#below had me feeling in some type of way

[fearandloathe]

insane how mr crepsley meant so much to darren he was the last thing he thought of BOTH times when he died

[dreadheadmadi]

“Reader has black hair and blue eyes-“

THEN ITS NOT AN X READER!!???

Edit below cut

Hey guys, so when I made this post, I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. Now that I’m way more mellowed out and had the chance to read a lot of reactions and responses, let me act my age and actually clarify some things.

First, I want to apologize to those who were deeply upset by my post. My post overall was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with adding certain details to your reader, such as gender or body type. The issue comes in when you don’t properly title and tag it as so, or completely ignore it altogether.

If you see my post as an eye opener and want to change up your work, then you have every right to do so, but please do not think that this is an attack or jive directed at you. It’s just that some of us readers want exactly as promised. That’s like blindfolding someone, telling them that you’re gonna feed them an apple, and then making them bite into a banana - peel and all.

I know some writers have said that they want to be more inclusive in response to my criticism. If that is what you truly want, then by all means, but I cannot stress enough: write what YOU want to write. Do not feel as though you’re being pressured to change what you put out; it’s just a means of how you categorize it.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, respond, and engage with my original post. I truly appreciate the perspectives shared, they’ve helped me see things more clearly and refine my thoughts.

[silkentine]

Me when they are the sisters ever: 😭😭😭 They came out soooo freaking well. I won’t lie, they took me a thousand years to finish but through the constant support from all of my buds (and my latent bisexuality), we made it 😤

Hopefully you guys know the deal by now: design choices, easter eggs, and (NEW!) closeup shots below the read more. ⬇️

I wanted Ace to have a very down-to-earth vibe and looked at Aussie beach-girls, coastal cowgirls, and vaqueras for reference. (IDK, I’ve just always envisioned Ace as part-Australian🌺 and Mexican 🏴‍☠️) Her clothing choices are mostly natural or utilitarian materials like the painted wooden beads on her top, her woven fabric and leather belts, and her denim jumpsuit. I gave her bikini top a zen-garden kind of feel because I read the first Ace’s Story Novel and I loved how idyllic and peaceful they made Sixis Island sound so I wanted to invoke that in some way.

Speaking of her painted wooden beads, they hang off the back of her top and represent her connection to Sabo and Luffy. They watch her back once she sets sail. She only wears one red glass bead earring because the other one got ripped out of her ear when a child, leaving her earlobe torn (don’t think about it too much 😢). Also, YES! she does wear a hibiscus flower just like Rouge (because I hate you and I want to make you cry, muhwahahahaha).

Also, I really wanted her to have super textured curly hair that licks behind her like flames. I am always considering whether or not a character should have long hair or not because I don’t want it to be a hindrance if they’re in a fight (or if they ARE a fighter with long hair, how to they avoid an enemy making use of that?). Ace is, of course, a Logia-type Devil Fruit User so I think she wouldn’t have trouble with people grabbing it LOL I get the feeling that she doesn’t take very good care of it even though it looks amazing. Like you’d think it would be soft and bouncy just by looking at it but if you ever get the chance to run your fingers through it, it’s a total rat’s nest and there’s sand and food all up in it. She still falls asleep while eating 😂 but she tries her best to only do it around people she can trust (woman moment 😔).

Honestly, her design is not that different from Ace’s canon look. It feels really vital to Ace’s character to have a lot of skin showing. And he’s always hanging all over himself with his hips all cocked like the weight of the world is too much to stand up straight. It is certainly not my OWN preference to make her an absolute smoke show. That’s just the character, okay? (I’m partially lying and the proof is that I turned the emblem on Ace’s hat strap into a sternum tattoo for no other reason than that it is sexy af.)

Here are some closeups of Ace:

Now for Sabo, I’ve made her very girly. I tried putting her in pants or something more militant but she told me that she’d wear the big poofy sleeves and hiked-up ruffled skirt. I think Sabo has always had a strong grasp on his fashion sense and individual flair and I truly believe that his personal style is one of the major influences for the rest of the Revolutionary Army resulting in the very flashy, queer, steampunk aesthetic (aside from Dragon’s plain-ass cloak). So of course I had to implement her nonconformist look when reimagining her as a woman and dress her up to the nines.

I’ve given her very ornate jewelry that is there to tell a story, even if she herself doesn’t know it. I like to think she picks up stuff from her travels that resonate with her, such as a damaged set of earrings with one stone missing or red cup-shaped shells featuring three nestled pearls. Another accessory that cannot go unmentioned is her dragon claw hat pin that keeps her top hat resting on top of her hair (and is definitely used as a weapon when the situation simply doesn’t call for trusty metal pipe). She also has a veil that obscures her prominent facial scar. I imagine she’s not very keen on the reminder of the incident from her childhood that took away her memories. I also kept her chipped toothed because 1) it’s fucking adorable and 2) is a visual reminder that she no longer aligns herself with the nobility who would have gotten such a thing fixed. She is so poised in almost every outward facet of her life from her dignified role as the Chief of Staff to the elegant materials in her clothing that it can be easy to forget she was also a rough and tumble forest dweller. Every time Koala remembers this, he lets out the biggest sigh.

Her hair is inspired by Gibson Girls and Elizabeth Swann from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I wanted it to be fussy and tidy but fall apart when she’s in moments of distress. For example, when she remembers her sisters, her hair starts to look like Ace’s flaming mane. I’m so in love with her, I think she looks like an adorable little porcelain doll that would fuck you up. I made an effort to keep her eyes a little bit manic. I get lost in her steely black orbs (and also Ace’s warm brown ones, but we’re talking about Sabo rn).

Here are her close-ups:

Plot notes for this AU:

For this series of character designs, I wanted the expressions and outfits to be aligned with the canon plot but I don’t know if I have the heart to kill fem!Ace in my AU. I’m too attached and ASL has suffered enough!!!!! But Ace’s death is also a major defining moment for Luffy so it feels disingenuous to completely avoid it. Also a huge aspect of Sabo’s character is carrying on Ace’s will and I have so many thoughts about how the Dressrosa Colosseum scene would play out if they were all women. Oh well, I’ll cross that tragic bridge when I get to it. I’m definitely going to draw some Modern AU Girl Piece ASL though. They deserve to hang out with no stakes 😭 They are sisters!!!

Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog for my other One Piece genderbends! 🥰

[godharuhi]

wet dream (bakugou x reader)

| summary: you’re not supposed to have a horny dream about one of your classmates, until you do.

| warnings: explicit language, wet dream, rough sex, one use of good girl

You never talked to Bakugou Katsuki.

You wouldn’t think or want to either; he was just another one of your twenty classmates, and one of the more annoying ones at that. Here you were in your third year of Hero school and he was still just as annoying as the first. He was arrogant, and loud, and clearly a narcissist with anger issues when things didn’t go his way. Sure, he was strong and talented, and clearly destined for success but that’s not enough for you to change your mind and think he’s a nice person. You had no idea how he had such cool, kind friends surrounding him all the time.

You and Bakugou never talked except for the rare, small excuse me when he and Kirishima are being assholes and blocking the classroom door, or a thanks when he frees up the gym equipment you need - meaningless, NPC interactions like that. So, you never gave him a second glance. You know you’re a blurred extra in his life too. His name shouldn’t even be in your thoughts.

So, what was this? Why are you thinking all this about him right now?

What was that?

You sat up in bed the second you woke up, sweating and breathing heavily as if you’d actually been there. One of those naughty dreams. Except, it’s still running so vividly in your mind that you smack your head over and over again, “What the fuck was that?! Stop it!” You scream at yourself. Yes, because it’s that traumatic!

Yet, your core is throbbing with an achy need for relief. Your floral blankets are messy and wrapped around your legs and you hastily kick them away from you to get rid of any more sinful friction. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Your face must have a fiery red glow because it’s entirely too hot.

You feel so dirty.

The usual faceless person who had been giving you some type of pleasure had been morphed into your classmate, and not just any classmate, but the meanest, loudest one you’ve secretly disliked since your first week of school.

Bakugou had fucked you in your dreams.

And you had enjoyed it.

How could you change what you superficially thought of as pointless rage into raw passion? Those terrifying blood hungry eyes could be a piercing gaze of dark maroon? His grunts, his growls, his powerful hits were exchanged for powerful thrusts, and his crude mouth that was usually swearing out naughty words was filtered through radio loops and warp holes into some type of dirty talk.

“God, you’re so…fucking…tight.” It was your classmate, Bakugou. His blond hair spiking in all directions, but looking softer than usual. His fingers dug into the plushiest part of your thighs as his brows knit in total concentration, eyes focused darkly at where he had dug himself to the hilt, your bodies connected with the sleekness of juices. You didn’t know why or how your classmate was between your legs but you didn’t care. He didn’t look like the angry boy from class - this was a god who had your cunt fluttering for him.

Merciless, he started at a brutal pace, gripping your thighs as handles to steady your body as he rocked himself into you with just as much power as he showed on the field. It felt so good. Bakugou had a mean dick.

“Why the fuck’re you clenchin’ down? You like…hah…getting slutted out?” Right now, you did. All you wanted was to feel good. Your back arched off the surface below you, a bed - his bed? - asking for more.

“You’re a needy one. Shit-” He pressed you into the mattress, wrapping his hands on your neck to keep you still when he started pounding you at an unholy pace that made you half-regret acting like that. But still, it felt good. Your arms came around his back to hold onto something while the pit in your core was blissfully stroked every second, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh my god, Bakugou,” all you cared about was the pleasure you were feeling, “Your dick is so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper than anyone you’ve ever heard, “Betcha I can make this little pussy cry for my dick. That’s it, scratch me. Oh, fuck yes,” You couldn’t refuse his order when his husky voice was moaning like that, when you could feel the tremors in your pussy, when his thumb came to your clit and began to rub it like he owned it.

Even fucking you, Bakugou was giving it his all, fucking your brains out. “Good girl, taking my cock so well,” you’ve never even heard him praise someone else so hearing him call you his good girl, seeing that you were also pleasuring him, it did something to you. He was overwhelming and so rough and he was so proud you were managing it, it’s no wonder you melted and spread your legs for him.

“It’s so deep, it feels too good,” you moaned back with a crack in your voice, divinely transfixed by the look on this new face of his.

Bakugou’s thrusts were becoming sporadic, fast and hard hits on the space between your legs that was still throbbing. “Fuck yes, FUCK yess…want it inside? Beg me to cum in this pretty hole. C’mon, fucking BEG.” It didn’t help that he sounded like the one begging for you.

“Please do it inside me, please cum in me. Make me cum.”

His face scrunched together, his jaw slack and panting as ruby eyes were locked on you. So pretty, so hot, and unlike anything you’ve ever seen, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh FU -”

The space between your legs felt messy, slick, nasty.

Getting into your morning routine, you made yourself a zombie.

Were you seriously that horny last night?

Of all people - Bakugou? The idea of that mean blond anywhere near you should’ve given you the ick but now you’re doing your makeup and making a face when, unfortunately, you think, He’s hot.

But why him? You’re not friends, you don’t even talk to each other.

Why did some random guy have to show up in your sex dream? Was it because yesterday, you couldn’t stop staring at him jogging into the locker room. He had swiped his shirt off over his head in one yank, a delicate, lean waist with his larger, sweat-shiny chest out and bouncing? And then afterwards, right when you were going into the classroom, that same man had bumped into you, too busy talking with Todoroki to see you. He was all hard and bulky, versus you - soft and physically one of the weakest people in class - but you didn't even comprehend almost falling back because a hand gripped your arm and balanced you off to the side as he still walked past you. He didn’t even glance at you. Meanwhile, you had rushed to your seat in the back, face warm and kind of…impressed.

