens. He’s your friend. He could be more. You shiver.

“Promise?” You ask, blinking twice. You stick your pinky out for good measure.

He loops his pinky in yours, shaking his head and laughing softly, the sound making you smile.

“Promise.” He raises your hands, placing a kiss on your interlocked fingers. Your heart just about stops at that, the gesture so… unlike what you’d expect from him. It has your mind reeling, thinking about what Suguru would act like as a boyfriend. 

“Suguru…” you say, low as you hold each other’s gazes, the air suddenly charged with something. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” 

A response catches in your throat and you nod, helpless. He leans in, cupping your cheek with his hand, and you instinctively move forward, lips parting. He’s so close you can feel his breath. He hesitates, eyelids fluttering closed, before he finally, finally presses his lips to yours. You feel like your mouth molds to his, and in an instant, you’re clutching at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. He hums, the sound low as it rumbles through you, and you squeeze your eyes closed tighter, scared it’ll be over soon. It seems as if Suguru has no intention of stopping, as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. You gasp into the kiss, it feels so right to be kissing Suguru like this, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, prodding gently at your tongue. You about cry when he pulls away, a strangled sound leaving your lips. He just smiles, still leaned in close as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Come inside,” you exhale.

“I would’ve waited years to hear you say that. I’m so glad I didn’t have to.” 

–

It’s easy, with Suguru. He’s peeling your hoodie off, lips connecting to yours the moment your head is freed. He’s got one hand splayed out over the small of your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. Your hands fiddle with the zipper on your skirt and he slips his free hand under it to cup your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. His hand snakes up your spine, stopping at your bra to unhook it with nimble fingers and helping you shed it from your front. His hand slides around you, thumb grazing the underside of your breast. He cups it now, kneading at the soft flesh. Your hands tangle in his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. 

It’s just so easy. He kisses you like he’s taking care of you. The morning pours through the blinds in your room, dust trickling through the leaks of light. He lays you down, lips never separating from yours as your head hits the pillow. He pulls away to look at you, and he groans. His hair falls all around your face, framing both of you in inky black. 

“You. You can’t even see yourself,” he says, low and surprisingly breathless. 

You forego words for a shake of your head, and you inhale shakily. 

“You’re one to talk…” 

He chuckles, head dipping down to the crook of your neck, the sound reverberating throughout you. You always thought it was easier in the dark, but something about the soft light of the early morning feels just… so surreal. You tip your head to the side, letting his lips roam your neck, nipping at the soft skin. 

His hand comes up, rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, while his lips travel down your neck, to your collarbone, to your opposite breast, taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the bud. You arch yourself into him, your moans only spurring him on. 

“That fuckin’ sound…” he groans against your breast. “Do it again…” he attaches his lips back to your nipple, teeth grazing it ever so gently and you whine. 

He must’ve liked that because he's slipping his hand in between your thighs. His fingers press against your clothed center, feeling how wet you are through your panties. He can’t help himself, it seems, as he kisses down your stomach, head finding its place between your thighs. He inhales deeply, nose pressed against your cunt just aching with need, and he curses. 

“Fuck, pretty girl. You smell amazing. You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind, want you so much,” he babbles into your underwear, and you’re slowly starting to realize this guy is fucking filthy. You moan, the realization hitting you as he’s pulling your panties off with his teeth and stuffing them in his pocket. He sits up, pulling his long hair out of his face and into a messy ponytail. You rub your thighs together at the sight, feeling the slick between your legs. He comes back down, pressing his face against your inner thigh, inhaling your scent deeply. 

“My favorite girl, look at this pretty pussy…” he drags a finger through your wet folds, prodding at your entrance with a thick finger. You’re panting now, expectant and wanting, and he slowly pushes one inside, his tongue lapping at your clit as his middle finger enters you. He moans against your cunt, continuing to work you with his mouth as you writhe underneath him. You clench your legs around his head, the feeling too much, but he pries your legs apart with his free hand, pulling away.

“Nuh, uh, baby. I gotta hear every fuckin’ sound you make. As much as I want those thighs as earmuffs,” he says, reattaching his lips and tongue to you. 

He’s practically making out with it, pussy drunk and grinding his hips against the mattress. You feel the tension build in your gut, and he adds a second finger. You have to bite your lip, and he bites the inside of your thigh. You yelp, but the jolt of pain makes you clench around his fingers.

“Gonna make you come so hard you’ll be cryin’ baby. You want that?” he groans, working you with his fingers, his tongue darting back out to swirl around your clit. He sucks on it, and you buck your hips up into his mouth. He moans into you as you ride his tongue, grinding your cunt on his face like you need it. Because, you do. You need it so bad you’re begging him. 

“Please, Suguru,” you slur, chasing your high. 

