#except it’s more like 12 mutuals

[estrellami-1]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

Thanks @nburkhardt!! ❤️

1. Are you named after anyone? No? I don’t think so at least

2. When was the last time you cried? Well I laughed to the point of tears about 2 hours ago… other than that… I legitimately Do Not Know. I don’t cry a whole bunch. Just kinda tend to explode when it all gets to be too much 🙃

3. Do you have kids? I don’t have any of my own lol, not yet, but I nanny an adorable one-year-old and a slightly cantankerous three-year-old.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Pshh, what, me? No, never! How dare you assume such a thing.

5. What sports do you play/have you played? Ballet when I was 3. Other than that nothing 😂

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? Honestly it changes from person to person. The Chicken Express employee? Their pink & black hair. A manchild in front of me at Walmart? The fact that he was wearing a belt yet if he hadn’t been wearing underwear (red) I would’ve been able to see his asshole. (Some people, I swear to God.)

7. What’s your eye color? Brown 🤎

8. Scary movies or happy endings? I hate scary movies, honestly. Happy endings all the way!

9. Any special talents? I don’t think so? I’m kinda a jack of all trades, master of none lol. Though I am a pretty decent shot with a rifle even though I’ve only been to the range once. That’s nice. I was definitely channeling my inner Winter Soldier/Black Widow. 😂 and I can make a mean steak! Honestly I cook a FEAST for my family (6 of us) every time I make steak lol. I do potatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, spinach, and cherry tomatoes too. (The garlic, spinach & cherry tomatoes are thrown into the pan I used for the steaks. It’s heavenly.)

10. Where were you born? Texas, born ‘n’ raised, y’all! I don’t have a southern accent. I started saying ‘y’all’ ironically and I regret it because it’s now part of my daily speech. Actually my family is from Spain and Argentina, with quite a bit of Italian mixed in. I don’t know what that means, accent-wise, but three years ago the Walmart pharmacist complimented my pronunciation and I will never forget that.

11. What are your hobbies? Cooking, reading, writing, playing music, crocheting, sewing… essentially any form of art that you won’t find in a museum 😅 I’m no good at any of that. I also like dancing, though I don’t do it enough to call it a hobby, I think.

12. Do you have pets?

His name is Gus ❤️ (technically he’s my sister’s but we’re ignoring that since we all live in the same house.) technically she also has a fish and 2 Guinea pigs but Gus is mostly all of ours.

13. How tall are you? I like to say I’m 5’ 1” on a good day. 😂

14. Favorite subject in school? Well I’m an English major so… 😂

15. Dream job? Christ I dunno. Scrolling Tumblr all day? Can I just get paid for this? Because that would be fantastic. Thanks, y’all.

This was a lot of fun! Tagging @madigoround @thatonegreyghost @ghosttotheparty @onearmedlegend @justforthedead89 @every-aj-needs-an-angel @mickalaem @ilovecupcakesandtea @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @artiststarme @piratefishmama and whoever else wants to do it! ❤️ (shhh ignore the fact I didn’t tag 15)

[x-for-a-y]

"Hey, Jake! Would ya help a curious guy out and answer a question for me?" Guptill hits him with a smile- one landing more on the side of appraising than friendly, but hell if he's one to judge people's social skills. "What landed you in this diary anyway?"

Now there's something Jake hasn't given thought to in a hot minute. "Oh, it was... weird. Like, uh, not explained very well." But here he is trying to do it anyway. "I just was on... the night shift at my job, and a client's, uh, wife, said some weird stuff to me. I wasn't even trying to be funny, but... then I guess word got out about that-"

He's heard enough. "That's it? He got mad at you over just a workplace incident?"

"I don't know if 'mad' is really the word for it." He's a teenager or something, right? He probably knows nothing about insurance.

Guptill's indignation is so righteous it somehow slips right around into being charismatic. "Still, that's nothing! Boy, it really drives me up the wall the way people make mountains out of molehills."

Jake extends a lazy glance from side to side, calling attention to their surroundings too subtly to do much good. "I'll say," whenever he has anything worth saying.

[the-mehlwurm]

dude its fucking weird that I'm sometimes (if the wind is right, I guess) able to hear the s-bahn. I am not even sure if it's from adlershof or neukölln. But i hear it. And I am far enough that that shouldn't be able to happen. What the actual hell.

[hmusunoo]

𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒!

(✶) - smut

(♥) - series

ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴇᴛɪqᴜᴇᴛᴛᴇ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) (✶) - @simpjaes

▏Park Sunghoon is not dull, nor is he the clean cut neighbor your mother thinks he is. Oh, the horrors of if she found out that the man she set you up on this date with immediately took you home and rendered you unable to walk...he'd never be able to defend himself without a swift slap to the head.

ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴇx ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ! (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) (✶) - @munivrse

▏phone sex. kinda public. mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding, face fucking, degradation & praise sandwiches, reader cums once, sunghoon is a whore so he cums twice.

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ (ꜱ. ᴊʏ) (✶) - @heehoonies

▏you and sim jaeyun have been academic rivals for as long as you can remember, competing intensely to beat the other in every class you've ever shared. for years, you've hidden your feelings for him, burying them deep down where jake can't find them, and you're hellbent on ensuring he never discovers your secret.

ʏᴏᴜ % ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ (ʟ. ʜꜱ) - @postalenha

▏heeseung’s new gaming console has been a hinder to your relationship. but you know better, and tries to understand that he’s just enjoying the new equipment he worked so hard to have.

ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇɴɢᴇʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ (ꜱ. ᴊʏ) (✶) - @cupcakedkiss

▏Your boyfriends job was dangerous, you knew this. Putting his life at risk every night at exactly 12 am had never been ordinary to you, thus never stopping you from being his passenger princess.

ꜱᴀꜱꜱʏ (ᴘ. ᴊꜱ) - @jaysng

▏jay trying to re-gain his drama queen daughter’s attention after she got mad at him.

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ (ᴘ. ᴊꜱ) (✶) - @ja3yun

▏visiting your tax fraudulent dad in prison and nothing was new, except the boy being carted in to the police station in cuffs. when you follow your connection on a reckless whim, it opens you up to a world filled with crime, love, and realisations about who you are.

ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) (✶) - @i2sunric

▏just like eva did in the garden of eden, you fell under the serpent's court and now are under his spell. you knew you shouldn't betray your boyfriend, jake, like that when he was (not) so right for you, but seeing that he spent more time out for work made you seek the love and affection you needed, and who if not sunghoon could give you what you deserved?

ᴍᴇʟᴛɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) (✶) (♥) - @ja3yun

▏when circumstances unexpectedly bring you and your brother's long-time ice skating rival, park sunghoon, together, you discover a surprising connection. However, your brother forbids any relationship between you. Will you heed his advice or follow your heart?

ꜰᴀʟʟᴇɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀ (ꜱ. ᴊʏ) (✶) (♥) - @h5eavenly

▏after being fired and blacklisted from the entertainment industry your life is on the verge of falling apart. An opportunity arises to save you when you get a job offer to work as a personal assistant for ex lead singer of the rock band PARANOIA! and now turned model, nicknamed the nation’s sweetheart- Jake Sim. However his image crumbles quickly when you discover he’s nothing but the devil in disguise.