Truly, you were disturbed.

How were you supposed to walk into class today and see him?

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: How Will Your future spouse express jealousy

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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── .✦ PILE I

OHHHH this pile is defination of “I’m jealous, but I will NEVER admit it.” Your future spouse is doing CRAZY STUFF to keep their jealousy under control, but you will feel it. Oh, you WILL feel it.

BABY. This is a long-game kind of love. A soulmate kind of bond. And listen, when someone sees you as their person, their one-and-only, their forever, there is no way in HELL they’re just sitting back while some random tries to get cute with you. i see that your people pile number 1, they don’t react right away. Oh no, no, no. They marinate in that jealousy in their mind. The 7 of Pentacles tells me they watch, observe, process before making a move. Like, imagine someone getting a little too friendly with you at a party. Your future spouse, Sitting there, giving a polite but stone-cold stare, studying every move of that person. They’re literally taking mental notes: Did you laugh a little too hard at that joke? Did you lean in slightly? Are they standing too close? But instead of acting on impulse, they sit there, pretending they’re totally fine (they are NOT fine). When i look at 2 of cups illustration, i feel like, they realy enjoy your company, like A LOT, and when someone else invades this space, they hate that with all their heart. 

 OH MY GOD THIS IS SO FUNNY. This is that passive-aggressive, sulking, “I’m not mad, I just think it’s funny how…” behavior. They are so in their jealousy, but will they admit it? Absolutely not. Instead, they suddenly lose interest in whatever’s happening. They’re like, “Oh, you’re talking to that person? Wow. That’s so great for you. Anyway, I’ll just be over here…..” They might even act a little distant, maybe even hit you with the classic “It’s nothing, I’m fine” while literally radiating “I am NOT fine” energy. this person is not about to lose their cool in front of you Instead, they suddenly start acting very serious, very focused on something else. They’ll be like, “Oh, I have an email to answer,” or “I need to check something on my phone”. I get the naive energy from your future spouse, like very youthful and maybe little immature because they want you to ONLY themselves. AND THEN. THE JUDGEMENT CARD. This is when they snap back into reality and realize, Oh wait. I’m literally in a relationship with them. They love me. What am I doing? This is where they have that internal wake-up call. They’ll come back to you, realigned, refocused, remembering that you’re their soulmate (2 of Cups energy, baby!!). And THEN, instead of being petty, they’ll drop some casual reassurance-seeking comment like, “So… you seemed to be having fun with them, huh?”, AKA making sure or you to say they had nothing to worry about.

But overall, ill definitely say that They aren’t the type to lash out in jealousy, but you WILL notice the change. The silence, the avoidance, the fake distraction tactics. It’s subtle but LOUD. But at the end of the day? The Judgment card seals the deal, they always come back to their senses, realizing that duh, you’re theirs and they’re yours. And the second you reassure them? BOOM. They’re back to their normal, confident self. These people would give their everything just to be in your company. Very sulky baby energy ngl. They’re not explosive, but they are silently suffering. And bestie, if you ever call them out on it? OH BOY. Expect a very defensive “What? I wasn’t jealous. That’s ridiculous.” … Sure, babe. Sure.

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── .✦ PILE II

Alright, so the first thing I’m catching here is contrast, we’ve got the King of Cups and Temperance trying so hard to play it cool, acting all mature, controlled, and balanced. Then we have The Devil, and that too right in the middle of the spread. The sentence i would immedtly say here is, your future spouse is going to be OBSESSED WITH YOU. It’s the internal battle of “I’m unbothered” vs. “I will die if I see you entertaining someone else.” they try to move past jealousy logically, like, “It’s fine, I trust them”, but The Devil says, “But what if they find someone better?” . And then BAM, Two of Cups swoops in and reminds them that you two are soulmates, and there’s no competition, but oh boy, they still feel it. THIS person gets so confused when it comes to you i can clearly see that by the mixed enrgies from the spread, they are hit with SOO MANY emotions all at once but one theme is prominent, they are SUPERRRRR obsessed with you. 

This is giving “jealous but won’t let it show” energy which is just like pile 1 but the energy here is more obsessed type, cause pile 1 was more on the cuter and naive side. Your FS is the type to mask their jealousy under cool composure. They are emotionally intelligent, self-restraint,. If someone flirts with you in front of them, they will not cause a scene will make things very obvious. Whenever they would see someone getting wayyy to close to you they are hit with the thought “ i need to rescue my person,” They will not act out immediately, but best believe they’ll remember it. And later? they’ll try to rationalize their emotions, convince themselves to let it go, but the Two of Cups suggests that deep down, they’ll need reassurance from you. Not that they don’t trust you, but rather, their feelings run deep and they just want to be reminded that you’re theirs.

The Devil is the obsessive thoughts creeping in at night, when they’re alone, replaying a moment over and over like, “Were they actually flirting? Was my FS enjoying it??” This isn’t toxic jealousy, it’s more of that “I don’t want to lose what’s mine” energy. I would say their super obsessive side is balanced by the presence of two of cups here so reagrless of anything, the’ll be the biggest shield of your relationship. You two have such a strong connection that even when jealousy creeps in, they ultimately trust your bond enough to not tuen into insecurity. But ohhh, they’ll find a way to remind you that you’re theirs, subtle, territorial gestures, low-key possessiveness in the most elegant way possible. These people are VERY CONDFIDENT. Expect things like a hand on your waist, pulling you closer mid-conversation, a little smirk when someone’s trying (and failing) to flirt with you. Casual dominance, bestie. (we all love that) 

The energy of this pile was super sexy ngl. good for my booktok girlies. 

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── .✦ PILE III

As soon as i looked at the spread the immediate thought hit me was, your future spouse is going to treat you like ROYALTY. So, picture this: Your future spouse? They’re so put together, they’ve got their life in check, they exude this natural confidence (like, they’re used to being the main character, okay?), and they don’t just casually do jealousy.no. this is a very secure energy. If they feel it, they feel it deep in their bones. It’s not dramatic, but it’s intensely present, not loud, but undeniable. The thing is, it’s not even about insecurity; it's about you being so precious to them that even the thought of someone else getting too close? Yeah, no, they’re not having it.

See, the Empress and the King of Wands together? That’s fire and devotion. You are the ultimate prize, the softest yet most powerful presence in their life, and they know it. And because they know it, they also know your worth, which means they see the way others see you too. Oh, and trust me, others see you. The way you glow? The way you hold yourself? The way you make even the most casual of interactions feel special? Yeah, your future spouse notices when someone starts acting just a little too friendly. And they don’t like it. The moment you get into a relationship with them, youre going to have the biggest glow up. 

This is where things get fun. So when they are jealous, They might not immediately lash out, but there’s definitely a shift, their words get a little sharper, they start inserting themselves into conversations they weren’t in before, and if they’re the more composed type, you’ll notice they suddenly have a lot to say about whoever is making them feel some type of way. But they’re so smooth with it. They’re not obvious. It’s like they play it off as if they’re just making an observation or a lighthearted joke, but there’s an edge to it. A warning. And if the other person doesn’t get the memo? Oh, honey. They will. Your person isn’t impulsive with their jealousy; they’re strategic about it. They’re the type to let people dig their own graves before stepping in. They’ll watch, wait, assess, is this just harmless interaction, or is someone really pushing it? And when they do step in? It’s game over. They’re asserting their presence, effortlessly, dominantly. It’s all in the control. They’ll make the other person feel like they’ve already lost before they even realized they were in a competition.

But bestie, the real magic? It’s in the aftermath. Because once you’re alone? OHHH. This is when their softness creeps in. The Page of Cups peeks through in the smallest ways, they won’t outright admit they were jealous (I mean, duh, pride), but suddenly they’re extra affectionate, extra attentive. And the cutest part? Deep down, they know they have nothing to worry about. You’re theirs, and they’re yours, and that’s not changing. This is such a power duo because we have the empress as well as king of cups in the spread. But bestie, the way they still can’t help but get a little possessive? ADORABLE. They’re not the type to get insecure, but they are the type to make sure that everyone—including you, knows exactly where they stand. They’re the King of Wands, after all. They own their throne, and they protect what’s theirs.

They don’t control, you’re free to do whatever you want, but ohhh, they will make sure you NEVER forget who you belong to. 😌🔥

And honestly That’s hot.

Now tell me, I need to know what divine force blessed you with this person. 💀💀

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Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[yois2aki]

wc. 1k

remember when caleb straight up said "what if i told you i was always like this?"... well. this is my take on how high school caleb dealt with his possessiveness. when he still managed to keep some of his rationality leading.

caleb wasn’t used to feeling this way. at least, not when it came to you. he had always been the quiet, composed type, the one who didn’t let his emotions show too much, especially not in public. but now? now, every time he saw you laughing with jayden, the guy from your maths class, something in him twisted uncomfortably.

he tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. but today, watching you and jayden walk down the hallway together, side by side, laughing over some stupid inside joke, caleb felt that familiar knot in his stomach tightening. jayden had his hand on your back, a touch so casual, so natural, and it made caleb’s blood boil.

he leaned against the wall, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes kept flickering to you. you didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, too caught up in your conversation with jayden, your eyes bright, your laughter filling the air. caleb swallowed hard, trying to calm himself, but he couldn’t. his chest tightened with a possessiveness he wasn’t used to feeling.

he noticed jayden get a little too close to you—too close for caleb’s liking. the way jayden’s shoulder brushed against yours as they walked side by side, the way his hand lingered on your arm when he pointed something out. it was enough to make caleb’s teeth clench, his grip on his phone tightening until his fingers ached.

he wanted to say something. to go up to jayden and shove him away from you, tell him to back off, but he couldn’t. he didn’t have the guts to confront you. he wasn’t sure what was going on inside him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just stood there, feeling the anger building up inside him, a storm he couldn’t control.

when you finally noticed him standing there, watching the two of you, you smiled and waved. “hey, caleb!” you called, your voice light and cheerful, completely unaware of the tension building in him.

he tried to smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “hey,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward you. his steps were deliberate, but his heart was racing.

as he got closer, he could feel the anger in his chest, simmering just below the surface. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way jayden had touched you, the way he had been so comfortable around you. he hated it. hated the way he couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was losing control.

you, still oblivious, were talking to jayden about something. caleb’s gaze flickered to jayden again, and for a brief moment, he could feel his jaw tightening. jayden had that smug smile on his face, the one that caleb couldn’t stand, and it was directed right at you.

he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to keep his cool, but it was getting harder and harder. “so, what’s going on?” caleb asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended.

you looked at him, the concern flashing across your face. “oh, nothing. just talking about the math homework,” you said with a smile. “jayden’s been helping me out with it.”

caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenching in his pockets. “yeah, i can see that,” he muttered under his breath.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, the worry in your voice now. you had noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, the way he was standing so stiffly.

“nothing,” caleb lied, his eyes flickering to jayden for a moment before he quickly looked away. “it’s fine. just… didn’t know you were spending so much time with him.”

you furrowed your brow, now sensing something was off. “caleb, you’re acting weird.”

caleb’s heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t know how to explain it. he didn’t want to admit how jealous he was, how angry it made him to see jayden so comfortable with you. he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just gave a small shrug, avoiding your gaze. “i’m not acting weird.”

you didn’t buy it. you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t press him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. jayden, however, seemed to pick up on the tension in the air, and with a small smile, he clapped caleb on the shoulder. “hey, man, you good?”

caleb stiffened at the touch, his whole body going rigid. he didn’t like it. he didn’t like jayden’s casualness, his closeness to you. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. instead, he simply nodded, trying to force a smile.