“Oh god,” you cry, hand finding his hair, messing it up as strands fall in his face as he eats you out. You’re too focused on your release now, and his head stops moving, just letting you ride his face. 

“C’mon pretty girl. Give it to me. Please,” he’s whimpering into your cunt, sucking on your clit and curling his fingers just right and- fuck.

Your vision goes white and you’re gasping, hot and heavy in your gut as your orgasm shreds the last of your resolve and you are crying, hot tears spilling from your eyes as you tell him to keep going, keep going. He laps at you, working you through your orgasm, as he grinds himself against the mattress again. 

“So good, baby, you taste so good, I wanna make you squirt,” he says. He’s pumping his fingers into you as you ride out your orgasm, slipping a third in and you’re clenching so hard around him. He pulls his fingers out and you gush, you’ve never done that before and he’s drinking you up, your head spinning as you cry, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. He comes up for air finally, pressing a soft kiss on your stomach. 

“Knew you could do it, princess,” he mumbles against your skin. He’s on his knees again, positioning your hips as he unzips his pants, his cock springing up as it's freed from the constraints of his trousers. He wastes no time sliding his cock between your folds and then pressing at your entrance, your pussy sucking him in greedily as you moan, unable to form words or any coherent sounds. He’s so fucking thick it’s making your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut to help you get through the feeling of him bottoming out. 

“Don’t close your eyes, baby,” he says as he moves, thrusting into you again, “look at me while I’m fucking you.” 

Your eyes fly open and you’re nodding, helpless as he throws your ankles over his shoulders and hits you just right. 

“Jesus, fuck, Suguru…” You’re chanting his name, spurring him on.

“Christ, this pussy is fucking killing me,” Suguru groans as his cock slides back into you, making you cry out, his name spilling off your lips in short gasps. You feel your walls clench slightly at the feeling of being so full again, and he sets a brutal pace. He wraps his arms around your thighs as he fucks you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can hear how your skin slaps. You can’t even give a fuck how it’s seven in the morning, or how you’re going to quit your job after this so no other man can even think about touching you. Suguru must be a mind reader, because he’s bending you in half now, lips by your ear as he drives into you so deep.

“Quit your fucking job. Let me take care of you. I wanna take care of you baby, please,” he babbles, breath stuttering as you suck him in.

“Bad advice,” you murmur, jaw slack as your mouth hangs open in a gasp. 

“Fuck that, hnghh, want you all to myself. Gotta get you out of there, princess,” he hammers into you, cock so deep it’s brushing up against your cervix. 

“My pretty girl shouldn’t have to- fuckkkkk, baby- deal with all that bullshit,” he’s babbling into your neck, teeth clamping down on your pulse point. 

You clench around him at the need in his voice, the possessiveness eliciting a gasp from your lips. His girl? Your brain is mush at this point and you really like the sound of that. You feel the coil tightening in your gut as your second orgasm nears, and you're gripping at his hair, tugging on the strands, begging begging for your release. 

“You like that baby? Like when I call you my girl?” He groans, pace unrelenting. 

“You wanna be my girl, princess? Please. Please be my girl. Need you so bad. Always have.” He kisses you, not giving you a chance to answer. His need is felt as his tongue is shoved into your mouth, swallowing up your sounds. As he pulls away, you’re a mess. 

“Please, Suguru, Sugu… wanna be your girl, yes, yes,” you’re panting and he just whimpers into the crook of your neck again, breathy as he picks up his pace. The tip of his cock hits just right at this speed and you’re coming, eyes hitting the back of your skull as you shut them, rolled behind closed eyelids. He grips your chin in his hand, tapping on your cheek. 

“Look at me, baby.” 

And that’s how you are with Suguru. You look at him, because he asked you to. As your eyes meet, he knits his eyebrow together, groaning. You think, maybe, he needs you. 

You see stars around Suguru as you come, vision blurry from the wetness in your eyes and the intensity of your orgasm. Suguru groans as you spasm around his length, and his hips start to stutter. He is getting erratic with his movements, but takes it and fucks you through it just how you need it. 

“Shit, baby. Let me come inside you.” He’s begging you, hand on your cheek and his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you come down from your high, sensitive and spent. You let him prod his thumb into your mouth, slack-jawed and trusting. You don’t close it or suck, just let him do it. He groans at the sight, and you nod, finally. 

All it takes is that nod and the sight of your loose jaw. He thrusts, once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you, moaning in your ear, and you’re gasping, clutching at his back as he comes. 

“Fuck, baby, princess, love this, love your pussy, milking me for all I’m worth, fuck-“ he gasps, your hand sliding up to his hair as he babbles nonsense into your ear. 

“Fuckin’ love your pussy, love you so much, God,” he pants and you freeze, the words hitting you like a freight train. 

He stills, lips coming up to press a kiss to your forehead, the gesture tender and sweet in stark opposition to his filthier behaviors. Suguru freezes, his lips still on your forehead, before he pulls away. 