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) - @stllmnstr

▏After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴄᴇ (ꜱ. ᴊʏ) - @jaylver

▏Punching a guy in the club then kissing him not long after at a hockey game wasn't exactly a fairytale, but for you, it was your reality. The worst part of all it wasn't even the incidents that happened, but the fact that you didn't know him or his name. That was until another stir of events that happened which caused you and him to actually meet, so what was the best way to break the ice after a disastrous punch and a shocking kiss together? A date. It could be love at first sight, or more accurately, it was love at first punch, or … kiss?

disclaimer - if any of the mentioned authors do not wish to be on this list and want to be removed please dm me and ill remove it! This is just a appreciation post (:

[etfrin]

❝ ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ worries — coriolanus snow ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ ❞

☆　Warning: NSFW | pinv sex, creampie, cum eating, blowjob, orgasm control, overstimulation, loss of virginity (m.), handjob, mutual masterbation (each other) if you squint, riding, spit play, breath play, reader has fem! anatomy, mentions of blood & blood sucking (from a lip bite)| lmk if I forgot anything

☆　Pairing: afab/gn! soft dom(-ish)! Reader x sub(-ish)! virgin! Coriolanus Snow

☆　Summary: uhm, you take Snows' virginity <3

☆　A/N: first time writing gn reader, please be respectful and tell me if anything's wrong, but don't be mean about it and i finally wrote reader spitting in Coryos' mouth and it should be a regular thing, look AT him ugh, a meal fr, wanna eat him, suck off all of his cu- i should stop...

Ps. The one who requested this to be gn, i hope you like this and i did it justice, if there's anything wrong (like accidentally refering to the reader as fem) then please let me knw :)

| masterlist | taglist |

“You've never done this before?” You questioned as you entered his room. All cold and dusty stone with a bed on the corner. The bed in which you plan to do unspeakable things with him.

“No, he said, “Will that be a-” You shake your head as you see his wide blue eyes waiting for rejection. He hated that he brought you here. He hated that you saw him. Him. Not Coriolanus Snow from the academy but Coryo who tries and tries but gets fucked over anyway.

After finding out that the District 12 girl was his, he wanted to protest, he was being set up to fail. You saw him for he is, his mind filled with worries, endless thoughts running around making him unable to breathe. He felt invalid and he needed you to do something about it.

And as you notice him among the crowd, seduce him with your eyes and whisper your desires to him. He brings you to the penthouse, trying to control the urge to apologize as you have to walk 12 cases of stairs.

You knew his secret like the dean did but you didn't do anything about it except for the meals and clothes sent to him anonymously during the coldest nights of Panem but he didn't know that.

You walked towards him, pinning him to the door of his room with a gentle thud. “You don't have to worry about anything, princess,” you whispered to him, your eyes filled with lust and your lips twisted in a teasing smile. You run your finger over his sharp jaw, taking joy when a soft gasp comes from him. His breathing is getting faster and the blood rushing from his cock and his head turning empty from your simple touch.

You were going to have some fun with this boy. You're going to make him yours. Make him forget and help him through everything as his now serrah. Even if it means rigging the games so he would win. It's your job to care for him now and you're a perfectionist.

The first task, let the wide-eyed man feel pleasure in someone's touch for the first time. You tsk in dissatisfaction as your fingers feel his bony chest. He needs to eat, he needs to be pampered. ‘I'll have to fix that’, you thought as you pressed your lips on his collarbone. He lets out a breath, his body heating up from the kisses you plant on his chest. Your tongue teasing his nipple causes him to whimper and you earn a broken moan when your teeth decide to nip the bud.

You suck his nipple, savoring the gasp he makes and how his fingers wove into your hair. “Please. Please more,” he groans and who are you to deny him? You couldn't say no to his pretty face even if you didn't want to. So you get down on your knees, pushing your face into his crotch and you swear you could smell the heady scent of his pre-cum soaking through his trousers. You moan, deciding to tease him as you use your teeth to pull down his zipper. You'll never know the will it took for Coriolanus not to cum right then and there.

You take down his trousers, the line of his hard cock clear in his boxes, a wet spot of his pre-cum formed where the tip is. You decided not to tease him words but with actions, your tongue licks the wetness, letting your saliva sweep into the fabric along with his salty pre. He groans above you, a thud echoing into this room as the back of his head hits the door.

You set his cock free from its confines, your mouth watering as you look at the pink tip forming a bead of pearly white pre-cum. The tip of your tongue catches it and the pleasure (or torture) of Coriolanus Snow begins.

You start simply, teasingly as your lips trail sloppy wet kisses all over his length. Your tongue traces along the pretty veins of his cock, your lips reaching his base and mouthing his cock causing him to let out a needy whine and a plea of more, more and more. You repeat the process until you catch his cockhead inside of the carven of your warm, wet mouth. Another broken groan leaves his mouth as he sees your lips stretch around his mushroom tip.

The fingers of his curled in your hair tightens and as a warning you make your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs causing him to his and immediately loosen his grip on you. An apology falls from his lips, his eyes glossing over as he feels his dick getting wet. Your mouth begins to suck his tip. Your tongue savors the bitterness of him as you swirl your tongue around his slit, lapping up as much as possible.

Meanwhile, Snow was biting his lower lip as hard as possible, the blood pooling in his mouth as he tried to keep much of his sound quiet for the sake of others who might be home. His mind was blank, all he could think was how pretty you looked on your knees like this, how you took control despite the one kneeling. You didn't even take all of him, sucking his cockhead diligently but the rest of his cock was left out. He was glad that did so because he knew he couldn't take the hot, wet mouth of yours all over his cock without cumming on the spot.

He could feel himself venture too close to spilling inside of your mouth, he let his free hand venture down to the path and he gripped the base of his cock trying to ruin his upending orgasm.

You take your mouth off him, making him let out a desperate whimper as he feels his dick out of your warm carven. You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling utterly amused by how adorable he is. You kiss his tip. “Trying to last longer, baby?” You questioned with a teasing tilt in your voice.

“I don't want to” Snow can't admit the fact he doesn't want to cum so soon, it's embarrassing so he says it in different terms, “I want this to last.” His eyes were now fully blown with lust, his curls clinging to his forehead and his cheeks painted red with pleasure.

“Hmm,” you hum, standing up trying to ignore the slight ache of your knees. You take his hand, guiding the boy to bed before pushing him on the mattress. You straddle him, his shirt was long forgotten on the floor along with the rest of his clothes. It was your turn now and you quickly did the same. Coryo lets out a needy soft noise as your skin is exposed to his eyes, his fingers skimming along the curves of your body. “Can I?” He asked, his eyes begging for your agreement.

“Yes, Coryo. You can,” you permit him and you nearly let out a wanton moan as the heat of his fingertips sweeps into your skin, warming you up as his hands experimentally begin to knead your breasts. His fingers squeeze your nipples making you softly moan near his ear. “That's it, baby. Make me feel good.” You whispered to him, “A bit rougher- ah- ah- there you go. That's a good boy.”