“yeah, i’m good,” caleb said, his voice tight, his words clipped. “just… just tired.”

you studied his face for a moment, the concern still clear in your expression, but you didn’t push him further. jayden, sensing the discomfort, finally decided to take his leave. “alright, i’ll catch you later,” he said to you, giving you a small wave before walking away.

as soon as jayden was out of earshot, caleb let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

you turned to caleb, your voice softer now. “caleb, what’s going on? you’ve been acting off all day.”

caleb’s eyes flickered to you, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze. he didn’t know how to explain the rush of emotions inside him, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the anger he couldn’t control. it was all too much.

“i’m fine,” he said, his voice a little too rough, the words coming out with more frustration than he intended.

you didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his arm, the simple touch grounding him in the moment. “caleb,” you said softly, “you can talk to me, you know.”

he swallowed hard, his throat tight. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. the words were stuck, and the emotions were too overwhelming. instead, he just nodded, letting you pull him into a silence that felt heavy and thick with unspoken words.

[cloudyluun]

Easy Money | sugar daddy!harry

Summary: What started as a simple transaction—a way to make some quick cash—turns into something far more complicated when Harry refuses to keep things strictly business. He spoils you, adores you, falls for you. But when he finally confesses his feelings, you remind him this was never supposed to be real. The only problem? Somewhere along the way, it became exactly that.

Wordt Count: 8k

A/N: This was a very special request from one of my absolute favourite readers (you know who you are 😉). I had way too much fun writing this, so if you find yourself blushing, looking away from your screen, or needing a cold shower—just know, that was entirely the goal. Enjoy, you little troublemakers. 

Warnings: 

Smut (and a lot of it)

Sugar daddy arrangement turning very real

Power struggles in bed (both of them want control and it gets heated)

Dom!Harry / Bratty!Reader dynamics

Lots of teasing, dirty talk, and tension so thick you could choke on it

Angst & emotional turmoil (Harry catches feelings first and it hurts)

Over-the-top romance (he spoils her, worships her, and claims her)

Explicit language

Mentions of financial struggles

Soft, clingy aftercare that will make you feel things

Read responsibly. Or don’t. Just don’t blame me when Harry Styles takes over your brain. 

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Your phone buzzes with another notification from your bank. You already know what it says before you even look, but the sinking feeling in your stomach urges you to check anyway.

LOW BALANCE ALERT

You sigh, thumb hovering over the notification before swiping it away. As if ignoring it will make the problem disappear.

It doesn’t.

Bills are due. Rent is due. Your student loans are a monster looming over your shoulder, their presence suffocating no matter how much you try to ignore them. Every paycheck disappears the second it hits your account, and no matter how many shifts you pick up or how much you cut back, it’s never enough. The math simply doesn’t math.

You’ve tried everything.

Taking extra hours at work? Done. You’re already stretched thin, running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Side hustles? Tried. You’ve scoured every "easy ways to make money" list on the internet. You’ve filled out mind-numbing surveys for pennies, signed up for focus groups that never picked you, even considered selling pictures of your feet, only to chicken out the second you realized you had no idea where to even start.

Asking your parents for help? Not an option. The thought alone makes your stomach twist with shame. You’re an adult. You should be able to handle this.

But you’re drowning.

And tonight, after another long shift, after tipping your last few dollars to the bartender in a desperate attempt to pretend you have your life together, you lie in bed, scrolling through your phone, searching for something. A solution. A miracle. A quick fix that doesn’t exist.

Your searches grow more desperate. How to make money fast. How to pay rent when you’re broke. How to get a sugar daddy—

You pause.

The words stare back at you from the search bar, your heart skipping a beat as you realize you actually typed it. You weren’t even thinking. Just letting your thoughts spill out onto the screen, every insane idea passing through your exhausted brain.

But now the idea is there.

And worse—it isn’t immediately repulsive.

It’s not like you don’t know what a sugar baby is. You’ve heard the stories, seen the jokes. Older, rich men paying younger women just to be in their presence. Some arrangements are physical, sure, but plenty aren’t.

And it’s not like you’d actually do it.

…Right?

Your finger hovers over the search results, heartbeat picking up. You tell yourself you’re just curious. Just looking.

Twenty minutes later, you’re staring at the App Store. A bright pink logo sits on your screen, the words SUGAR DADDY APP – FIND YOUR ARRANGEMENT TODAY! flashing below it.

You chew on your lip, pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is insane.

This is absolutely insane.

But what if—

What if it’s just casual meetups? Just talking. Just dinner. Some of these girls are getting their rent paid just for going on dates. What if that could be you? What if this is the answer?

What’s the harm in looking?

Before you can second-guess yourself, your thumb presses download.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The app opens, welcoming you with a sleek, luxurious design; gold accents, elegant fonts, a promise of “mutually beneficial arrangements.” The signup process is shockingly easy. You pick a username, upload a picture (nothing scandalous, just a cute selfie), and fill out your bio.

“Young, fun, and a great conversationalist. Looking for someone who appreciates good company. Nothing serious.”

That should do.

Messages start coming in immediately.

And it’s exactly what you expected.

Older men with awkward, borderline sleazy messages. Some are direct, offering money in exchange for explicit favors. Others try to be charming but still give off a transactional vibe. None of them make you feel… good.

You sigh, already regretting this. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe you should just—

MATCH!

A notification pops up at the top of your screen. You glance at it, ready to roll your eyes, until you see the name.

Harry.

You blink. That’s… different.

You click on his profile, expecting the same thing you’ve seen all night. But your breath catches.

He’s young. Well—not young, but younger than the rest. Late thirties, maybe early fourties. Sharp jawline, green eyes, a dimple that softens his otherwise serious expression. Dressed in a crisp, expensive-looking suit, but his tattoos peek out from beneath the sleeves, a contradiction that instantly intrigues you.

He doesn’t look like he belongs here.

But then again… neither do you.

Your pulse quickens as you stare at his profile, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

What do you even say to someone like him?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation creeping in. A simple hi feels too basic. A joke might come off as trying too hard. But before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, a new notification pops up.

Harry sent you a message.

Your stomach flips. You exhale, steadying yourself before clicking to open it.

"Didn’t expect to find someone like you on here."

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. There’s no awkward proposition, no sleazy opener, no immediate offer of money in exchange for something degrading. It’s casual, almost intrigued. He follows up before you can reply.

"Not complaining, though. You look like you have good taste in wine."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It’s charming. Simple. Not overdone. And weirdly enough it works.

Your eyes flicker back to his profile. It really is almost too good to be true. His pictures look professional, but not in the this was stolen from someone else’s Instagram way. They’re polished but natural. He’s sitting in a sleek black car in one, leaning against a marble bar in another. His bio is short, to the point.

“Successful entrepreneur. Generous. Looking for good company, good conversation, and good wine.”

There’s no cringey flexing. No desperate attempt to lure someone in. Just confidence. And it makes you nervous.

Still, you answer.

"I do. But I don’t let just anyone buy me a glass."

A beat. Then:

"Let me take you to dinner and prove I’m worth it."

Your stomach knots. You tell yourself you should be skeptical, that this is exactly how people end up in shady situations, but… there’s something different about him. He doesn’t reek of desperation. He’s not trying to corner you into anything. If anything, he almost seems amused.

Still, you’re cautious.

"That depends on the restaurant."

His response is instant.

"Le Jardin."

Your breath catches. That’s not just a restaurant. That’s the restaurant. The kind of place that has a six-month waitlist and a menu with no prices because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Before you can even process it, another message pops up.

"I’ll pay you $3,000 just to show up."

You sit up so fast your vision tilts.

Three. Thousand. Dollars.

For dinner? For a couple of hours of your time?

Your heart pounds. Your rent is barely half of that. That kind of money would give you breathing room, let you live for a moment instead of just surviving.

Your fingers tighten around your phone. Your brain is screaming at you to say yes. But a small part of you hesitates.

You’re not stupid. You know nothing comes for free.

"And what do you expect in return?" you finally ask.

His reply is simple.

"Dinner. Conversation. That’s all."

You swallow. You want to believe him. And against your better judgment… you do.

Your fingers shake slightly as you type out your answer.

"Alright. I’m in."

You set the phone down, staring at the screen as the reality of what you just agreed to sinks in.

You tell yourself it’s just transactional.

No expectations.

No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like something else?

You shove that thought aside as you get ready.

You’ve never been to a place like Le Jardin, never even been within walking distance of it, but you know what kind of people dine there. The rich, the powerful, the ones who don’t check price tags or worry about overdraft fees. You’re not one of them, and it makes your stomach twist as you stand in front of your closet, trying to figure out what to wear.

You settle on a sleek black dress—nothing too extravagant, but elegant enough to blend in. You keep your makeup simple, your jewelry minimal, but when you step in front of the mirror, something about your reflection feels different. Almost like you belong in this world. Like you could make someone believe it, even if only for one night.

The car Harry sends for you pulls up right on time. The driver is professional, dressed in a crisp suit, and doesn’t say much beyond a polite, “Miss?” as he opens the door. The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, and the entire time, your fingers twitch in your lap.

You tell yourself this is just a dinner. Just a business transaction. Just easy money.

But then you step into the restaurant, and your breath catches.

Le Jardin is breathtaking. Soft golden lighting, high ceilings, waiters gliding between tables like they’re floating. Everything about it screams exclusivity, like you’ve just stepped into a world not meant for people like you.

And then you see him.

Harry.

He stands as soon as he spots you, and for a second, the air shifts.

You were prepared for him to be attractive—you’ve seen his pictures, you knew what to expect—but this? This is something else entirely.

He’s tall, broad, the tailored lines of his suit clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth dry. Dark curls, sharp jaw, green eyes that flicker with something unreadable as he watches you cross the room.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky I-have-you-right-where-I-want-you grin, but something softer. Something that makes his dimple crease and his eyes warm.

It’s almost disarming.

He pulls out your chair before you can even reach for it. “You look stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum that slides down your spine.

You blink at him, thrown off. You expected arrogance, maybe a smooth line or two, but instead, he sounds almost… genuine.

You let him push in your chair, smoothing your hands over your dress as you settle in. “I try.”

He chuckles, a quiet thing, and as he takes his seat across from you, you realize he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

Not in the way the other men on the app did, like they were already calculating what they’d get out of you. No, this is different. It’s like he’s trying to figure you out, like he’s curious.

The waiter appears, offering an expensive bottle of wine without asking if you’d like to see the menu first. You don’t even know how to pronounce the name, but Harry just nods, thanking the server before turning back to you.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced together. “Tell me something about you.”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He shrugs. “Something that’s not in your profile.”

You hesitate. You could give him something basic, something easy. But for some reason, you don’t want to.

“I hate tomatoes,” you say, watching for his reaction.

He blinks. Then laughs. A real, full laugh, his head tipping back slightly.

“Alright,” he says, still smiling. “Not what I expected, but I respect it.”

The conversation flows effortlessly after that. He asks questions—genuine ones—not just about you, but your thoughts, your opinions, things that have nothing to do with the arrangement. And he listens. Really listens. Holding eye contact like he’s hanging onto every word.

The food arrives—meals you can’t even begin to describe, flavors so rich you feel out of place eating them. But Harry makes it easy, never letting the moment feel intimidating.

At one point, he cuts a bite of his dish and lifts it toward you.

“Try this.”

You don’t even think twice. You just let him. Let him feed you, his fingers brushing the corner of your lips as you take the bite.

It doesn’t faze you.

But him?

He’s gone.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second longer than necessary—but you catch it. And for some reason, it makes you smile.

Dessert comes, and he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, absentminded motion, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Can I see you again?” he asks.