“What did you say?” You ask quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“I…” he starts, eyes mirroring yours. 

“I didn’t- I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.” 

“You don’t mean it?” You ask, a pang of disappointment aching in your chest. You’re not sure why. It must’ve just slipped out. He doesn’t have to mean it. You’re close, but nothing about your relationship insinuates he should feel that way. 

“No! I mean… I,” he fumbles with his words, exhaling sharply. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I just didn’t want you to think I was like everyone else.” He sighs, sitting up. The feeling of him pulling out of you has you feeling strangely empty emotionally. 

You’re not sure what to say. This is Suguru. Your closest friend as of recently, you work together. Though, you promised to quit your job for him, you think. 

Fuck it.

You smile, eyes bright and gleaming as your hands find his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you say. And you mean it. “For loving me.” 

That’s all you can offer him right now. Your thanks, and a promise as you hold your pinky up to him again, face flushed and hair sticking to your forehead. 

“I’ll be your girl.” 

“Promise?” He looks at you with that familiar lopsided grin. 

“Mhmm. I promise.” 

Softly, you kiss the junction of your fingers. 

[lunarw0rks]

dentist!graves….hearing him saying “open wide for me, sweetheart” in that sexy ass southern accent of his.

bartender!gaz who listens to all your problems, fixing your favorite drinks just how you like it

mechanic!ghost who told you to get rid of your car MONTHS ago but you didn’t listen, you like coming back to him over and over

// warning(s); dub-con // dentist!graves lord, the accent!! for some reason, your appointments are always right before closing, when all the other technicians have left... his gloved hands spend more time on your lips than teeth, caressing and toying with them -- and he has this look in his blue eyes while he does it.

gets jealous if you have bruises on the back of your throat. on the bright side, at least he knows you won't take as much coaching when he eventually has you throat him 😏 and always has the AC up really high at the clinic, so that your nipples are visible ;p

//

bartender!gaz lets you come into the bar after hours, way after last call. especially if you need to vent :( he'll take care of the tab every time, and won't accept your tips. the most protective person, too. it's not a seedy bar -- it's quite nice, actually. he knows the owners, so he had a hand in picking the theme. regardless, that never stops seedy people!!! he will break an expensive bottle over a man's head!!! no fucks whatsoever!!!

all i'm gonna say is you'll have your cheek pressed against the cold bar top occasionally......... take that how you want 🥳

//

mechanic!ghost he knows. there's no way he doesn't know. at first, he didn't care. it was your money to burn, not his. until... he started to look forward to the visits. a microscopic scratch or dent, the air pressure of your tires, or worse --- a serious problem with your shitty car.

there's a more selfish part of him that waits for the day you call him, needing his help because you're stranded with a flat or a ruined engine. how horrible would it be, to pick you up? to offer you stay with him, so he can "take you to work"? he did say it would be "easier" -- and there was little chance of you declining. it truly was a good arrangement, and it's abundantly clear that you have the hots for him. win-win.

the only reason he keeps his phone ringer on.

[itneverendshere]

ugh do you think reader would put rafe on a sex ban only to ask for sex to help get the baby out (theyre a lil delayed) and rafe is soo smug it works

i was giggling writing this!! he'd think he's soooo smart warnings under the cut: smut

rafe had been pacing the bedroom for the past half hour, hands shoved deep into his pockets, glancing at you every few minutes as you lay sprawled out on the bed, fuming. well, not exactly fuming—more like grumpy. very, very grumpy. and uncomfortable.

the baby, it seemed, had decided it was perfectly content staying right where it was, even though your due date had come and gone three days ago.

you had enforced a “sex ban” two weeks ago, mostly out of frustration with rafe’s constant hovering and protectiveness.

he'd been overbearing, to put it mildly, fussing over every little thing, making sure you were never on your feet too long, practically spoon-feeding you every meal.

it had gotten to the point where you needed a break from him, and you knew withholding sex was the fastest way to get him to back off a little.  he hated it, of course, but he respected your boundaries.

well, sort of.

now, though, you were regretting it.

you let out a frustrated huff, moving on the bed again, trying to find a comfortable position for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. nothing worked. you were restless and more than anything, you were ready for this baby to finally make an appearance.

rafe, meanwhile, was watching you like a hawk, biting back his comments, trying his best not to say anything that would push your buttons. he knew you were on edge, and truth be told, so was he.

he hated seeing you like this, hurting.

“y’know,” he started, clearing his throat, “there’s this thing they say works to, uh, speed things up…”

you turned your head to glare at him, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “don’t even start.”

he put his hands up defensively, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “’m just saying, it’s supposed to help.” he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, enjoying himself a little too much. “we could give it a shot. what’s the harm?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck because shit, he wasn’t wrong. but you were still annoyed, especially when rafe got that smug look on his face. 