His hips jolt forward when you praise him and a whine escapes from the back of his throat. “Please,” he lets out, “Let me feel you. I will be good, I promise.” You gaze wonders at his angry red tip and you decide not to play with him any further for the moment. You kiss his forehead for a moment of vulnerability in all of this tension. “Okay, my prince,” you whispered as you kissed his lips next, letting your tongues meet in a rather filthy and sloppy kiss as you let him guide you to your back on the mattress.

His hand traces down and gets a hold of your hips, his fingers squeezing the flesh a tad too hard but it felt so good and the fact he would leave marks didn't bother you. Your fingers wove into his blonde strands, bringing him down to catch his lips in an open mouth kiss. As your other hand is on his shoulder, his body pressed onto yours and you moan into his mouth as you feel his comforting weight on top of you. His dick twitched against your thigh, leaking pre-cum onto your skin.

You take in his bleeding bottom lip in your mouth and suck on it, enjoying the tang of the metallic taste on his tongue as he clumsily begins to press his cockhead into your soaking cunt. You were so focused on Coriolanus that you had forgotten about your aching cunt begging to be stretched with his cock.

If it hadn't felt so good when his cock slid right in because of how wet you were, you would have been embarrassed. You bite into his lower lip, trying to adjust to the burn of being stretched by his thick cock. If you weren't so impatient, you would have taught Coryo how to prep you first but that's for another day.

Coryo feels your teeth sinking into his bottom lip and a wanton, surprised moan leaves his mouth, his balls emptying and thick spurts of his cum flood into your pussy. You cry out as you feel his cock cumming against your pulsating walls. He buried his head onto your shoulder as he gasped his apology. As much as frustration filled your mind, you knew that you had to be gentle with your plaything.

You run your fingers through his hair, comforting him. “It's fine,” you whispered, your lips placing soft kisses on his shoulder. “But I don't want it to be over,” he admitted, shyness and desperation filling in his tone. “It doesn't have to be,” you replied as you squeeze your walls around his softening cock. A wicked smile plays on your lips, as you whisper, “It isn't over until I say so.”

He nods, willing to agree with whatever you say. You pushed him off you, getting yourself on top of him as his soft cock fully slips out of your pussy, leaving the entrance pushing out of his cum. Your fingers gather his seed and you pop your digits into your mouth, your tongue lapping up his taste off your fingertips. His dick twitches from the sight, coming back to life as Coryo lets out a whine while he looks at you sucking your fingers so good with your mouth hollow.

You take his length in your hand, fingers surrounding the girth in a perfect fist. He hissed when you squeezed and began to stroke him slowly. Trying your best not to overwhelm him and failing miserably because tears were pooling in his eyes, his lips were parted to leave wounded, pretty sounds. His fingers curled on the bed sheets as you stroke his cock back to life.

You lean to press another kiss to the tip, your eyes peering at his teary ones. “You sure?” You asked, you had to pat his cheek for an answer because all that left his mouth as you questioned was a whimper.

“Do you want to continue, Coryo?” You asked, in the softest tone possible. Your mind is ready to cuddle him for aftercare and draw a shower. But instead, he shakes his head, “Don't please- I need this.”

“Okay, I won't,” you whispered back, your lips pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, and then let the kisses trail until you reach his neck where his pulse is. Your mouth begins to suck as you continue to stroke his length, your fist now covered with his drooling pre-cum, a bit more watery than before.

Your free hand goes to your cunt, your fingers rubbing your clit to feel some relief from your aching pussy. Coriolanus notices that and can't help but feel bad. His fingers wrapped around your wrist stopping your movements, a silent question in his eyes and you removed your hand in answer.

A giddiness could be seen in Coryos as he explores your cunt for the first time. You get into a position where it is easier for you both to play with each other. He spreads your pussy lips, his eyes taking in your glistening cunt (with your juices and his cum). He swipes at your folds, gathering the wetness all over his digits, and you encourage him to take the digits in his mouth, and of course, he agrees.

He will do anything to get his head empty and his body to be jelly. So he takes his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue lick every remnant of your juices and his bitter cum. He groans, his eyes getting cross stared and his cock begins to throb dangerously in your end. He was close to the edge again by such a simple thing.

‘Cute’ you thought, but you don't want him to cum again without getting something in return. So you stopped the strokes, ignoring his confusion, and pleas for more. Instead, you guide yourself on his cock again, your eyes flashing to him with a warning that despite the gentleness you had shown, you could be cruel too.

Yet when you sink on his cock, you make sure to hold his hand, fingers intertwined for comfort. You murmur endless praises to him.

“That's a good boy.” “Look at you filling me up so well.” “Ah- fuck, baby. Your cock is stretching me out perfectly.”

Each praise made his cock throb against your pulsating walls. This time he didn't cum immediately, but the jolt of electricity that went through his veins when both of your pelvis bones were touching, now joined to the hilt felt like he did. You take the hand you were holding and kiss the inside of your wrist with butterfly kisses.

These simple actions of yours were overwhelming to him. No one had cared for him so delicately like he was glass. It meant everything to him and a rush of emotions caused tears to begin to flow from his eyes.

You chalked his crying to overstimulation and leaned forward to kiss his eyelids. “It's okay,” you whispered against his ear, “It's okay, Coryo.” You let out a soft moan as you begin to move your hips. Slow and shallow thrusts. You hear him groan too, his hand squeezing yours. His free hand on your ass, groping the flesh.

“That's a good boy,” you whispered when you began to speed up your rocking hips making Coriolanus gasp. “You're doing so well, my dear,” you praised him. You moan as your hips find the perfect angle to hit the spongy spot in your gummy walls.

You begin to ride Coryo in earnest. His cock stroked the deepest part of your slick walls with each thrust. It makes you see stars with each breath you take. It was perfect and you made sure that Snow knew that with your hushed praises. Meanwhile, Coriolanus wasn't better off either with molten lava in his body, his mind now blank with how good getting dick wet felt.

He never understood the hype about sex but now he was addicted. He was sure he was going to need you like air, like a puppy going for a pet to its owner for comfort. He was going to need you after this, again and again.

He was close, wanting to cum again, he could feel how wet your walls were and wondered if it was your juices or his own that contributed to it the most. He was close so he voiced that. “I am-” he closed his eyes, feeling the burn of embarrassment, “Close.”

You hum in response, stopping your movements to catch a much-needed breath. “You're not allowed to cum until I say so, pretty boy,” you said with authority, “I let it go the first time, now I expect you to behave.” You add, “You'll cum with my permission or else. . .” You smirk, “You're a smart boy, Coryo. You wouldn't like punishment, would you?”

Coriolanus shakes his head, he sniffs and you find it adorable how his nose scrunches up that it makes you smile at him. “I will be good, I promise,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

You give him a nod. You leaned down to kiss his lips, both of your tongues tangling together into something soft. Your hand leaves the grip it had on his hand to wrap itself around his neck. He moans inside your mouth as you put a bit of pressure onto his neck, not restricting his breathing but certainly making him light-headed. It worked as a good distraction.