The look in his eyes is something you can’t quite place.

You don’t hesitate.

You nod, lips curling slightly.

You’re getting paid, after all.

That’s what you tell yourself when the gifts start rolling in.

At first, they’re subtle. A bottle of perfume left on your doorstep, the kind you’d never splurge on for yourself. The packaging alone screams luxury, sleek and weighty in your hands. You hesitate before opening the attached note, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

“Reminded me of you. - H”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You spritz a little onto your wrist, inhaling. It’s warm, sensual—notes of vanilla and something darker, richer. Expensive.

And then it doesn’t stop.

A few days later, a box arrives. Big this time. Too big for just perfume. You tear through the pristine wrapping to find a designer handbag nestled inside, the leather buttery soft beneath your fingertips.

Your first thought is: What the fuck?

Your second thought is: How much did this cost?

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes.

Harry: Saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

You blink down at the message, at the bag, then back again.

Is this normal? you wonder. Is this what this arrangement is supposed to look like?

You send back a single text.

You: You’re insane.

His response is immediate.

Harry: I like spoiling you.

You don’t know what to do with that, so you just… let it happen.

At first, it’s funny. It feels like playing a role, stepping into a world you don’t belong in. You make jokes to yourself every time another absurdly expensive thing lands in your lap.

Then come the texts.

They start out simple, routine check-ins that could easily be brushed off.

“Morning, love. Hope today isn’t too stressful.”

“Made it home safe?”

“Sleep well?”

But then they start happening like clockwork.

Every morning, without fail—

“Good morning, darling.”

Every night—

“Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You laugh when you read that one, shaking your head. It’s charming. Ridiculous.

And then there are the touches.

He kisses your forehead when he greets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he hands you a drink, his fingers brush yours, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. When you walk into a room together, his hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, like he’s guiding you, claiming you.

The thing is… you don’t encourage it.

But you also don’t stop it.

Because—if you’re being honest?—it’s kind of cute.

And, really, what’s the harm?

You meet up with him again. And again. It becomes a pattern, slipping into your life with alarming ease. Lavish dinners, expensive outings, stolen moments where he looks at you like you’re something rare, something fragile.

Then, one night, it happens.

You’re seated across from him at a dimly lit restaurant, the hum of soft jazz filling the air. Your wine glass is half-full, your plate mostly cleared, and he’s been watching you all night—watching in that way he does, like he’s memorizing you.

And then, almost absentmindedly, he stirs his drink and murmurs, “Didn’t like being away from you today.”

You barely register his words at first, too focused on the way he swirls the amber liquid in his glass.

But then he looks up.

And there’s something there.

Something warm, something vulnerable.

“Missed you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You snort, reaching out without thinking, patting his cheek lightly. “That’s adorable.”

He huffs out a laugh, but he leans into your touch like a man starved, like it means something to him.

And that’s when it hits you.

Like a freight train, like a sucker punch to the ribs.

You’re in it for the money.

He’s in it for love.

You know it now. You’ve known it for a while, haven’t you? If you really take a second to think about it, you’d realize that every expensive gift, every lingering touch, every look of pure, devoted affection was leading up to this.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Maybe you did, but you ignored it. You chose to believe that this was just fun for him the same way it was fun for you. That he was playing along with the fantasy, indulging in the illusion of something deeper—just because he could.

Because it was easy. Because it was nice.

Because it meant neither of you had to be alone.

But Harry?

Harry was never playing.

And tonight proves it.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. You knew it would be.

With Harry, everything is excessive. He likes to spoil you, to spend absurd amounts of money just to watch your reaction. It’s fun for him, you think.

But this is different.

This isn’t just extravagant. This is romantic.

The entire penthouse-level dining room is bathed in golden candlelight, the glow flickering off the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire city. The table is set for two, an elaborate spread of silverware and delicate wine glasses that you already know you’ll be too nervous to touch. The scent of fresh roses lingers in the air, overwhelming but intentional.

It’s the kind of setup someone arranges when they’re about to propose.

The thought makes something uneasy curl in your stomach.

Harry has been off all evening. Not in an obvious way—no, he’s still charming, still soft-spoken, still perfectly polite.

But he’s quiet.

More than usual.

His touches have been different tonight, too. Deliberate. Lingering. When he pulled out your chair for you, his hands skimmed over your shoulders, his fingers trailing against your skin like he was memorizing the feeling. When he handed you your wine glass, he let his fingertips brush over yours, his touch slow, like he needed it. When you made a joke about the ridiculous amount of forks in front of you, he didn’t just laugh—he looked at you like you’d just hung the moon.

And the way he’s looking at you now?

Like he’s about to say something you won’t be able to take back.

You should stop this.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve spent so long pretending that this—whatever this is—can exist in some untouchable space. That as long as you don’t acknowledge the shift, as long as you don’t name it, it will stay the same.

But you were wrong.

And Harry?

Harry is about to prove it.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of music in the background, the flicker of candlelight making shadows dance across his face.

And then—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your entire body locks up.

The words don’t register at first, like your brain is physically rejecting them.

Because, no.

No, that’s not what this is.

That’s not what this was ever supposed to be.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, something hot crawling up your spine, your throat suddenly too tight, your hands suddenly too still.

You blink.

He’s still looking at you.

Still waiting.

Like this is the moment everything changes. Like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Like this is the moment he gets you.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

You inhale sharply, your pulse roaring in your ears, the weight of his confession settling onto your chest like a ton of bricks.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you, holding you there like an anchor. Like he can sense that you’re about to run.

You swallow hard.

“Harry…”

The smile on his lips falters. Barely.

But you notice it.

You notice everything.

The way his fingers twitch. The way his eyes search yours, desperate. The way his jaw clenches, like he already knows.

You have to do this.

You have to say it.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve him open.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve yourself open.

You take a breath.

“This isn’t real.”

It’s quiet. A whisper. A tiny, fragile thing.

But it shatters him all the same.

You see it.

The way his entire body stills. The way the warmth drains from his face, his hands slipping away from yours so slowly, so painfully, like he’s forcing himself to let go.

Like he doesn’t want to.

But he has to.

His throat bobs.

His eyes flicker, something shifting in them—something soft breaking, something hopeful dying.

“Not real?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like it physically hurts him to ask.

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

Because what do you even say?

What could you possibly say to fix this?

To fix him?

To fix the way he’s looking at you like you just ripped the ground out from beneath him?

You weren’t supposed to mean this much to him.

But you do.

And that’s the problem.

The problem isn’t that he loves you.

The problem isn’t that he confessed.

The problem isn’t even that you saw it coming and did nothing to stop it.

The problem is that when he looks at you like this—like this—you don’t want to stop it.

His hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. Like if he just holds you tightly enough, he can will you into feeling the same way he does.

And maybe he can.

Because something about the way he’s looking at you now makes something deep in your chest ache. Makes something warm coil low in your stomach, makes your fingers tremble against the tablecloth.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t still be sitting in this candlelit penthouse with him.

You should say something sharp and final, put an end to whatever this is before it gets worse. Before he gets hurt. Before you get hurt.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because his eyes are flickering over your face like he’s memorizing you. Because his lips are parted, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Because when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, wrecked.

“It is for me.”

It knocks the air right out of you.

It’s not pleading. It’s not even a question.

It’s just fact.

And you feel it—God, you feel it.

He has never been playing.

Not once.

Not for a second.

This was always real for him.

And now?

Now, it’s real for you, too.

You should pull away.

You should.

You should tell him you’re sorry, that you never meant to let it get this far, that you never meant to make him fall for you.

But instead—

You tilt your chin up, let your gaze lock with his, let the tension between you thicken and twist until there’s only one way this ends.

“Then make me believe it.”

It’s barely a whisper. But he hears it.

You know he hears it.

Because his entire body reacts—his grip on your face tightening, his lips parting, his chest rising with a sharp inhale.

And then, before you can think, before you can breathe, before you can stop yourself—

His mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s months of lingering touches, of stolen glances, of suppressed feelings exploding all at once.

His hands slide from your face to your jaw, tilting your head up, angling you the way he wants, the way he needs. His lips move against yours with a hunger you’ve never felt from him before, all-consuming, his body leaning forward until you have no choice but to grab onto his shirt, fisting the fabric in your hands to keep yourself steady.

You gasp against his mouth, and he groans, deep and guttural, swallowing the sound like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.

And maybe you do.

His hands are everywhere now—sliding down your neck, tracing your collarbone, curling around your waist as he yanks you toward him. The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, pulling you up with him, pressing your body flush against his.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging, and he growls, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about any of it anymore.

Not the arrangement.

Not the money.

Not the way you told yourself this wasn’t real.

Because right now, with his lips hot and insistent against yours, his body pressed against you like he needs you to breathe—

It is.

It is real.

And you want more.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, your fingers tugging at his shirt, nails scraping down his back.

He groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “Say it again.”

You shiver.

His voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

More possessive.

You lick your lips, tilting your head, letting your nose brush against his. “Harry.”

It’s all he needs.

He moves fast. One second, you’re standing by the table, and the next, he’s walking you backward, his grip firm but gentle, like he’s guiding you, like he’s making sure you want this.

And you do.

God, you do.

The backs of your legs hit something soft—one of the long velvet couches lining the floor-to-ceiling windows—and then he’s pushing you down, following you without hesitation, his hands bracketing your hips, his body pressing you into the cushions.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, kissing, nipping, claiming.

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasps against your skin, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You arch beneath him, your breath stuttering.

“How long I’ve waited for you,” he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dragging over bare skin.

Your nails dig into his back.

This is different.

This isn’t just sex.

This isn’t just fulfilling an arrangement.

This is him showing you what he means.

This is you finally admitting what you want.

“Then show me,” you breathe.

He does.

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He surges forward, claiming your lips again, this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring you, like he’s tasting something he knows he’ll never get enough of. His hands tighten on your body, strong fingers splaying against your ribs, dragging up, up, up, until his thumbs are teasing along the sides of your breasts, just enough to make you arch into him.

A low groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he kisses you harder, as his tongue sweeps against yours in a kiss so deep it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

And then he’s moving, lifting you effortlessly from the couch like you weigh nothing, like you belong in his arms. His grip is strong—possessive—one hand on your thigh, the other curled around your back as he carries you across the room.

His lips never leave yours.

His kisses are slow now, teasing, dragging, pulling soft whimpers from your throat that he swallows like they belong to him.

He walks you straight to the bed, laying you down like you’re something precious, something breakable.

But you’re not breakable.

And when he starts to pull away, you don’t let him.

You grip his shirt, fisting the fabric, yanking him back down until he’s hovering over you, his body caging yours in. His breath is heavy, uneven, his eyes blown wide and desperate.

“You want to take your time?” you murmur, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt, sliding them through the fabric one by one, teasing.

His jaw clenches.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, voice low, rough. “For months.”

Your lips curl.

“So why are you still dressed?”

Something snaps.

Harry growls, yanking his shirt off in one swift motion before his hands are back on you, slipping under your dress, pushing the fabric up, exposing skin he’s been dying to touch.

“You think you’re in charge?” he mutters, mouth against your throat, kissing, nipping, dragging his tongue over the spot that makes you shiver.

A smirk plays at your lips.

“I know I am.”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “Not tonight.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s got you flat on your back, hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he stares down at you, chest heaving.

And fuck, he’s beautiful like this.

Eyes dark, lips swollen, hair falling into his face, body hard and tense against yours.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, his fingers tracing over the pulse point in your wrist.

“Good,” you whisper back.

His lips crash against yours again, hungrier this time, rougher.

He’s not just kissing you—he’s devouring you.