“you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, rolling onto your side, and facing away from him.

he chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to the bed, his hands sliding into his pockets as he stood next to you, towering over your grumpy form. 

“c’mon baby. y’know ’m right.”

you could hear the teasing lilt in his voice, and it only made you more irritated. you had put him on this stupid sex ban for a reason—because he wouldn’t stop fussing over you, treating you like you were made of glass, acting like you couldn’t do anything for yourself. and now he was suggesting breaking the very ban you had imposed.

but the thing was you were starting to consider. the idea wasn’t sounding so bad anymore, not when you were this desperate for some relief.

“i hate you sometimes.”

rafe grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand immediately finding its way to your belly, gently rubbing slow circles like he always did. “nah, you love me. just don’t wanna admit I’m right.”

you turned to look at him, your glare less menacing now, more playful despite your mood. “don’t act so smug.”

he shrugged, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “can’t help it, baby, know you too well.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to decide if giving in would be admitting defeat. but then again, you were so ready for this baby to come out. maybe he had a point.

“fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “we’ll try it.”

rafe’s face lit up like christmas morning, that grin of his widening as he raised an eyebrow. “now you wanna try it, huh? after you’ve had me on a sex ban for weeks?”

you jokily slap his wrist, “don’t push it, cameron.”

he held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk on his face told you he was thoroughly enjoying this moment. “’m just saying, you were the one who cut me off, and now you’re asking me to break the ban. kinda ironic."

you groaned again, throwing an arm over your face. “shut up and get over here before i change my mind.”

rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

he was already sliding onto the bed beside you, his hands touching over your body like he couldn’t help himself. he’d been waiting for this—weeks of restraint, holding back when all he wanted to do was touch you, help you feel better in any way he could.

his hands ghosted over your swollen belly, trailing down to your hips, as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “you sure about this?”

“rafe,” you warned, but it came out more breathless than you intended. your body was instantly reacting to his touch, the heat in your stomach spreading fast. “stop talking. push your stupid jeans down."

his hand paused mid-rub, his brow furrowing in confusion. "what?

you shot him a look that clearly said don’t make me repeat myself.

“you heard me.”

he stared at you for a second, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be concerned. “can’t i be a little romantic first?”

“not today—” you gestured impatiently at him, “hurry up before i change my mind.”

rafe looked almost wounded for a second, his lips parting like he was going to say something else, but then he caught the look on your face.

"jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stood up, hands going to the waistband of his trousers. “i feel objectified.”

“’m nine months pregnant. come here before i explode.”

he kicked his trousers off in one swift movement, stepping back toward the bed. “when you put it that way…” he knelt back down beside you, but this time, his hands were less gentle, sliding up your thighs, pulling you closer. 

you could tell he was still trying to be careful, still thinking of your comfort, but you had other priorities.

“baby, please stop fussing and just—” you cut yourself off, grabbing at him, urging him to stop overthinking every little thing. you didn’t need sweet or slow or careful right now. you needed this baby out.

 “bossy today, huh?”

you weren’t in the mood for drawn-out foreplay. you let out an exasperated groan, rolling your eyes again. “i’m being so serious.”

he eventually got the hint, pulling your shorts and panties off with surprising ease.

without another word, he dropped his entire weight on the bed, sitting up against the headboard as he dragged your body to his lap.

you gave him that impatient look, your legs straddling his hips. his hands rested on your thighs, his cock already hard and ready, pressing against you. instead of easing into it, like you might’ve done any other time, you just went for it.

you reached down between you, grabbing him, and lined him up, your breath coming quicker. "just do it." your voice had a demanding tone as you stared him down as if daring him to argue.

he was frozen for half a second, eyes widening at how forward you were. “you really wanna just—”

“i’ve been walking around like a balloon for weeks. so unless you’re gonna pop it—"

rafe hissed in response, eyes closing for a second as your hand tugged him closer. he shifted, one hand on your hip, steadying you both.

"okay, baby," he breathed out, clearly trying to get his head in the game, “okay.”

just like that he was inside you, the sudden fullness making you gasp, your body immediately tightening around him. his hand gripped your waist harder, holding you as he did all the work, thrusting up, deep and hard. you were gripping his clothed shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

the sensation of him filling you exactly what you’d been craving. no slow buildup, no teasing touches—just straight to it, like you’d demanded. rafe wasn’t holding back now, his movements deliberate as he pushed into you again and again, his breath ragged in your ear.

“oh, fuck,” you whispered, nails dragging across the skin in his thighs, as your hips tried to meet his thrusts. it was exactly what you needed, your body already trembling as he hit that perfect spot. 

once you lifted your head, rafe was the one falling forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as much as your belly allowed him to, as he drove into you harder, grunting against your skin.