Your free hand goes between your bodies and you find your clit. Your fingers begin to play with the bud. Small circles send jolts of pleasure to your core, making your cunt tighten around his dick. It made his hip snap back into yours, a deep groan resounding in the room as his hips began to thrust into you. Just small movements of sheer desperation of wanting to cum.

You were feeling the same, desperation clawing your body as the tension keeps building and building each time his cockhead grazes your g-spot. You were so close and everything turned sloppy.

Two animals in heat it seemed with how the two of you were acting. Your fingers pinch your clit as you begin to rock on his cock faster than ever, deep groans leaving Coryo's lips and his hands holding onto your hips to ground him as he takes whatever you give.

He was pussy drunk, his eyes glazed over and mouth drooling on the corners. You were pathetic enough to lick the saliva, holding his jaw open as you gathered your spit inside your mouth and then you let the goop of drool fall onto his tongue.

You thought for a moment this would snap him out from his fucked out glaze, except he swallowed it without a word, his hips stuttering in the pace and he mutters, his lips glistening, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” And god, that ruined you.

Your cunt begins to spasm around his cock, flexing walls around his length causing him to cry out for permission to let go and you yell out a yes. Liquidy spurts of cum begin to shoot out of his tip and inside your womb. Both of you let out a moan as the thrusts begin to slow down and cease.

As soon as you catch your breath and your body feels solidified, you caress his cheek. “Would you like to cuddle, baby?”

The answer to that was a breathless yes.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964

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@sushirollie @poppyflower-22 @dilucpegg3r @sleepysongbirdsings

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶"Can I kiss you?"✶

NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+

chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date

Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.

It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.

Oh, he remembered it all.

And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.

The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.

He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.

He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.

Oh, God.

His knees went weak.

Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.

“Good morning, hand—Oh?”

Eddie froze.

You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.

“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”

His lips parted.

Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.

Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.

Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.

“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.

“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.

“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”

Salvation reigned upon him.

Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”

In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.

“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”

Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.

You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.

“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”

As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.

Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 

The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.

You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.

He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”

“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”

A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”

“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”

You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.

Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.

“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”

He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”

By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.

Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.

————

It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.

You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.

Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)

              YES    or   NO

ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?

              YES    or   NO

By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.

Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.

You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.

(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)

Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.

You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.

Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.

The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.

“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”

Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”

“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.

“Never, never,” he promised.

Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.

“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.

There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.

The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.

Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.

what did you have in mind?

I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.

  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU

    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME

       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE

PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?

Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.

In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.

“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”

“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.

All night? He wished.

Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”

“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.

The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.

sounds perfect :)

YOURE PERFECT =)

For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.

Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.

————

Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.

“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”

There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”

“Rob,” you groaned.

“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.

The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”

Oh dear God get me out of here.

Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..

The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.

His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.

And yet?

Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.

You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.

“Hey there, sweetness.”

“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.

Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.

You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”

“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”

“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”

Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.

“Is that so strange?”

“It’s a little strange.”

“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.

What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.

He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.

Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.

“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.

You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”

“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”

The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.

It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.

The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.

So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.

“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”

So, no Adrie, and no uncle.

“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.

Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.

Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.

He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.

Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.

Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.

Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.

Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.

Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”

Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.

Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.

“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”

His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.

Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.

“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”

Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.

Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.

The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.

Right?

You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?

..Right?

Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.

The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.

“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.

“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.

Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.

Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.

He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.

“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.

“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.

“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”

“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”

You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”

“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”

Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.

Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.

“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.

Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.

“Sweet!”

Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.

“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”

You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”

His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”

Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.

“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”

You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.

Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.

Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.

Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.

The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.

Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”

And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.

He nodded.

Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.

He shifted. You shifted.

The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.

“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”

During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.

You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”

The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.

“And awkward.”

“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.

Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.

Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.

“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.

Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.

Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”

It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”

“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”

As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.

This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”

But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.

Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.

You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.

An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.

“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”

His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”

“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.

He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.

He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?

Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.

A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?

That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.

“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.

Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”

You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.

“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.

Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.

Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.

You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”

Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.

At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?

~~~

The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.

Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”

“You should name a character after him in DND.”

“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”

With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.

He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”

“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”

Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.

You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.

You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.

He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”

Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”

He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.

“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”

“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”

“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”

It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.

“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”

A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.

If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”

Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

How sweet.

It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..

Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.

At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.

“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”

Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.

“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”

“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”

He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.

The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.

You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—

He dropped his gaze to your lips.

Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?

Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.

Was the unspoken language shouting now?

Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”

You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.

The floor beneath him creaked.

Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.

The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.

Briefly, you considered uttering his name.

The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.

Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.

He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”

Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”

Well, at least you could always make him laugh.

~~~

Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.

Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.

Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.

The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.

You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.

Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.

“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.

You were stunned at the effort.

The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.

Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.

“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”

His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.

As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.

“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.

When they came to a rest, you both sighed.

“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”

Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”

You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.

Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.

Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..

Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.

He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.

“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.

His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.

Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.

“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.

Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.

The pressure to continue conversation waned.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.

While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.

Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.

Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.

Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.

Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.

The air was thick with awareness.

You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.

He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.

Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..

Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?

Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?

What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?

Shit.

While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.

The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.

Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—

You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”

Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.

You remembered you remembered you remembered—

“If you adore me so much..” you added.

Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.

Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.

He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.

You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.

Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.

His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.

The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.

You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”

He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.

He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”

You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.

Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.

Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”

“Eddie—”

The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.

Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.

Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.

Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.

Hums lowered into a depraved moan.

The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.

There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.

Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.

He really did worry too much.

Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.

You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”

The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.

“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.

For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.

Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.

Just let go.

He listened.

As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.

He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.

Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.

He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.

But it wasn’t scary.

It was slow and steady.

The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..

Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.

He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—

Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.

Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.

“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.

Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”

A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.

“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”

“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”

A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.

You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.

“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.

Time to pick up where that phone call left off—

“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.

His breath hitched.

Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.

Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.

Slightly over seven inches, indeed.

Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.

“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.

His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.

Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”

Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”

“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”

He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”

Your face fell flat.

You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”

He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”

You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”

He blinked dumbly.

Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”

You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.

Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.

Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—

For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.

Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.

Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.

Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.

Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.

Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.

Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.

You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.

“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.

The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.

The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.

His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.

Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.

More nylon stitches popped.

Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.

Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.

Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.

A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”

Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.

Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.

The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.

The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.

You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.

He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.

He was so wrecked on intimacy. 

Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 

Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.

A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.

Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.

The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.

You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.

You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”

He made a choked off noise in response.

Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.

You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.

His muscles jumped under your lips.

Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.

He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.

Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.

“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”

“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”

Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.

Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”

His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.

Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”

You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”

The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.

It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.

“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”

Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”

He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.

Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.

The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.

Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.

Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.

He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”

“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.

With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”

You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.

Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.

His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.

His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.

Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.

When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.

His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?

To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.

Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.

Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.

It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.

Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”

He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.

Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.

Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.

In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.

You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.

The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.

“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”

A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”

Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.

“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.

You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.

You backed off. His face went lax in relief.

“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”

Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.

Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.

You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.

All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.

His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.

You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.

You draped his balls over your mouth.

It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.

Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.

“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.

With his approval, you indulged.

The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.

Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.

Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.

You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 

Eddie whimpered.

His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.

You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.

“Fuck, baby—”

At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.

Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.

The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.

His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.

Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.

“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”

His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”

Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”

“Is it the best?”

The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.

“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”

You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.

This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”

With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.

There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 

“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.

He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.

A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.

You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.

Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.

You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.

You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.

He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.

The pace was not shy.

You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.

“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.

Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.

Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.

His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.

You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.

In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.

At once, he was at home in your throat.

In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.

“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.

Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.

The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.

His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.

Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.

You swallowed.

And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.

In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.

“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”

His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.

You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”

“That I am!” he stated proudly.

Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.

Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”

You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”

The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.

He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”

~~~

“God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”

“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”

Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.

One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.

You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.

Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.

You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.

Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”

He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”

Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.

Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.

“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.

“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”

Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.

You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.

A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.

Oh, he was very awake.

Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”

“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.

He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.

You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”

“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.

Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.

“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—

Lightning struck, and the phone rang.

Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.

It rang a second time.

He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”

Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.

He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.

“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.

As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.

Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”

His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.

Thunder rocked the trailer.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”

The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.

He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.

Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.

[budbuddnbuddy]

Little obey me headcanons (pt3)

(Pt4)

A/n: uhhh not really sure what to say here, but I’m glad my posts are getting the attention similar to what I had when I first picked up writing fanfics and headcaons. Thank all of you so much hope all of you had a wonderful Christmas.

As MC spends more time in the Devildom and makes more pacts with the brothers, they’ll start to have a slightly more evil look to them. Get what I mean? Like how Megan Fox has “evil beauty.” However its not as visible, they’ll still look like your normal boring human first glance.

“The celestials know every language in the human wor-“ *LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER* Sorry but I respectfully hate this headcaon with all my heart, it doesn’t make sense. Sure these guys are immortal powerful beings that have lived for millions and billions of years, but they don’t even keep up with the human world like that and that’s CANON. Also if we’re looking at it through their perspective where as a hundred years is literally just a couple of blinks, humans would be making new languages every second.

They probably know 2-6 MAX, and that’s not me underestimating them that’s me saying that they either don’t have the time or will to care about 7,139 OFFICIAL languages there are in the human world. But enough of that let’s dive into the languages that they can speak.

Lucifer: English, French, Italian. and a little bit of Japanese due to Levi but not enough to be fluent. Mammon: English, Spanish. Levi: English, Korean, Japanese, and sign language. (idk if that counts) Satan: English, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, French, Spanish, Arabic. Asmodeus: English, French (mainly because he thinks it sounds hot 💀) Beelzebub: English and German. Belphie: English, Spanish, German (because of Beel), Japanese. Diavolo: English,Italian, a bit of Spanish but not enough to be fluent. Barbatos: Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, English, French. Simeon+Luke: English right now but Luke wants to learn Spanish.

Solomon is probably the type of person to wake up at 12:30 in the afternoon whenever possible. Mf probably has an alarm set for that exact time too, and when you ask where he’s been for like half of the day he’ll tilt his head to the side and be like “I was sleeping????”

I feel like we can all come to a sort of mutual understanding of this, but the brothers fan clubs and MC do not mix well together like at all.

“Asmo, get your crazy ass fans under control! They’re fucking insane!”

“Oh they can’t possibly be that bad dear! They’re MY fans after all!”

“I let it slip that we had a date planned for this Saturday and one of them threatened to cut me before calling me a warm toilet seat!”

“Oh.”

Asmodeus, Barbatos, and Simeon call you Hon/Honey sometimes.

For all of your RAD classes, every brother except Lucifer shares at least ONE class with you. Also all of the exchange students are in the same Main classes.

Everyone is a tad bit insane about you, just a little bit, a sprinkle if you will. No I am not explaining this.

[edenfenixblogs]

okay this is a bit of a random question, and please feel free to ignore it for whatever reason! and please forgive any clumsy wording, i promise i'm asking just from curiosity and without any malice.

i know in jewish culture the mother is the one who sort of 'transfers jewishness' to the children, so i was wondering what would happen if a jewish trans man had a baby? would the kids be considered jewish or, because he's a father, would it be different?

lastly, i just wanted to thank you for all of your posts. i learn so much from you, and it always makes me smile when i see one of your art or tree posts!

What a great ask!!!! Thank you so much for your kind words!!!! It makes the stressful parts worth it. 😊🩵🩵

So, first off, I’m no rabbi or even a religious scholar. I’m just a Jew who likes being a Jew.

But here is my take that other Jews are free to add onto or provide sources on.

But there is no Jewish High Authority. There’s no, like, Jewish pope to sit around and let Jews know they’ve Done Jewish Wrong. Judaism is a cultural of mutual acceptance based on the totality of shared cultural wisdom and understanding.