And you let him.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up, grinding against the hardness pressing between your legs, and he hisses, his grip tightening.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “D’you have any idea what you do to me?”

You smile, slow and teasing, tilting your head, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Show me.”

He does.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring.

He strips you slow, torturous, dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his hands palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp.

“Harry,” you whimper, arching into his touch, nails dragging down his back.

He groans, sucking a mark onto your skin, his tongue flicking over it, soothing, before he starts moving lower.

His mouth trails over your ribs, your stomach, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slow, too slow.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching. “You.”

His teeth graze your skin. “Be specific.”

You bite your lip, staring down at him, the way he’s kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, waiting.

You reach down, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly. “I want your mouth.”

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening in his hair as he licks, sucks, devours you like he’s starved.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, teasing, and when you let out a breathy moan, he groans against you, gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he eats you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he’s claiming you.

Your thighs tremble around his head, pleasure building too fast, too strong, and he knows, because he presses his tongue against your clit, flicking, sucking, driving you insane.

“Harry—fuck—”

“Come for me,” he rasps against your skin, voice rough and commanding, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You unravel beneath him, your body arching, pleasure washing over you in waves as you cry out his name, your fingers tight in his hair.

He works you through it, his mouth never leaving you, softening the strokes of his tongue until you’re panting, trembling beneath him.

Then he’s moving, crawling back up your body, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pushes his hips against yours.

He’s hard, straining against his pants, and you reach down, palming him through the fabric, making him groan.

“Your turn,” you murmur, eyes dark, wicked.

His breath hitches.

You flip him over, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists to the bed, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath stuttering.

“You like that?” you tease, rolling your hips against him.

His jaw clenches. “You have no idea.”

You smirk. “Then let me show you.”

And you do.

You roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate, feeling the thick press of him still trapped beneath layers of fabric. His breath shudders, his fingers twitch where you’ve got them pinned, but you don’t let up. You grind down again, watching his jaw clench, the way his body tenses beneath you, all muscle and restraint.

“You like being underneath me?” you tease, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the way his abs tense at your touch.

His eyes darken. “Don’t push me, love.”

You lean down, just enough for your lips to ghost over his, barely brushing, teasing, taunting. “Or what?”

His breath hitches. Then he growls.

A low, dangerous sound that sends heat pooling between your thighs.

He bucks his hips, trying to shift the power, but you press down harder, hands splaying over his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Fucking hell,” he grits out, head tipping back against the pillows. “You’re a tease.”

You smirk, rolling your hips again, slower this time. “And you love it.”

His hands flex against the sheets, his muscles straining beneath you like he’s dying to grab you, flip you, take back control. But he doesn’t. He lets you have it—for now.

“That’s it,” you murmur, leaning down, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, nipping lightly at his pulse point. “Be good for me.”

He groans, his fingers twitching, desperate to touch.

But you don’t let him.

You grab his wrists again, pressing them firmly into the mattress, locking him in place as you start moving properly, rocking against him, dragging the thick outline of his cock right against your soaked panties.

His breath shudders.

“Jesus fuck,” he rasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

You roll your hips harder, the friction sending pleasure shooting through you, and when he lets out a strangled moan, you smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, running your tongue along the shell of his ear. “Does it feel good?”

His jaw clenches so hard you think it might break.

“Y’think you’re in charge, hmm?” His voice is thick, rough, dangerous.

Your lips curl as you grind down again, harder this time. “I know I am.”

Something snaps.

In a blink, Harry moves.

One second, you’re in control—the next, you’re not.

With a low, feral growl, he rips his wrists free, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back so fast your breath catches. Before you can even react, he’s on you, pressing you into the mattress, his body heavy, his hands rough.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he murmurs, eyes dark and dangerous as he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

You inhale sharply, shivering at the sudden shift, at the way he’s towering over you, at the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted you to break,” you whisper, testing, teasing, pushing.

His grip tightens.

“Fucking hell, you’re a brat.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

His lips crash against yours.

It’s rough, desperate, all tongue and teeth, like he’s punishing you, like he’s claiming you. You moan into his mouth, arching up, pressing your body to his, feeling the hard lines of him against your softness.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he grinds against you, letting you feel how much he wants this.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, rolling his hips harder, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “You feel that, baby? Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, nodding, your head spinning, body thrumming with heat.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, sucking hard at your pulse point, leaving marks. Claiming you.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands clutching at his back, nails digging in. “I feel it.”

“Yeah?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, dangerous. “You ready to stop playing, then?”

Your breath hitches.

You smirk. “Make me.”

His eyes flash.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, threatening. “You’re gonna regret that.”

His hand suddenly fists in your hair, tilting your head up just enough for his lips to hover over yours, breaths mingling, tension thick and electric.

“As much as I love watching you think you’re in charge,” he murmurs, his voice thick, deep, commanding, “I need to fuck you. Now.”

A shiver racks through you, but before you can respond, he moves.

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, pressing you down into the mattress, his hands everywhere—gripping your hips, running up your sides, ghosting over your ribs like he’s savoring every inch of you.

“My turn,” he breathes, dragging your wrists above your head, holding you still as his mouth finds your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your heated skin.

You try to shift beneath him, to gain some control back, but his grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your wrists, pinning you down completely.

“Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing down your back, teeth grazing over already-sensitive spots.

You whimper, squirming, desperate for more, but he takes his time, teasing, torturing, his touch featherlight as he drags his fingers down the curve of your spine, over the swell of your ass.

“You’re too fucking pretty like this,” he mutters, mostly to himself, squeezing your hips, dragging you back against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your breath stutters, body burning, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“Harry,” you whimper, rolling your hips back, silently begging. “Please.”

He groans, low and dark, his restraint snapping.

“Yeah?” he taunts, lips ghosting over your ear as he presses his chest to your back. “You ready for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, arching against him, needing, aching—

But he still makes you wait.

Dragging his hand between your thighs, he strokes you with maddening slowness, gathering your wetness on his fingers, groaning at how ready you are.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “Dripping for me already?”

You whimper, nodding. “Harry, please—”

Finally, finally, he aligns himself with you, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, waiting—

“Look at me.”

His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes—dark, hungry, wild.

He watches you, waiting, holding you there in the moment, making sure you feel it before he gives you what you want.

And then—

He thrusts in.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you open, deep and overwhelming.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he buries himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough, ragged, vibrating against your skin. His head falls forward, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, breath hot and uneven. “You’re so—shit, you’re so tight.”

You arch beneath him, back bowing, body tightening around him in response, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he splits you apart, the way he holds you still, like he’s savoring the feeling, savoring you.

Your hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white as you try to ground yourself, try to keep from losing yourself completely.

He must sense it, the way your body trembles, because his grip softens, fingers splaying over your stomach as he kisses your shoulder, slow and tender.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained but gentle. He noses along your skin, pressing his lips to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

His free hand finds yours, threading his fingers through yours against the mattress, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him before he moves.

And then—

Then he ruins you.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, pushing deep, making your breath hitch, making your fingers tighten around his.

Then another. And another. Each movement calculated, precise, dragging against every nerve ending inside you, pulling you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips.

His rhythm starts slow, deep—like he’s savoring the feeling of being buried inside you. Like he wants to take his time, to make you feel him, make you remember this.

But it doesn’t last.

The control snaps, his patience evaporating like steam off your overheated skin.

He growls, the sound primal, desperate, as his hands shift—one gripping your hip, the other pressing against the small of your back, keeping you in place as he pounds into you.

The bed shakes beneath you, every thrust sending ripples through your body, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours, lips brushing but never quite kissing, too lost in the moment, too consumed by the way your body wraps around him.

You can barely breathe, barely think, all logic drowned out by the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, wrecking you.

You meet every thrust, grinding back against him, chasing your high, needing, aching—

He notices, because of course he does.

“Yeah?” he pants, voice rough, strained. “You want it, baby? Want me to fuck you like this?”

You nod frantically, gasping, moaning his name, nails digging into his forearm, marking him, branding him.

He growls at the sting, his hand tightening on your hip, holding you still as he drives into you, faster, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dimly lit room.

And then—

Then he shifts, pulling out just enough before slamming back in at a new angle, hitting deeper, stroking against that one spot that makes you see stars.

You cry out, arching, body tightening around him, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, gripping, hitching it up, opening you wider, letting him sink in even deeper, making you feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he pants, lips brushing against your temple, damp with sweat. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles.

It’s too much. The pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your body locks up, toes curling, back arching as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in violent, shattering waves.

You tremble beneath him, gasping his name, clenching around him so tight that he lets out a broken moan, his movements stuttering, losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—”

And then he’s gone, head tilting back, mouth falling open as he lets go, spilling into you with a guttural groan, his entire body tensing before he collapses on top of you.

The only sound in the room is your combined panting, heavy and uneven, the sheets tangled beneath you, bodies still pressed together, skin damp with sweat.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, pressing one last, lingering kiss there before he whispers, voice hoarse and spent—

“Mine.”

The word settles between you like a slow-burning flame, flickering, catching, spreading.

His breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours, his weight a comforting anchor rather than something pressing you down. His arms stay locked around you, like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t plan to.

And for the first time, you don’t want him to.

You don’t move. You can’t move.

His fingers start tracing slow, lazy patterns along your spine, light and absentminded, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

His touch isn’t just post-bliss reflex. It’s deliberate.

It’s different.

And you feel it.

You feel it in the way his body stays molded against yours, in the way his lips linger at your temple instead of pulling away, in the way he wants to stay close—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

This was supposed to be an arrangement. A job. A transaction.

But the way he’s looking at you now?

It’s anything but.

You shift slightly beneath him, just enough to see his face, to meet those green eyes that are softer than they should be, searching yours, waiting.

And he knows.

Of course, he knows.

Harry’s always been able to read you better than you’d like.

His fingers drift up to your cheek, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw, his touch gentle—so unfairly gentle for someone who just ruined you minutes ago.

You should get up.

You should remind him of the rules, of the terms, of the fact that this was never supposed to mean anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—

You don’t want to leave.

You don’t want to pull away.

And that realization knocks the breath out of you faster than anything else ever could.

Harry’s eyes flicker down to your lips, back up to your eyes, something vulnerable creeping into his expression before he speaks.

"Tell me you feel it too."

His voice is low, careful, but there’s an edge of uncertainty underneath. Like he’s terrified of your answer.

Like he needs it.

You open your mouth, hesitate—because this is the moment. The moment where everything changes. The moment where you either run, or you jump.

And you jump.

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t have to.

Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down.

And you kiss him.

Not because you’re supposed to. Not because it’s part of the act.

But because you want to.

Because you don’t want this to be about the money anymore.

Because it isn’t.

Not anymore.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

[moechies]

morning sex w satoru + sugu (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) cw boys kissing

light peeks through the cracks of the curtains, painting both your skins with gentle streaks of golden yellow.

your boyfriend’s head hovers in the crook of your shoulder, short soft strands of his hair tickling your face and neck;

his thrusts are sloppy, yet deep, brushing over every little crevice of your sweet cunt. a thin layer of slick covers you and himself, low noises of ‘pap pap pap’ that can be heard every time you feel him slide in and out of you.

“satoru.. feels s’good..” you whimper out with a wanton moan, eyes fluttering shut with a weak grasp on his bicep.

he hovers over you, not allowing you to see over his huge body.

“know it does, baby. sweet cunt was made to take me, hm?” his voice rasps next to the shell of your ear; it tickles.

lost in your pleasure, you seem to miss the small noise; a ‘click!’ that comes from opening the front door to your shared home. but even with the sweet moans that spill from your mouth, and the soft creaks of your moving mattress, he seems to hear..

he slows his pace, causing you to elicit a whine with a small scowl,

“huh? wh-what did i do..? why’d you st-stop..?”