“god, baby—feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbled, his voice all breathless. "how are you still so tight—"

you moaned, just pawing at his broad shoulders for dear life, your body taking over completely. safe to say your waters broke an hour later.

[penvisions]

garnish {masterlist}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 50k - complete

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, age gap (reader is around 30 and joel is late 40's but it's up to your imagination, bby), degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, power dynamics (due to job rankings), secret relationship, workplace relationship, pining, mutal pining, sexual tension, lingering stares, angst, hurt and comfort, stalking, unwanted attention, reader is an academic

A/N: please enjoy this self-indulgent little series!!

series teaser

main series:

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four || chapter five || chapter six || chapter seven || chapter eight || chapter nine || chapter ten

one shots:

*in chronological order

during main series: happy hour(s) - post series one shot || not yet posted

after main series: office hours (valentine’s day one shot) || savor || out of date || i wish i never met you || zest of life

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #1] Purple Starfuckers

warnings: alcohol, clubbing

soundtrack: bad decisions - bts, passionfruit - drake, promiscuous - nelly furtado & timbaland

wc: 3.5k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

"Don't think of it as a bad decision. Think of it as a lesson learned. Something to remember for next time."

The way Hoseok looks at you is borderline comical - face all scrunched up, mouth hanging ajar. He's scowling, but it isn't new. He's had a face like a slapped arse all evening. Kinda goes with the territory of a fresh break-up, mind you.

"You don't seriously believe that?" He scoffs, before swallowing his words down with the rum and coke that he's been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. It tastes like shit, and is far too strong - but he's the one who asked for a triple. No one else to blame

The bartender had raised his pierced brow, told Hoseok that he's "not allowed to do that" - but had offered to make him a double and pour a separate shot, instead. "What you do with that shot is up to you," the bartender had shrugged - and so Hoseok had poured it straight on in. 

You finish your own drink with a roll of your eyes and shake of your head. "What I believe is that she wasn't 'the one', Hobes. Was a lucky escape, if you ask me. She was fucking vile to me and Danbi."

"You guys just didn't get to know her proper-"

"Hobi, she wore white to Jungmi's wedding," Danbi interrupted. Truthfully, she could not have cared less for how badly Hoseok's ex had treated her - it was when she started behaving badly around other people, embarrassing them in the process, that she started to take offence. If there was one thing Danbi had, it was pride. "WHITE! Who does that?! Poor Jungmi. She's a better woman than me. I'd have fought that bitch on the spot, right in the aisle. Don't care if it's my wedding day, when bitches deserve a slap-"

"Dan," you laugh but try and get her to quiet down, knowing that Hoseok is still reeling from the break-up. As true as her words are, he doesn't need to hear them right now. Turning to Hoseok, you stroke up his shoulder tenderly, with a soft smile on your glossy lips. 

You didn't cover yourself head to toe in glitter just to sit in the smoking area of a shitty club all night. There's fun to be had.

"Look, Hobes, it sucks that things ended the way they did -" a screaming match over the price of asparagus in the middle of a supermarket, that was totally an argument about something more than that, but Hoseok is still in denial - "but not everything we lose is a loss. Okay? You've still got us."

Which is admittedly more than he deserves after how much of a shitbag he'd turned into during the relationship. He'd go days, weeks - hell - sometimes months, without getting back to you. You and Dan had been fine - you had each other after all - but it still sucked not having your third musketeer with you. 

"Now c'mon," you smile. "Get that drink down you, and get that pretty ass of yours on the floor. We both know you're dying for a good dance."

"I don't feel like it," he groans - but he downs his drink regardless, and is dancing to a noughties classic within five minutes. 

You think it's Nelly Furtado - it is - but you're so drunk that you can't really place it. It's the kind of song that everyone knows; the kind of song that gets everyone's hips moving just right. Bodies are hot and sweaty, the clammy dancefloor a pit of sin. To you, though, it feels like heaven at that moment. This is all you've wanted for months. You're holding Danbi's hands, Hoseok between the pair of you, unable to escape and not really wanting to, either. He's smiling, and it's the best thing you've seen all night. 

The lights of the club beam down on you, pinks and blues reflecting the satin dress you're wearing. It's short, barely covering your ass, and silver. Picked out especially for a night like this; when attention is welcome, but not necessarily encouraged. You think you look like a trophy. Maybe someone will be lucky enough to win you. Maybe not.

From the bar, Jeon Jeongguk thinks you look like a little disco ball. 

He's wiping a tumbler dry, fresh from the glass washer, making most of the lull in customers coming to the bar. There are only three of them behind it, and it always makes Friday shifts feel that little bit more hectic. 