So, a person cannot just decide “I’m Jewish now” and be Jewish. Jews as a community must accept them into our tribe after they’ve demonstrated an understanding of and commitment to our broad understanding of life. Jews also don’t have sects. We have different branches or streams of belief ranging from humanist to ultraorthadox, but we are all equally Jewish. We don’t even all believe in G-d. Our core values revolve around how we treat one another and are nuanced, which is why becoming a Jew is a process.

With that in mind, with the exception of a few very strictly outlier cases, matrilineal passage of religion is more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule.

I could be wrong as it’s been awhile since I learned this and may have some details mixed up, but I believe that the matrilineal passage of culture was partially instituted due to the frequent rape of Jewish women. As a community, we consider a child born to a Jewish woman to be as much a part of our community as any other member of our community, regardless of who fathered that child. Likewise, we take communal responsibility and cultural claim to that child. Someone cannot rape a Jewish woman and the take her child from her to be raised as non-Jewish that is an affront to us.

Other reasons I’ve heard for why Jews pass religion through mothers is due to equality. Matrilineal passage of culture is only one part of passing Judaism across generations. Jews get the religion from their mother and their tribe from their father. There used to be 12 tribes named after all of Jacob’s sons. But those were mostly scattered/lost over persecution and diaspora. Now there are only three (depending on how you break it down. It gets complicated LOL): Yisrael, Levi, and Cohen. Most Jews are tribe of Yisrael. I am tribe of Yisrael because my father is tribe of Yisrael. When you convert to Judaism you also become tribe of Yisrael. My mother is a Levite (tribe of Levi) because her father was a Levite. Historically, Levites played an important role in the Old Temple in Jerusalem as well as other culturally distinct duties ranging from everything from maintaining the temple itself, education of the Jewish community, singing in the old temple, serving as judges, and serving as guards of the temple. In diaspora and in times of strife in the biblical era, Levites also helped keep Jewish communities together and safe.

The remaining tribe is Kohanim. This group is believed to be directly descended from Aaron, Moses’s brother and therefore descended from all the priests of the temple in the biblical era.

It is possible that the Levites and Kohanim were able to maintain their tribal lineage patrilineally due to their status as leaders in early diaspora and therefore being able to maintain their roles in diasporic Jewish communities longer. I simply don’t know. But I do know that the culture is what mothers traditionally pass down and the duties and history of the tribe is passed down via the fathers. When both parents are Jewish, what matters is that each parent passes an important aspect of cultural identity on to their children.

But none of this is compulsory or set in stone.

And I will again say that my understanding of it all may be fundamentally flawed in some way, because of how unimportant it is to me personally. I mean, I think it’s cool that my mom can trace our lineage back so far. And even some DNA tests done several years ago have confirmed that my mom is descended from an actual Talmudic scholar which is fun to know. I think it’s cool that my ancestors were biblical nerds and judges and that my grandfather was a lawyer and that my skill that benefits the Jewish community during times of strife in diaspora seems to be education and outreach. I like that I personally seem to excel at issues related to judgment and education and community cohesion, because it is so in line with the history of my ancestors as determined by cultural norms as well as DNA. It also makes me sad that diaspora has taken away some of that cultural heritage from other Jewish tribes.

But it doesn’t actually have anything to do with how Jewish we are OR how important or valid we are to or within the Jewish community. These are rules/guidelines that were developed with the goal of maintaining identity and culture despite immense hardship. These are rules/guidelines meant to strengthen our community. But they were never (as far as I understand it all) meant to EXCLUDE anyone.

And here’s the thing: a slang way Jews have of referring to one another is as “members of the tribe.” Because beyond Yisrael or Levi or Kohen, we are all JEWS. We are all a member of the same tribe, and that tribe is Judaism.

Is the trans man Jewish? Have he and his partner (if he chooses to have a partner) agreed to raise their child Jewish? Then congratulations to them and their Jewish baby!!!

If one parent is a Levite or a Kohen and the other is another tribe, I’ll let them and rabbi decide how to sort that out. But even then it wouldn’t likely be viewed as a matter of contention but more as a fun Talmudic riddle to explore.

TL;DR: Patrilineal Jews are just as Jewish as any other Jew. And trans men are men. Beyond that, everything else is Talmudic nuanced debate.

[savagewildnerness]

O Earthly Lestat, I see now the trouble I’m going to have with S3 is I may have to defend Nicolas a lot…. And I don’t even know how he’ll be written for TV. But I know he means too much to me, and that’s just that. In a way Nicolas means the most to me. Not that he means more to me than Lestat. But that the elements of Nicolas that I relate to (& importantly as you can never get over this feeling - that I related to as a 12-year-old) I cannot think of any other instance in literature or any other fictional character I could relate to or who so exactly articulated something about me. And so I cannot help but always fight for Nicki 100% (even though I am not like Nicki in all ways.)

I want to CLARIFY! This is not some “Nicolas was Lestat’s actual great love” point of view in ANY WAY! LOUIS, is Lestat’s great love!

But this is: Nicolas loved Lestat. It wasn’t only Lestat who loved Nicki. And Nicolas loving Lestat enabled Lestat to love Louis.

I find it beautiful. YES, Nickistat ended AWFULLY! (And that there was mutual love makes it all the more tragic and beautiful to me!) But I just need to say here…

People acknowledge how much of Louis’ words in IWTV are shaded by his own struggles…. So I can’t understand why so many people seem to take Nicolas’ words in his final argument with Lestat (by which point, with whatever nuance you cut it, Nicolas is as described by EVERYONE as a mad vampire, his mind lost!) as 100% his always-truth!!!?! I just cannot comprehend it!!!?! I’d love if anyone would like to explain how you can see it that way, especially after reading the actual way Nicolas was pre-Paris, in Paris, when Lestat was stolen away… all until the moment he witnesses Lestat be shot. THEN it shifts for Nicki!

I’m also not one for blaming Armand for Nicki’s demise. The tragedy of Nicolas is, Lestat is very responsible for Nicolas’ demise, and simultaneously all Lestat did, he did through love. There are a thousand ways Nicki’s tragic demise is Shakespearean inevitable resonance… and yet…

But yeah, it’s actually primarily because of his music & things around his music that Nicki matters so much to me. But nevertheless, he matters & I shall fight for him!!! Lestat and Nicki's conversation matters deeply to me too, and what Nicki is for Lestat in that conversation. But where I connect with Nicki is in his music and how he feels about his music. I personally connect with Lestat's worldview on the other hand. Although in my personality, I am my self, of course, I also relate to some elements of each of them.

The thing with Nicolas I suppose for me though is there are various aspects of his self I relate to that I have never felt anywhere else except in my own self. Not in fiction & not in anyone I have ever known in reality either. And I guess that’s why I will always fight for him. Also, because most people should understand Lestat - we’re so in his heart & head 💛. But we don’t hear the story from Nicolas’ point of view, yet for me, at times it is like he is absolutely in my own mind & heart or I am in his, or it’s the same thing in some odd way I can’t quite articulate. I feel seen by him, and I see him. I understand some parts of him, reflecting how by existing in fiction, he has understood me.

Back to Nicolas. He kept Lestat’s dressing room at Renaud’s as a literal shrine to Lestat. He fought with his friends over Lestat’s moral integrity after Lestat went missing. Even when Lestat was gone, Nicki was still loving him, fighting for him, staying at Renaud’s, wearing rings Lestat sent him. If he felt as he said in his final argument, why did Nicolas even stay working at Renaud's at all? Why was Nicolas so distressed when Lestat sent him lots of money and gifts but didn't ever contact him?