“no princess,” he chuckles, “it isn’t you. suguru’s here.”

“w-what? i didn’t hear anything.. s’okay ‘toru.. jus’ keep going.. please.?”

before he can argue back, a creak comes from your doorknob, evident enough to have you both turning your heads to the door,

“mornin’,”

your boyfriend’s best friend stands leniently against the doorframe, left hand holding 2 small bags of a type of pastry. you lay back down below your boyfriend, tugging the thick blanket over your body and over your head in a panic,

“suguru.. what are you doin’ here?” satoru asks, a question with almost no intent of asking him to leave. “brought you two lovebirds some sweets and coffee, but looks like you guys had other plans..”

the room silences, and you pull down the sheets in hopes that suguru has left, fully expecting to re face your boyfriend;

“hey darlin’,” suguru greets above you.

your face has never reddened faster, hands desperately searching for a grip on the blanket before pulling it over your face again; but this time it’s stopped by a big, warm hand.

“don’t be shy.. your boyfriend’s right here, what’s there to be so scared of, hm?” he taunts, a small smile at the way your face flushes in embarrassment, turning your head to shoot another mean scowl at your teasing boyfriend.

“i-i.. s-sorry suguru.. t-this is probably w-weird.. m-m sorry..”

you can’t look him in the eyes, but you feel your body getting warmer whilst being the main attraction of the 2 men above you.

“nothing’s weird, don’t you think?” he teases again, a small pout at your boyfriend’s giggle.

“anyways, i gotta be on my way. let me give you a kiss goodbye, yeah?”

you look at your boyfriend in a panic, eyes pacing back and forth, looking for anything on his face that hints for what you should say.

gojo can’t help but smile at your fawn-like innocence and worried eyes much like a deer in headlights , waiting for you to take initiative.

“n-no.. do-don’t wanna. satoru would never want me to do that.. ‘nd i don’t wanna.” you whimper, hiding in the chest of your boyfriend.

now suguru pouts, an almost comical sight to satoru. he lets out a small chuckle,

“it’s okay princess. give suguru a kiss.”

you look at your boyfriend with a questionable stare, silently questioning the strange approval. his eyes sparkle of nothing but love for you, not a single bit of faux intention, nor jealously.

his best friend wastes no time pressing his soft lips onto yours, eyes agape before slowly melting into the palm of his hand. your boyfriend brings a hand to stroke the soft of your cheek, whispers of ‘good girl,’ as you lose yourself in his best friends mouth.

suguru pulls away with a ‘pop!’ wiping his spit covered mouth with the back of his hand with a laugh,

“desperate little girl.”

satoru only laughs at the comment, turning his head to meet suguru’s, in which they press their lips against each other as well; swapping spit between all three of you guys.

“h-hey.. th-that’s my boyfriend..” you whimper, attempting to claim your boyfriend back. suguru only chuckles before pulling away,

“sorryyy princess, you can have him back.” he says, having you pull him back quickly with a huff, hiding your body against his as you shoot geto a mean glare.

“hey.. ‘s okay if you do it, but not me?” gojo teases, a light flush coming across your face.

geto laughs again, turning himself toward the door, “alright, i’m really off now.” he raises a hand, signaling a goodbye before pulling the door closed with a slight crack,

“and hey, you two need to shut up.. neighbors are complaining to me again.”

[latteodyssey]

celebrity gossip | Tim Drake x Vigilante!Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: while lounging on the watchtower, you decide to comment with red robin about gotham's newest celebrity gossip. (part two of this story here!) masterlist

You’re lounging on the sofa in the Watchtower, the usual tension of crime-fighting missing in the quiet of the night. Red Robin is at the computer, eyes glued to the screen, but the city below remains disturbingly calm, the only sound filling the room was of quiet typing. It’s just the two of you for now.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Catching up on Wayne drama,” you reply, still scrolling through your phone without looking up. The glow from the screen lights up your face, casting an eerie, almost ghostly light. “Can you believe Bruce Wayne is already on his third girlfriend this year? It's like this guy is trying to break his own personal record or something.”

“Is that, like, interesting to you?” Red Robin's tone is flat, but you can hear the curiosity in it.

“I mean, you’re from Gotham, right?” You finally glance up, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t really escape it. They make sure it’s shoved down our throats every day.”

“I’m not really into it” He tries to keep his voice monotone, as if he doesn’t care about the situation.

He’s used to the media circus, it helps him and his family, in a way. The more obnoxious the Wayne’s are, the less likely it is for the public to think they’re Gotham City’s caped crusaders. I benefited him.

Yet behind his mask, hearing you talk about it made him a little tense.

Ever since you entered the team, he’s been interested in you, hell, he was into you before that. You’ve met before, but he never expected his high school friend to become a vigilante as well, although seeing you in your superhero uniform made his heart skip a beat. Ever since then, he’s been secretly happy every time you’re paired up in missions, he treasures the moments where you two talk alone.

“I mean, they’re obviously obnoxious with the whole out-of-touch rich guy stuff.” You pause for a second “Tim is nice, though. I went to high school with him, he was pretty down-to earth. I had a massive crush on him, too.”

Red Robin freezes for a second, his fingers stilling over the keyboard. You don’t notice the slight stiffening of his posture as he processes what you said. He returns to typing on the computer, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You shrug, leaning back into the sofa as you casually reply. “He was a charming nerd with all the gadgets and the brains. He was also really kind to me, so yeah”

"He sounds nice." He forces himself to sound casual, to play it off. He cringes a bit internally, it feels strange to talk about himself like this, besides that, is it weird that he wants you to keep talking?

“Yeah, we don’t talk anymore, though,” you reply, a trace of nostalgia in your voice. "I really miss him."

Tim’s mind stirs, his fingers pausing over the keyboard again, caught in the sudden surge of emotion—maybe it’s the way your voice seemed filled with affection when you mentioned him. He takes a slow breath, trying to push the knot in his chest aside, turning around in his chair to face you, abruptly changing the subject.

"What other gossip do you have there?"

"Oh, you have no idea!" Your face lights up as you prepare to tell him every useless information you've learned in the past few hours.

And as the night stretches on, with the calm of the streets below, Tim lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something more.

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”

“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.

“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[dead-boys-club]

†  do you love me? : the fatui.

❥ scenario: their mute s/o asking if they love them. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested. [ my pending isn't updated, it's a liar. ]

you had thought over it for a while, curious as to where you actually stood with your lover, no.. partner? did they love you? as your curiosity grew to a sickening need for an answer, you decided to write your question down, small and neat; 'do you love me?' before approaching to hand the paper off.

❥ la signora.

as she took the paper from you, you'd be unable to read her expression, something that was awfully common. you couldn't help but become slightly anxious as a few moments of silence went by, giving her the time to process the question. you had learned that signora was a very complex someone, someone who was guarded and difficult to read, but you had grown to understand those things about her. when she finally looked to you, there was a warmth in her gave and she set the paper down, now folded in half. she wouldn't have much to say, a simple 'yes' being whispered, full of sincerity and adoration for you, even if her expression didn't match. she reached out to cup your cheeks, the touch tender with her gloved hands, and she leaned to press a kiss to your forehead. it wasn't easy for her to express how she felt but she would never allow you to live with doubts on how she felt for you.

❥ scaramouche.

unlike signora, scara's response would be heavily complicated. he would be reluctant to take the paper to begin with, his expression immediately showing discomfort and clear distaste. love had never been something that worked out for him very well, nor did he understand it as much as others - love was one of the reasons his life had been filled with betrayal and manipulation. he was wary of emotions to begin with but love held a different kind of weight - it was almost like the word alone left a bitter taste at the back of his throat. he would quickly narrow his sharp eyes, masking the vulnerability with agitation. 'what kind of stupid question is this?' it would have hurt you had their been any malice to his tone. even as he crumpled up the paper and tossed it away, you could see some type of softness slipping through the cracks. it would take time but after a few minutes, he'd glance to you, gaze softening slightly. 'i don't know,' he admitted, voice quiet as he decided to be honest, 'i don't know if that's something i'm capable of but.. i don't hate you, if that's what you're worried about.' for scara, that was the closest thing to a confession you'd be getting and you understood and accepted that. besides.. he was a lot better with his actions than his words, even if he didn't realize.

❥ childe.

childe is always happy to accept your notes, be it during full conversations, asking him about missions, and so forth. with that happy expectation, he took the paper, only to falter briefly before a warm smile formed. 'of course i do,' he answered without hesitation. he'd wave the little piece of paper between two fingers before setting it down, 'this is a silly question.' he wasn't being demeaning, just pointing out what he thought - hoped - was obvious to you. his arms would find their way around you, hugging you close to lift you off your feet with a soft chuckle. 'why would you even feel the need to ask that?' childe had always done everything in his power to make sure his love was open and honest, being hidden from no one because he never wanted you to doubt him. he would actually wonder if he'd done something wrong that lead you to asking but it would be put on the back burner for later. 'you're one of the most important people in my life,' he whispered as he set you down, pressing a kiss right below your ear, 'and, i'll always love you.'

❥ dottore.

you knew such a question could leave you with an aching heart but you'd prepared yourself before hand, knowing the day you agreed to be the doctor's lover, it may not be in such a manner. as he took the paper from you, he read over it with an impassive expression, which you'd expected nothing less. minutes passed as he worked through your question. love was not something dottore considered valuable - emotions, in general, were considered a hindrance to him. love, most of all, was the worst there was. the paper was set down without an answer as he returned to his work, leaving you lost and hurt, despite knowing this would be the outcome. you began to turn on your heel to leave when he glanced to you. 'love is a trivial thing,' he said coldly, almost bitter. 'it's a distraction and a weakness.' you stopped yourself from frowning. contrasting his words, as you looked closely at him, you found something - a hint of conflict that told you there was more he wasn't willing to acknowledge. dottore never was one to answer things directly but his actions - his way of keeping you close, keeping you safe and granting you attention in ways no one else was allowed - that was enough, you decided.

❥ arlecchino.

she would take the paper from you and take no time in reading it, her expression calm. she isn't brought to emotional response easily - you were sure you'd never seen her flustered. she set the paper down with a thoughtful hum before looking at you, her gaze gentle. 'love isn't something i give easily or take lightly,' she answered, steady and serious, 'but if i didn't care for you deeply, you would not be here.' in another of situation or context, you'd have taken the words as a threat but instead, they calmed any frayed nerves. arle's way of showing how she feels is protective and pragmatic, something that doesn't rely on cheap words. she wouldn't give flowery words or pointless gestures - but she would make sure you felt valued in your relationship. 'yes, i do.' she finally admitted, her tone leaving no room for doubt, even as she turned away from you. 'you are mine, and i protect what's mine.'

❥ columbina.

immediately going off of your facial expression, she knew she didn't need to read the paper to know the type of question you had, a gentle, knowing smile forming. columbina is the most attuned to emotions, her own and others, especially yours. she would quickly be able to feel the vulnerability and doubt behind your written word. without hesitation, she collected your hand in her own, making sure to hold your gaze. 'yes,' she said easily, 'i love you more than words will ever be able to express.' columbina leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. 'you needn't doubt that,' she whispered, letting your hand go only to pull you into a hug, her eyes closing, 'i always will, beloved.' her love was soft, open and nurturing, a presence that never ceased and you almost felt guilty for doubting her. she had done her best to make sure you felt cherished and adored and she would continue to do so.