Dionysus, a club just on the outskirts of the party district, is always busier on a Saturday, so he prefers Friday shifts. A relatively small club, it has only a single dancefloor and a bar area with a few seats. The back entrance leads to the smoking area, which is where he'd first noticed you coming from with your friends. There's nowhere to hide, really, in a club like this. If you're in Dionysus, everyone knows about it. 

Especially the bartenders. 

"What do we reckon," Yeonjun, the youngest of the crew, smirks at Jeongguk as he nods towards you and your friends. "They all going home together, or what?"

A little air squeaks through Jeongguk's lips as he purses them, trying to get a read on your little trio. The way you're moving your hips towards the dude in the middle certainly seems a little more than friendly. At least, if a girl he'd never met before was dancing with him like that, he'd take it as a good sign he was getting laid. 

What makes it interesting is the fact that there are two of you. You in silver, another girl in black. Both pretty. Both incredibly different, but both captivating nonetheless. Like a pair of shooting stars, he thinks, cracking through the crowd at a vibrancy that could blind. Is a little confused as to how the fuck you aren't being pestered by other guys - doesn't complain though. Makes for a clear line of vision.

It's nights like these which make Jeongguk wish he worked a normal job. He misses out on all the fun always being behind the bar, he thinks. Does also save him from making some bad decisions that he knows would surely haunt him. If anything, he should be thankful.

"Fuck knows," he simply says, closing the glasswasher and whipping the towel over his shoulder. "10,000 won says he's going home alone."

Yeonjun smirks. "You're on."

It's less of a bet for Jeongguk. More of a manifestation. He likes watching you dance. Doesn't like the thought of you dancing with the dude by yourself. Doesn't like the idea of you leaving with him, either. Considers the fact that maybe you're not even interested in dudes, and that it's the girl you're holding hands with who you'll be leaving with instead. He's less intimidated by that - at least your disinterest in him would be preference based - but it's still not his favourite scenario.

It's not like he knows you, nor will he ever know you. He just likes to live in the what-ifs. They're always so much safer. Can't get rejected if you don't put yourself out there.

And so he carries on with work just like he should, serving the next punters who stumble to the bar. He pours them a water with their order, because lord knows they need it, and laughs when someone tries to pay for it thinking it's a vodka lemonade. 

"On the house," he shrugs, letting their drunk minds believe it really is a vodka lemonade. Easier that way. Will get them drinking water, at least, even if just for a sip or so before they clock on.

You're laughing, a little out of breath and not entirely steady on your feet, as you head to the bar. 

He'd been so busy with the last customers that he didn't even notice until he saw you using the bar to help steady yourself. You aren't looking in his direction, but up at the row of spirits behind him, trying to sus out what you fancy. 

Your hair is dark, up in a ponytail with grown-out bangs framing your face. The makeup you've been wearing has faded, melted off from the heat of the club, but the glitter remains. You really do look like a disco ball, he thinks. It makes him smile.

"Hey, sorry," you beam towards him, eyes just as sparkling at the glitter dusted on your collarbones. He raises his brows, expression open, receptive, as he moves closer to the bar. "What's something that can get me fucked up but also tastes delicious?" 

Oh, how he loves a challenge. He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side. "What do you qualify as delicious?"

"No passionfruit," you say almost instantly. "So no pornstars." And then you gag a little, to emphasise just how much you hate passionfruit.

"No pornstars, noted," Jeongguk says as he pulls an imaginary pencil from behind his ear and pretends to jot it down on his palm. He looks back up at you, and doesn't bother fighting the way his teeth bite down on his bottom lip - why would he? You're giggling. He likes it. And he also knows you're probably drunk, so won't remember this interaction in the morning. 

"Well, I mean, none of the drinking variety," you grin, tongue in cheek. "If you happen to know any of the human variety, send them my way."

He almost chokes on his own spit. The shock in his eyes has you laughing again.

"I'm joking, you idiot."

Although you kind of totally aren't. You haven't been laid in a while. You'll take anything with a pulse who is interested at this point. 

"I knew that," he bluffs, and looks back down at his palm as if he's reading again. "Okay, so no pornstars - pornstar martinis. What else?"

"Don't like orange juice."

"Do you like anything?"

You like lots of things. So many things that your brain can't think straight, actually.

You like the way a tattoo is peaking out of his shirt sleeve. You like dancing with your friends. Being drunk. His smile. The way he's joking with you. The knowledge that Hoseok is probably doing the robot as you speak. Sunsets. The chain around the neck of the man in front of you. Those cute tiny straws he puts in some of the cocktails. Him.  

But you narrow your eyes, and ignore your brain. "Alcohol." 

He narrows his eyes right back. Purses his lips. Looks down at his fake notepad, then back up at you. "I think I have just the thing for you."

Reaching for the plastic cups which you know are reserved for water, you almost look offended. Does he not think you have eyes? Are too drunk to know he's giving you water?

He places it in front of you and smiles, lips together, eyes round - but still challenging you.