I just list these things, which are just a few ways we see Nicki's feelings through his concrete actions. Nicolas truly did resent Lestat in the end. Just as Lestat couldn’t stand the sight of vampire Nicolas. But even that doesn’t negate love.

Mortal Nicolas DESPERATELY needed Lestat’s light. Vampire Nicki doesn’t. And I see his cruelty in the final argument (while not being entirely absent of truth) as being partly founded in love…. Nicki knows the dark thing he now is & he knows, even in his addled mind Lestat won’t leave him… and he knows Lestat. He knows Lestat must leave him or he’ll take Lestat to his death with him.

It’s ok that love was once & isn’t eternal. It’s ok that Nicki’s love for Lestat did exist, but turned to hate & yet was never entirely lost. It’s ok that Lestat’s love for Nicki never diminished even though he couldn’t stand the sight of him as a vampire. These things don’t negate love. Hate can be part of love. It’s ok that their worldviews were fundamentally different. It’s ok they were not each other’s eternal loves. There was love. Deep and mutual love.

As I see it, we can accept & enjoy that they BOTH loved each other, and that fact only deepens Loustat.

By which time, Nicolas is long dead.

But I genuinely believe when they were mortal, Nicolas’ love for all of Lestat (even when envying him too!) meant Lestat could later love the all of Louis so unconditionally, as he had been loved that way before.

It’s an unpopular opinion, I know. But it’s mine. I express it with acknowledgment I can’t be objective about Nicolas. But that doesn’t lessen the strength of my truth!

In all honesty… we are all subjective humans. Can we be objective about any fictional character we have an emotional connection with?

And that’s the crux of it: when you CARE so much, ultimately it’s about whatever truth you need.

Maybe we ought to think on this on all of our favourite characters & imagine how it might apply to others for any character we love less unconditionally ourselves…?

[nevertheless-moving]

STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE AU MASTERLIST

List will be updated with links if/when AUs develop For my Star Wars AU Masterlist: Please See Here As always, people are more than welcome to play with any of these ideas! just please link back to me so I can see! Seriously if you want to write stuff in any form with ideas from any of these aus I will love you forever! 1 to 20: Words of Radiance AUS 21 to 30: Non Words of Radiance AUs (note: these might also be WOR AUs) 31 to 40: Post Winds and Truth Wild Speculation (that may or may not also be a WOR AU)

1 to 20 Words of Radiance AUS

[EDIT, Previous #1 Now #28]

2. High oath Hesina willshaper aus. This is actually many many AUs because the "Mom??" Reveal is great in all contexts. Concept, WOK Era Outline, Brief Fanfic

3. Renarin asks Kaladin for help with radiant stuff during WOR. Secret training. Everyone thinks they're fucking. Chapter 1 and Outline/Meta

4. Elhokar drunk orders kaladin to bedchambers, begs for help keeping away nighmare creatures. Kaladin nearly kills him before scary spren realization, then goes into serious radiant mode when syl gets ambiguously concerned. Everyone thinks they're fucking.[Note: I might be too easily entertained by this trope]. Kaladin is deeply pained by this but also has  people saving thing and really doesnt want to reveal the radiant thing to the whole camp. Earlier third oath. Eventual fucking optional, see above au, except with a bit more pity than vibeing for option a.

5. Crack. AUs 3, 4, and 9 at same time so people just think Kaladin is the Kholin Rhysadium. Bridge 4 offers government overthrow if he's being pressured. kaladin assures them that's not it. Now people keep trying to high five him. Kaladin with head in hands while Moash snarks over his shoulder "you know when i said fuck the lighteyed i didn't -" Kaladin definitely asexual in this one.

6. Hesina and lirin come to shattered planes, shocked/thrilled/emotional to find kaladin. Bridge 4 desperately trying to get approval of [bugs bunny meme our] parents. Lirin reluctantly adopting renarin who wants to learn about healing now for some reason. Blackthorn surgeon mutual loathing/ jealousy son swap hilarity. Lirin is having a time. 

7. Kaladin wasn’t on guard duty the night of szeth arrival. Still warned by syl about assassin, but has to dead sprint while glowing to get across camp fast enough, soft reveal to anyone outside. Only barely figures out wall running on the way over to crash in window just in time. Szeth freaks out and runs away after very short, mildly anticlimatic interaction. And now Kaladin has to deal with Everyone.

8. Kaladin further along in powers during initial szeth fight. Battle of champions degrading to slap fight when they run out of stormlight and get stuck on the plains. Concept/ Ask, Funny Severed Leg

9. Manufactured rumors about adolin/ kaladin. Effective political mudslinging for most of WOR. Shallan plays up things about her relationship with Jasnah to be a more appealing beard. [Previous #9 Is Now #33]

10. Kaladin has a meltdown in prison, breaks out of his cell. Just a little bit more stormlight...Shouts of alarm. Aaah glowing Assassin in white! Kaladin panics more. Adolin handles the situation like a champ. Kaladin maybe briefly kidnaps him.

11. Nale goes after kaladin instead of lift. Ohhh so many thoughts for parallels.

12. Syl immediately dive bombs pattern when kaladin and shallan meet. Really early radiant reveal but just to each other. Kaladin does not trust her but doesn't want to reveal his own status so just watches her super intensely...since she's also constantly watching him too, yes, this gets misinterpreted. See au 3 through 5 but more discreet. Veil is the one draggng him from the barracks for late night 'training sessions' [these are actually training sessions but veil flirts outrageously with kaladin when anyones in earshot. So.] that distracts things a bit.

13. Adolin, suspicious after the Assassin in White fight, was secretly following kaladin at night. Sees him step off a ledge into a chasm (I just reread the section and was like?! You glanced over your shoulder once?!). Adolin spends the whole night stewing in regret, anger, grief, guilt (I was there. I could have yelled. Should have done something. I didn't realize...I didn't know. I didn't know anything). Next morning Kaladin is on guard duty and adolin flips his shit, suddenly remembering that the whole reason he was suspicious of this guy was because he inexplicably survived a several hundred foot drop.

14. Kaladin barely manages to hold it together just long enough to out himself as radiant right after prison. Part One, Part two

15. Kaladin does NOT hold it together after getting arrested.

16. Kaladin swears third oath early. Next few weeks involve a lot of hiding glowing bridgeman squire antics and gaslighting people about kaladin's intermittently light eyes.

17. In the initial confrontation with Szeth, Kaladin pushes a bit harder about the radiants being back, Szeth spirals a bit more, crashing realization that he isn't truthless...

17a.  Earlier radiant reveal: szeth surrenders the honor blade and then immediately collapses into the ground. Kaladin drags him and the blade upstairs. Has to reveal himself now because 1) kaladin what the fuck how and 2) the assassin is mumbling about radiants. 17b ANGST: szeth surrenders the honor blade and immediately kills himself with kaladin's weapons. Kaladin takes honorblade, collapses on way back because it's draining his stormlight, maybe messing with sylbond. When he wakes up hes injured, surrounded by lighteyes and a handful of his men...handles it badly because Very Specific Shardblade Winning Trauma. Crazy two nickles moment. Downside: cries a lot in front of people he'd rather not have cried in front of. Upside: dalinar believes him about amaram now. Public windrunner powers, but obscured Radiant reveal because glowing assassin sword is very clearly granting magic powers. Weird interactions of honorblade bond and nahel bond. Lot of interesting fallout from Dalinar having his very own Mystical Assassin now.

18. Kaladin sends Syl to spy on the 'horneater princess', one sided radiant discovery. When she sends pattern to spy on bridgeboy, he somehow notices. Shallan does not handle it well. 

19. Something something people put together all the impossible stuff Kaladin's done with all the impossible stuff the Blackthorn did as a youth, combined with one of bridge four drunkenly talking about their best theories for the Captains 'mysterious backstory,' combined with Dalinar literally calling Kaladin son and seemingly overnight the warcamps are convinced that Kaladin is Dalinar's bastard child.

20. (COLLABORATIVE with @gnecrognomicon) Instead of being thrown in prison, Elhokar orders Kaladin be strung up for the Stormfather's judgement. Part One, Part Two

21 to 30 Non Words of Radiance AUs