❥ pantalone.

he wouldn't question why you were suddenly handing him paper but he would be curious, eyes shining with interest as he read the question. panta is a man who sees emotions as secondary to his ambitions and goals, especially with his wealth and power. however, he wouldn't hesitate to admit that you, are different. this may be something that lead you to thinking you were more of a possession than a lover - he would be smart enough to figure out where the doubt blossomed from. folding the paper neatly, he set it down and let a thoughtful smile show, turning his attention to you. 'love, like any valuable asset, is not something i take lightly,' he began, head tilting slightly, 'but you, my dear.. are more precious than anything to me.' reaching out to you, his fingertips brushed over the apple of your cheek. 'yes,' he answered directly, 'i love you, and i will make sure you never doubt that again.' like the others, panta's love is often expressed through actions - keeping you comfortable and safe, your happiness being of utmost importance to him.

❥ il capitano.

he would take the paper without a second thought, reading the words slowly and feeling the weight of them. it would take him a moment to find how to answer, knowing if he was careless, it would bring you unnecessary hurt. love has never been something capitano was accustomed to, not when his life was outlined and defined by duty, loyalty and the cold fate of a soldier. he briefly wondered if love was something he could feel or understand. would he know if he was in love? after what seemed like an eternity, he would slowly set the paper down and look to you, speaking just as careful. 'love is a concept i have little experience with,' he began, his tone apologetic, 'i do care for you, deepy.. your wellbeing, your happiness. i want to keep you safe.' his answer would be straightforward, almost as though he was searching through his own words. he wished he could use the same pretty, poetic words he'd heard in passing, but that wasn't possible. 'if that is love,' he nodded slowly, 'then, yes, i do love you.' he wouldn't be as confident in those words as he wanted to be but he felt as thought it was as close to what you wanted to hear as he could get.

[rafecameronssl4t]

omggg I have oneeee🤭

ALSO I LOVE YOUR FICS

so fmc is out with her bestfreinds, the kook boys- Kelce ,top and rafe for lunch and waiter Sofia attempting to flirt with rafe but our man only has eyes on his girl. ♥️ mc ends up teasing rafe after the incident cause of the attention he’s getting and rafe teasing her back asking her if she’s jealous hehe

Jealousy, Jealousy || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: half of me feels bad about Sofia in these type of fics but remember Rafe wants YOU and ONLY you 😋

Warnings: nothing really :)

Word count: 836

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

“She’s coming again,” Kelce muttered under his breath, nudging Rafe with a knowing smirk. Rafe fought the urge to roll his eyes, the annoyance evident in his tightened jaw. Topper chuckled, both he and Kelce watching as Sofia approached their table, her steps light and deliberate.

Her presence was unmistakable, and her eyes were locked onto Rafe. “Hey, anyone need another drink?” Sofia’s voice was bright and cheerful, but her gaze lingered on Rafe just a fraction too long.

He resolutely kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, focusing intently on a spot somewhere behind Kelce, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his attention.

Topper glanced at Rafe, sensing his discomfort, before answering for the group. “Nah, we’re all good here, thanks.” His tone was polite but firm. Sofia nodded, her smile unwavering. “All right, just let me know if you need anything.”

As she turned to leave, her eyes subtly drifted over Rafe, as if hoping for a reaction. Rafe’s frustration simmered just below the surface, and he couldn’t suppress a scoff. Fishing out his phone, he quickly texted you, his fingers tapping out the message with a mix of impatience and frustration.

From the moment they had arrived at the country club for lunch, Sofia had been constantly hovering around them, her attention mostly focused on Rafe. No matter how many hints he dropped about being content and committed to his relationship with you, she just didn’t seem to get it.

Rafe: When are you coming?

Y/n: In like 10 minutes!!!

Rafe let out a sigh of relief as he read your reply, his tension easing slightly. Shutting off his phone, he cast a hopeful glance towards the front entrance, silently wishing you would appear any second.

After about ten minutes, the front doors swung open, revealing you and Sarah. Engaged in lively conversation, the two of you walked through the entrance, laughter bubbling between you. Rafe’s face lit up at the sight, and he immediately stood up, making his way toward you with an eager smile.

As Rafe strode across the room, Sofia rounded a corner, her eyes lighting up as she saw him heading in her direction. “Hey, Rafe—” she began, her voice hopeful. But Rafe didn’t even glance her way, brushing past her without a second thought, his focus entirely on you. The smile on Sofia’s face faltered, her heart sinking as she turned to watch him.

“Hey, babe,” Rafe greeted you warmly, his hands finding their way to the back of your neck as he pulled you into a deep kiss. Sarah, standing beside you, rolled her eyes and let out a mock gag. “Jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head before wandering off to give you two some space.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling Rafe’s affection and urgency. Pulling away slightly, you chuckled. “What was that for?” you asked, your eyes twinkling with amusement as he peppered kisses along your cheek.

“Nothin’, just missed you,” Rafe mumbled against your skin, his voice low and filled with sincerity. You couldn’t help but giggle at his tenderness, feeling warmth spread through you.

With his arm wrapped securely around your back, Rafe guided you towards the table where his friends were seated. As you approached, Kelce and Topper exchanged knowing looks, smirking at Rafe’s obvious delight. Sofia, now back behind the bar, watched from a distance.

“Thank God you’re here,” Topper quipped as you approached, a grin spreading across his face. “I thought Rafe’s jaw would break from all the clenching he’s been doing.” You raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Rafe, who was pointedly looking away. “Why? What happened while I wasn’t here?” you asked, chuckling.

“Sofia’s what happened,” Topper continued, and your confusion deepened. “Seems that pogue’s got a thing for your man here.” Rafe let out a scoff. “You think? She could barely keep her eyes off me.”

You glanced back at Sofia, who quickly looked away when your eyes met. “She kept looking at you, did she?” you asked, your arm protectively wrapping around Rafe’s neck. He smirked, enjoying your reaction.

“Aren’t you popular with pogues these days, hmm?” you teased, giving Rafe a playful nudge. He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Mhmm, you jealous, baby?” Rafe asked, his tone light and teasing.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “‘M not,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know you’re mine anyways,” you shrugged, feeling his smirk against your skin as his hand came up to rest on your hip. “Always,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

[scho17]

In some fucked up way it was kinda funny. 

Guy on the run goes to Bludhaven to keep a low profile and catches the attention of a vigilante. The universe is laughing at him, surely. 

Everything was fine up until a month ago. Really, it was. Danny had obtained his own shitty apartment and yeah, maybe his dead end job made him want to eat dirt more than usual but everything was fine. There weren’t any eyes on him and now there were. A certain bird didn’t know how to leave him alone.

“Can I help you, Nightwing?” Danny says in a flat tone, leaning his forearms against the rails of the fire escape. He isn’t a cigarette type of guy but if ever there were a time this would be it.

“Mhum. I want names, same as always.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you could.”

“I could,” Danny acquiesced with a shallow nod. “And then what? When they can’t get to me, they’ll get to you.” He sighs, feeling infintely tired “in any case, the big bad bat isn’t known for leaving things he doesn’t understand alone, and I’m not really looking to be a lab rat again. Zero out of ten do not recommend. Turns out being vivisected fucking hurts, man.”

“Why won’t you let me take them out for you? Besides, I’m not weak. I can hold my own just fine.”

And thats the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dannys gaze fixes upon the ill looking moon, pallor as he peers through the smog of the dingy city and into the sky. “Because he told me to wait.”

“Who?”

Clockwork. 

Clockwork told him to wait. To do the one thing he hates more than anything in the world. To do the unforgivable - to sit idle when they had Ellie. As much as he’d love to spit venom and recite every reason why the GIW needed to be taken care of much sooner rather than whenever Clockwork had in mind, he can’t. He’s - and Ancients, he’ll never forgive himself - scared. He’s scared.

Logistically, he knows he’s strong. Stronger than anyone in any of those facilities compounded. Stronger than Vlad in terms of raw power if not in wiles, he’s stronger than Pariah Dark. Danny has tested his mettle against the worst of the worst and came out on top but he’s still fucking scared. Isn’t that something? Crown prince of the Infinite Realms is scared. 

There’s no one to magically make it better. No one to lean on because he’s the strongest, he’s it. And if the strongest can’t stand up because they’re too busy having a panic attack at the sight of a lab coat then really, what use are they?

“I can’t tell you that.” He glances down to the alleyway below them. It’s filthy. Wet newspaper plastered to the pavement, old gum cemented in place like spots on a dalmatian. It looks a lot like how Danny feels most days.

Nightwing frowns. “I can help you,” he says. It sounds painfully earnest, like he believes he really, really, could. 

“That's a nice offer, Nightwing, but I can’t take it yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

There he is. That’s the boy the bat raised. “Can’t.”

*

The next time Dick sees Danny it isn’t in Bludhaven. 

It’s months later in her sister city, Gotham. Crime Alley, to be specific. It was during the tail end of a joint patrol with the newly minted Robin, Tim, whom he had sent back to the cave early. His eyes snagged on the figure of a young man carrying a child in the middle of the wet season, a thin thoroughly soaked through navy blue sweater clinging to him like a second skin. It was pouring down like the heavens didn’t know how to stop grieving. 

It seemed as anguished as Dick was in the immediate absence of Jason. He blinks tiredly and washes the thought away. There’s a little girl cradled in Danny’s arms with hair just as pitch black as his own, burrowing her small face in his neck, tiny arms clinging as the man himself runs his hand soothingly on her back, murmuring apologies into her hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Ellie, I’m sorry. It’s okay, it's- We’re out. We’re okay.”

It’s a painfully private moment, one that he feels guilty for witnessing. The girl - Ellie, sobs into Danny’s chest. It isn’t his place to watch, to witness this. All the same, he wishes he could comfort them somehow. 

[fuzzandfeathers]

This comic takes place during Seeing Stars while Blitz and Stolas are on their way to the studio!

Hope you enjoyed! Mild art ranting below the cut 😂

I had to drag this piece kicking and screaming over the finish line. When I first got the idea and started working on it, I had a very different rendering approach I was experimenting with. I finished the entire comic in that style then immediately decided I hated it 😂 I liked the lines for the most part, but not enough to keep, so in the end I just... redrew the entire thing using the original as a reference (don't do what I do). And still this comic irks me. From a technical perspective I actually like it quite a bit; I'm satisfied with the way I drew Blitz and Stolas, at the very least. But in terms of what the comic evokes(?) I'm not not 100% happy with it (or even 90%). It's like a 'this art doesn't make me feel what I wanted it to make me feel' type of dissatisfaction, which is, unfortunately, kinda tough to resolve. I'm a big believer in embracing your failures (and in moving on when frustration is no longer serving you) so this was getting posted no matter how it turned out and eventually I'd run out of desire to work on it further. But I still wanted to let some of these feelings out because it's been awhile since art made me feel that way! And I think it's nice to let other people see the artist perspective sometimes even when it isn't totally positive. On the bright side, it was fun to experiment with a lot of things in this piece! Also this comic was actually finished weeks ago and I've already moved to a better place with my art. This kind of frustration is usually a precursor to growth anyways, so it's best to just be patient and ride it out 😌 Hope this little rant wasn't too much of a downer! The last thing I want is to take away people's enjoyment of the art by being too critical of myself <3 Here's a little peek at the original style! In retrospect, it actually wasn't that bad, I'm just more a fan of the starker, un-rendered look I eventually went with:

[lilianne-tarot]

Pick-A-Card: What Makes People Secretly Jealous of You✧˖°.

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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✰ For personalized 18+ readings, click here!