"It's water," you tell him, and he nods. No denial.

"Uh-huh. Cleanse your palette first."

"Are we fine dining?"

"We aren't doing anything," he assures you. He's on the clock. "But everything tastes like shit after a smoke, so if you wanna enjoy it, have some water."

Your brows furrow together, head tilting and then you're self-conscious. "Do I smell like smoke?"

You'd doused yourself in perfume and had been chewing on gum to hide it, but apparently not well enough.

Jeongguk shakes his head, realising how much wider your eyes are. You don't seem as confident. You're not smiling anymore. 

"No, no," he says quickly and nods toward your clutch, which is propped open on the side of the bar. A packet of cigarettes are sticking out slightly, a lighter tucked into the side. "I just guessed - sorry. I didn't mean to- I mean, no. You don't. Not at all."

You follow his gaze, and find yourself smiling. Small misunderstanding. That's all. But he seems just as panicked as you had been. It's sweet. 

"Fine," you elongate your response and let your eyes narrow again, to let him know you're ready to banter again. "I'll drink it - but whatever you're making better be good."

"If you hate it, it's on the house," he says, knowing that you won't hate it. He sets about making your drink as you sip on the water, not really watching him because you're trying to focus on not falling over. Water actually seems like a great idea. You're thankful for it. 

When Jeongguk returns to your spot by the bar, he can't stop blinking. The glass of water - an entire pint - is finished. You're smiling, lips a little wet, eyes a little hazy.

"Thirsty," you shrug. 

He checks your jaw to make sure it's not grinding, but it's perfectly still. Not a gram of MD - the drug of choice in Dionysus circles - in your system. You just really are thirsty - had been dancing all bloody night. He knows this, but he's naive to how hot it is down there. Hasn't actually been on the dancefloor himself in a while. Always working.

He accepts your defence, and holds up the shot in front of you. It's tiny, and pretty, all purple and shimmery. 

Jeongguk smiles. "Purple Starfucker."

The water you've just finished almost comes back up through your system. "Sorry?!"

"Purple Starfucker," Jeongguk simply repeats. "Amaretto, peach schnapps, a little curacao and cranberry juice. Fucking delicious."

You do love all of those. It's the ideal drink for you. You've never had it before, but you know it's gonna be good. He places it down in front of you, but that challenging look is still in your eye. 

He laughs a little. Can't figure you out. Has no idea what you're thinking. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," you grin, picking the shot glass up by the rim, raising it with a nod. "To Purple Starfuckers."

Jeongguk nods back. Toys with his lip piercing, the tip of his tongue peeking out ever so slightly before he bites down on his lip. "To Purple Starfuckers."

From his peripherals, Jeongguk can see Yeonjun leaning against the countertop at the back of the bar, watching him with a curious smirk.

Un-fucking-believable, Yeonjun thinks. Reckons Jeongguk is trying to fuck with the bet. Trying to lure Disco Ball away. He doesn't hear the conversation, but he can read your lips - 'Holy shit? That's fucking delicious? How much do I owe you?' - and watches the way Jeongguk shakes his head. Hands too. Shrugs. Bloody git is giving it to you on the house. 

10,000 won ain't that much, but Yeonjun doesn't like losing. "Oi, Disco Ball. Get your friends"- he nods towards Hoseok and Danbi. -"We'll make you a round."

He ignores the way Jeongguk's eyes burn into him, knowing that his shit-eating grin is enough to wind Jeongguk up. They love each other really, but in a way you'd love a sibling. Fully capable of hating one another, too. 

You glance up to Jeongguk, almost as if you're asking his permission. You kind of are. You trust him. He's been kind. This other bartender? He's a bit louder. Far brasher. And he'd called you Disco Ball? The fuck?

Jeongguk nods. Doesn't want you to leave, but equally knows the only reason you're looking at him like that - eyes all wide and innocent - is 'cause you're drunk. Doubts it would be the same if you were sober. When he comes to think of it, he'd rather you were with your friends. Safer that way. "Hurry. Before we get really busy."

And so you scurry off, running on the balls of your feet to avoid awkward heel mishaps. There's something endearing about it and it's almost enough to distract him from Yeonjun's taunts. 

"If he doesn't take her home, I will."

"She's fucked," Jeongguk tells him, voice stern, eyes still on you. Fucking around with punters isn't against the rules, but taking advantage of drunk girls? Yeah, not on his watch. Doesn't matter who it is. He's seen enough creeps and enough girls in tears because of them to know when to step in. "You're going nowhere near her."

"I clock off in an hour," Yeonjun reminds him. Jeongguk the one who's closing the bar tonight. "Plenty of time to play catch up."

Yeonjun - brilliant, blue-haired, and with enough boyish charm to seduce almost anyone - isn't a creep. He looks up to Jeongguk. Respects him. Follows his lead. Would never take advantage of a punter. He just likes winding Jeongguk up a little too much. 