✰ My Ko-fi link: here 🫶🏻

✰ My Masterlist🫶🏻

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE I

cards pulled: 5 of swords, 4 of swords, page of wands, 6 of swords, knight of swords, 3 of swords

Okay PILE 1, UHM… instantly, you’re giving main character energy in a way that intimidates the sh*t out of people. Like you’re not even trying to be the center of attention, but somehow you always are? You enter a space and people are like, “Who do they think they are?” while also copying your stuff three days later. You walk with a silent type of confidence, very “don’t test me” energy. People sense you’ve had hard times, and even if they don’t know the details, they can feel it. You’ve got this inner toughness that’s kind of scary hot tbh. Your vibe is a whole psychological thriller. Like, folks don’t know whether to admire you, kiss you, or block you for their own emotional safety 😂

You probably learned the HARD way not to overshare. You likely had friendships that ended weirdly, conversations that drained you, people who twisted your words. And now? You’ve mastered the art of being unreadable but piercingly observant. This group is in their “🧠 > 🤡” era( I SAID WHAT I SAID😭) . You don’t argue. You just watch, process, distance yourself, and transform yourself in silence. THIS. This is the part that has people frothing. You’re unbothered. People can literally throw tantrums, shade, or even subtle digs at you, and you’ll be doing your own shit and minding your own mental health. You’re the kind of person who pulls back, protects their peace, and doesn't give people the satisfaction of a reaction. And bestie, THAT is maddening to people who need chaos to feel relevant. You choosing silence? You choosing yourself? You resting instead of people-pleasing? People cannot handle how you don’t chase or cling or overexplain. Your energy says, “If you cross me, I’ll just go leave, idc.” And that’s more threatening than any clapback. Them not feeling worthy enough is what piss them off

Ugh, I love this for you 😭 i sense this is youthful fire. Like, your curiosity, your passion, your spark, it’s infectious. Even when you’re figuring life out, you make it look like an adventure. People wish they had your sense of excitement, your ability to find beauty in the unknown, your passion projects, your spontaneous glow-up moments. You still believe in magic, and you chase it. People see that in you and lowkey get anxious sometimes which in turn leads to anxiety. You remind them of who they used to be or who they wish they were. You’re like their inner child’s inspiration and trigger at the same damn time 😭

 If you ask how this jealousy shows up? Okay bestie, here’s the deal, they LEAVEEE. that's it....Like, people who get too jealous of you will slowly drift, ghost, or distance themselves. And it’s not because you did anything. Nope. It’s literally because your energy is a mirror, you unintentionally expose what they’re running from in themselves. So when someone exits your life out of nowhere? It's not always shade. It’s often that your growth, your self-protection, your refusal to settle… it gets too loud for their comfort. And some of them might even act like you’re "too much" or “hard to connect with” but that’s just projection, babe. They’re mad you're moving on, moving forward, and not looking back.

AND THIS is your sign to stop holding back. You’ve got things to say. Projects to create. Movements to spark. Opinions to express. And the universe is screaming at you to stop playing nice just to make insecure people feel comfy. You’re meant to lead. You’ve got clarity that cuts through the fluff, and people NEED that. You’re not here to be palatable; you’re here to be powerful.

Okay  big hug 🤍 because this tells me your power didn’t come from sunshine and luck, alteast not always. It came from heartbreak, betrayal, disappointment. Like… people don’t get that your confidence is built on grief. You’ve transmuted pain into power. And while they’re busy watching your highlight reel, they have no idea you cried yourself into this version of you. That’s the hidden jealousy no one talks about, how you kept going when others would’ve collapsed. That’s the real intimidation.

 I’m getting an oddly specific message: some people from your past (school friends? old internet mutuals?) STILL stalk you online. Like, they swear they don’t care, but they’re obsessed with the way you keep evolving. I even saw someone in my mind writing a note like “they always bounce back.” LMAO not them studying you😭

Stay sharp, baby. You’re meant to trigger AND inspire 💅🔥

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE II

cards pulled: the world, 9 of pentacles, ace of pentacles, ace of wands, queen of wands, 3 of swords

OMG okay wait PILE 2??! Babe… you’re not even walking into rooms, you’re making whole room shift when you show up (okay maybe a little exaggeration but i feel that way so i said it) 💀 but honestly, to me, This pile is aura-too-bright-for-this-world energy. The cards here?? ICONIC. 

So right off the bat, with The World as your “vibe that catches attention instantly,” I audibly gasped. No, seriously ’m seeing someone who’s got that complete package aura. Like… when you walk into a space, people instantly sense that you’ve seen life, evolved, and you’re not here to play. You feel like someone who's been through seasons, leveled up through pain, and came out looking expensive, composed, and unbothered. There’s this whole “I’ve arrived” energy that surrounds you. It's not cocky it’s earned.

And paired with Nine of Pentacles + Ace of Pentacles + Ace of Wands + Queen of Wands, like… WHAT EVEN IS THIS POWER COMBO?? Bestie, you are literally the embodiment of “I’m secured, unshakable” I’m seeing you as someone who might have had to glow up alone. People ditched you during your struggle era.People are so jealous because you make independence look luxurious. And this isn’t fake rich aesthetic energy, it’s like… you actually worked for the stability you have now. Financial glow-up? Check. Confidence glow-up? Check. ENERGY glow-up? Baby, it’s off the charts. For people who havent yet received any of these, just wait lovelies, you are soon reaching that level! You come off as someone who doesn’t need anyone, but also, anyone would kill to be needed by you. your creative spark is lit as hell right now. You probably have 10 ideas swirling in your head at any moment. You’re the kind of person who creates something new out of nothing, and just have oodly specific magnetic quality. People can’t stop watching you like they’re not even sure why they’re drawn to you, but they are. You might post the most random thing on social media and get a hundred saves. It’s THAT type of energy. You intimidate people without trying. You could be in sweats and people are still clocking you like, “Who is THAT?” You walk in like a flame in a room full of plastic candles. I’m not gonna lie some folks deadass want your confidence, your glow, your ability to just own yourself. And they try to copy it, but it doesn’t hit the same because theirs is curated. Yours? Authentic AF.

BUT THEN… BOOM. We get hit with Three of Swords and oof. That changes the whole flavor of this pile. This is the secret ingredient in your power. People don’t realize that the reason you shine so hard now is because you had to crawl through heartbreak, betrayal, rejection, and emotional hell just to find your light again. Like, this is NOT surface-level sadness. This is “I had to rebuild my damn self when everyone left” energy. Your glow comes from grief you survived. Your confidence was carved out of loss. And people feel that even if they don’t consciously get it.

Let’s talk about how this jealousy shows up in behavior. Some people act fake supportive. You’ll notice them almost hyping you up, but it’s giving “I’m clapping, but I’m also watching to see when you fall.” Others might straight up ghost you the moment you succeed at something. Like, why is it crickets when you’re winning?? 😭 Some people are so triggered by your glow-up they pretend they don’t see it. You’ll post something huge and they’ll scroll past like they’re blind, but you know they saw it. Oh, they saw it. They’re LURKING. I’m picking up on past friends or even family members who remember you before you knew your worth, are mostly jealous. They don’t know how to deal with you now that you’ve stepped into your power. Also I’m feeling online strangers too. People who watch you, feel inferior, and try to tear you down in petty ways, shady energy, maybe even copying you to feel closer to your vibe. But it never lands right. Because your essence? It’s not copy-paste.

Babe… you’re not meant to be digestible to everyone. Your energy is big, your aura is blinding, and not everyone has the emotional range to celebrate that. Some people will see your light and clap. Others will squint and get mad that it hurts their eyes. That’s not your problem. The World card is reminding you: you’ve already completed one of the hardest chapters. You don’t need external validation. You ARE the moment. Keep planting those seeds (Ace of Pentacles), chase that inspiration (Ace of Wands), stay in your fiery power (Queen of Wands), and remember you’re glowing because you healed through hell. And that’s the real flex.

People aren't just jealous of what you have. they're haunted by the fact that nothing could break you.

Liked the reading? get your own personalized, super detailed reading HERE!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE III

Cards Pulled: ace of cups, 9 of wands, judgement, 10 of cups, the sun

OH BABY. PILE 3??? This one has me emotional chaos in the best way possible, like, I’m laughing, crying, cheering you on, and lowkey feeling jealous myself 😭✨ There’s just something so undeniably rare about your energy, and I’m gonna be real with you, people don’t just notice you… they get emotionally activated by you. 

So right off the bat we open with the Ace of Cups as your “vibe that catches attention instantly.” GIRL. The softness. The emotional depth. The actual divine femininity (this quality is not restricted to one gender, it’s about the energy here) . People sense that your heart is open, your energy is healing, and you’ve got this naturally receptive, magnetic glow that pulls people in like you’re the human version of a warm hug and a deep exhale. You give off big “safe space” energy but also romantic, ethereal, dreamy vibes. It’s like… being around you makes people want to open up, cry, confess their life story and then fall in love with you. You’re that person.

And that’s exactly why the Nine of Wands shows up next because people have no idea how hard you’ve worked to stay this soft. You’ve been through so much emotional wounding, maybe abandonment, betrayal, family drama, heartbreak but instead of turning bitter, you became even more radiant. Bestie, you are literally the definition of a wounded healer. Your boundaries are firm now, but you still love so hard. You protect your peace(AS YOU SHOULD), but you’ve also never lost that softness. THAT is your power. You didn’t get cold. You got clear.

Now here’s the fun part: people are jealous as hell of your emotional fulfillment and the fact that you are so deeply in tune with yourself and others. The Ten of Cups and The Sun together?. This is “I’m manifesting the life of my dreams and I will protect my joy with my whole damn soul” energy. Whether or not you have the full picture yet (some of you may still be building it), people look at you and feel like: “Ugh. They’ve got it all.” The dream relationships. The emotional clarity. That sense of “I know what I want, and I will not settle for less.” That triggers people who feel lost, disconnected, or stuck in superficiality.

THIS is the energy that freaks people out the most. Because it’s the card of awakening. You’re someone who constantly reinvents yourself, levels up, and literally triggers people’s consciousness. Like, someone will meet you and a week later be in an existential crisis just from how your energy reflected back all the places they’re asleep in their own life. You don’t even need to say much, your presence alone forces people to confront their emotional blind spots. It’s that deep.

Let’s talk about how this jealousy actually shows up in behavior, because oh honey, it’s sneaky. Some people will love-bomb you at first. They’ll worship you, obsess over you, and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them. But as soon as they realize they can’t match your depth or keep up with your light? Boom. They either ghost you, emotionally shut down, or try to project their pain onto you. Some may even subtly compete with you emotionally, like copying your vibe but making it weirdly performative. Others might act overly critical of your emotions like “you’re too sensitive” or “too idealistic” but deep down? They wish they could feel as deeply and freely as you. I’m picking up on exes, old crushes, emotionally unavailable people, and even spiritually bypassing fake-deep people. They once had access to your love, your softness, your radiance, and now they’re haunted by the fact that they fumbled you. Also, I feel like some parents or authority figures might’ve been emotionally intimidated by how “different” you were growing up. Maybe you felt misunderstood for being so dreamy or sensitive. But look at you now turning your heart into a damn superpower.

Do not water down your light or dim your joy to make others comfortable. The Sun says your happiness is holy. You’re meant to shine, radiate, and live in color, even if that makes other people squint. And Judgement is reminding you: keep rising. Every time you outgrow your old self, people will fall off, and that’s okay. They were never meant to go where you’re headed. Your emotional depth isn’t a weakness. it’s what makes you a fckin force of nature. Keep protecting your peace, pouring love into people who deserve it, and curating a life that feels like poetry. The right ones will meet you there. You’re not just powerful because of your light, you’re powerful because you chose your light after walking through hell. And people will always be a little salty about that.

So go ahead and keep shining, crybaby angel warrior 😭💛 You’ve earned every drop of your joy.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!