Jeongguk ignores him. Doesn't put it past him. While Yeonjun likes to think he has values, Jeongguk knows he's just as horny and desperate as the rest of the fuckers in the bar. 

That's not to say Jeongguk is discounting himself from the generalisation - he just actually does have morals. To some degree, at least.

You're on the dancefloor for no more than thirty seconds, dragging Hoseok and Danbi with you to the bar. They complain and moan - "but I love that song!" - though as soon as they're faced with a tray of shots, their moods shoot up. You go to pay Jeongguk, but he shakes his head.

"On the house."

"You're trying to get me drunk," you accuse with a knowing smile.

"You're already drunk," he smiles right back. It's not his goal. It's a fairly quiet night. If anything, this is entertainment. Not like there's much better for him to be doing. Not until his friends drop by later, at least. "I'm just a nice barman."

Part of you wants to protest. He's covered in tattoos - his hands, the ones peaking from his shirt at the wrist and the neck - and has more piercing in his ears than you do. There's a stud in his brow, and a ring on his lip. It's his eyes though, that you think scream danger the most. They're deep and they're dark, and you know better than to trust them.

And yet when he smiles like that, your tummy feels all fuzzy in the same way that your head does.

"Well thank you Mr Nice Barman," you nod and curtsey, because that somehow feels appropriate. 

"Jeongguk," he corrects, before knocking his head to the side and nodding towards the dancefloor. "Go enjoy your night, trouble."

Not too much, though, he thinks to himself, but watches as you bounce back to the dancefloor with your friends. 

The drinks were a small gesture, but one that he knows will have made a difference to their night. No skin off his back. He likes doing things like this. You're not the first, likely won't be the last - but he spends a lot longer than usual quietly observing you as you get on with your night. Doesn't notice the smile on his face.

Yeonjun does, though. Chooses not to say anything. Knows when to pick his battles.

Does warn him when he sees Jeongguk's friends bundle in through the door, though. "Watch out boss. Same as usual?"

Jeongguk nods, and Yeonjun sets about making a round of drinks for the usual suspects. Three malibu and cokes, one rum and lemonade and four purple starfuckers. Jeongguk'll make those. They're his signature. 

"Look what the cat dragged in," he grins towards his friends, all a little worse for wear. Bleary-eyed, they're smiling and joking, having come from dinner - which turned into drinks, and then more drinks and then - fuck it - clubs. Dionysus is always the final stop. They like the atmosphere; like the free drinks even more.

"You know us," Park Jimin grins at him in the sleazy way he so often does, which lets Jeongguk knows he's up to no good. "Where the pussy goes, we surely follow."

"Speak for yourself," Namjoon snorts beside him, a little more sober than the others. Taehyung and Yoongi are engaged in their own conversation - something about the Samsung Lions and baseball strategy that Jeongguk doesn't care much for. "Quiet night?"

"Fairly," Jeongguk nods - which can only mean one thing. Same thing it means every week. 

He'd always thought that by the time they hit their mid-twenties, they'd be over this lifestyle by now - but his friends like to make just as many bad decisions as he does.

"Round up boys," Jimin cheers, his voice booming above the bass of whatever noughties classic is on. "Purple Starkfucker time!"

Jeongguk laughs. Shakes his head, rolls his eyes. Unfolds his defensive arms. Glances up to the crowd - but you're lost to the night. Maybe not forever, but for now, at least. 

And so he just nods, and cheers along with them.

"Purple Starfucker time."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

[oneforthemunny]

oneforthemunny's masterlist

reposting from my deleted blog funsonmunson-again as well as new works :)

latest work: christmas with the devil |dom!eddie munson x sub!reader| (updated on december, 10th)

older!dilf!eddie munson x reader masterlist

mafia!eddie munson x reader masterlist

rockstar!eddie munson x reader masterlist

cowboy!eddie munson x reader masterlist

dom!eddie munson x brat!reader masterlist

janitor!eddie munson x teacher!reader masterlist

bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader masterlist

modern!eddie munson x reader masterlist

modern!steddie x reader masterlist

boxer!eddie munson x reader masterlist

hockey player!eddie munson x reader masterlist

extras:

hard learning |dom!steddie x sub!brat! reader|

stop in the name of love |cop!eddie munson x reader|

what we do in the shadows |familiar!eddie munson x vampire!reader|

yandere!eddie munson x reader series masterlist

vivi's blurb game masterlist

munny's spanking game masterlist

munny's one-derful year masterlist

munny's merriest masterlist

oneforthemunny spooky stories

munny's fic rec's

oneforthemunny's summertime writing game (happening all summer long!!!)

funson's bday challenge masterlist (from my deleted blog funsonmunson-again)