22. Way of kings au where the beggars of alethkar are rounded up for the war effort. Jezrian, of course, ends up on bridge four.

23. Kaladin time travel au to way of kings only the transition is a bit like a spren going through the cognitive to material realm transfer. Not all there. Heartwarming bridge four bonding slightly to the left - sure the mans crazy but he just looks so...disappointed when we dont help with the injured, and he shares his food like an idiot. How does someone seven foot tall and stronger than a chull make axehound pup eyes. We're not following him though. He's not our lead - holy heralds balls is he glowing??  Bit more of a symbol than a friend, but a symbol that you take turns holding at night because he has such bad nightmares and also hes clingy. 

24. COLLABORATIVE / stone soup with @sweetteaanddragons : adolin and kaladin time travel to way of kings. Kaldin brooding about how to escape AND save all his men AND the world until adolin barges in and buys everyone. 

'Thank the almighty,' Kaladin thought with almost painful relief, watching Adolin argue haughtily with a growing swarm of Thadeus's lighteyes. 'I never thought I'd actually appreciate having a rich friend.' He would, of course, rather die than admit this. "I had it handled," he growled, when the two finally managed to speak inconspicuously, each weaving amongst a thousand confused former bridgeman, speaking quietly with several, until they were able to meet in the middle with reasonable subtlety, all things considered. "That's great, Kal," Adolin said cheerfully, clearly not buying a word. "Say, how would you feel about doing some, you know..." He waved a hand, earning a raised eyebrow from Kaladin. "Glowy stuff for my Father," his voice dropped from a subtle hush to a slightly conspicuous whisper. "So he doesn't disinherit me. I did not have permission for this."  Both pairs of eyes flicked to the side, the Blackthorn's towering figure approaching like a Stormwall. "Uh. Sooner rather than later perhaps."

26. Oathbringer/row au. Adolin doesn’t kill sadeus. Mostly just excuse to dunk on Sadeus for trading one (1) shardblade for mythical warrior who can make his own shardblade. oh look more of your former slaves are glowing now. and THEY make shardblades too!

27. Elhokar and Kaladin time travel from Elhokar's death in oathbringer to way of kings. Part one, Part Two

27B. Elhokar solo time travels back from Oathbringer death to Way of Kings

28. Moash tells kaladin about beef with elokhar early. This derails the entire plot of the series. [EDIT, This au was previously #1, before I abruptly realized it was WOK, Not WOR]

31 to 40 Post Winds and Truth Wild Speculation

31. Szeth kaladin pity fuck time travel au words of radiance. Bridge four roasts the shit out of kaladin. Kaladin is doing everything in his power to avoid implying "knowledge of future" which makes the timeline of their relationship deeply confusing.

32. Szeth kaladin time travel au post book 5, they get their memories back in the high storm right before canon first meeting. Szeth sort of stumbles in, halfheartedly attempting a confused assassination.

33. [EDIT: Previously AU Number 9] Kaladin time travel back to wor, book 5 gone wrong. Deeply terrifying from outsider pov. Captain of the Kholin guard, bridgefour leader, is suddenly Full fourth oath windrunner talking about how humans are the voidbringers, they actually need to support the parshendi in bringing one last controlled desolation, and then kill the heralds and also god. Don't worry not our god. Different god. Our god is already dead. If someone else travels back with him then it swings around to a lil bit funny.

34. Post winds and truth, pre sunlit man, crossover with the twilight of mistborn era 2 (i think the cosmere timeline could make sense but if not, oh well). Kaladin gets a boon from his god(s). Requests to learn more about mental health. Has to go to another planet to do so, because mental health research on Roshar sucks. Scadrial's god seems (relatively) friendly and their planet has developed antidepressants AND wellness seminars. Shenanigans with Very Old Wax and the gang.

35. Jasnah, Dalinar, and Renarin (surviving Kholin Radiants) travel from End of World to right after Gavilar's death. Crack. Outline

All of the above (plus other fandoms if you keep scrolling back) will be tagged with 'my au' The above, plus my canon stormlight and other cosmere meta, technically canon compliant fanfic drabbles, or other things that i've written but don't fit in an au will be tagged 'nevertheless cosmere'

[vivvangel]

new year, new me ! | PART ONE

synopsis: in a span of two years, sunghoon, the "sweet face devil", or that one ridiculously good looking every uni has (or we wish had), changed so much that most believed he was putting up "a good boy act" to stay out of trouble. turns out, it was a part of his new years' resolution to win you back.

warnings: sunghoon x reader, terrible take on humor, angsty, plot moves a bit fast, sunghoon slander, pregnancy jokes, sunghoon and y/n are both pathetics in love.

viv's note: had to split it up cause it's too big (no double meaning intended..) also part two will NOT be released.

the human heart breaks sometimes.

sometimes it heals pretty quickly with the span of time, and other times, it stays in its broken state.

you weren't sure where you were in that zone after your sweet long-term highschool boyfriend kissed someone in front you during the last year of uni.

sunghoon had changed a lot throughout the years, but, for as long as he could remember you were his everything. one drunk fuck up at jake sim, his bestfriend's party and your mutual friend, ripped everything he had and loved in a matter of days.

it all started when sunghoon was invited to a party, not just any party, the "best" and "never seen before" type of party as jake claimed. there would be nothing sunghoon regrets more than going to this stupid party. long story short, sunghoon and you went to the party together, you left him alone, as in you left his side for a bit to catch up with your girlfriend, yunjin. there would be nothing you regret more than doing so. sunghoon got completely drunk and gives into the advances of this random girl— kissing her, in front of everyone, in front of you.

sunghoon's friends separated the girl from sunghoon, who was completely oblivious to what just happened as you left the party, immediately. that's how you two broke up. you two never said you broke up, but let's be honest — everyone, including you and sunghoon, thought this was over.

that was over a year ago, though. you haven't heard about sunghoon in these past 12 months, except for an occasional "he's doing pretty good for himself now" whenever you and jake caught up with life.

your phone buzzes. you assume it's yunjin, or chaewon and check.

"what the fuck..?" you thought to yourself, munching on the bag of cheetos you opened to accompany you while you watched your favorite romcom. "THIS IS NOT FOR REAL WHAT THE FUCK— okay NO, be cool, I'm over his ass, be nonchalant!" you say to yourself as your fingertips dance around the keyboard, trying to merge words to form some coherent sentence that isn't "omg hoon texted me🥺"

you would be lying if you said your heart didn't skip a beat.

so 2 days later, you did wear something cute and go to the cafe where you're supposed to meet him.

it was awkward. quiet, and full of awkward forced laughter. you never would've thought the lively conversations of random nonsense, laughter & banter would turn into — whatever this was. "so y/n..." sunghoon tries starting a conversation, warily. you look at him, not saying anything. "i know i'm a fucking jerk for saying this after all these years, but i'm sorry, you didn't deserve what i put you through"

silence. sunghoon tenses up a bit.

what do you even say to that? "thanks for being sorry"?, "oh no, it's fine"? but it isn't fine, and you're not thankful. "i mean, we don't get to control shit like that, do we? i'm sorry too for being too timid to say anything back then." you finally muster up the courage to say that, your eyes almost melting into his. everything in life changed, except this. his eyes. still warm, still full of love. you see it, feel it, but don't know what to do about it.

"why are you apologizing, y/n? it was all my fault anyways i should've never gotten drun—" he sighs, trailing off. "all i'm trying to say is, i know i'm not worthy of your forgiveness but you're still my world after all of that. i know it's selfish for me to ask because i'm the one who fucked everything up but, y/n, i'll always love you"

"we never fell out of love, did we?" you say, chuckling sadly afterwards as a tear rolls down your face. "y/n, please don't cry, you're the only one i've ever loved in my life, you know that"

"would it be crazy if i kissed him?" you think to yourself —

"sunghoon, will it be crazy for me to kiss you?" you blurt out, as sunghoon's eyes widen, but a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know what else is crazy? how much i love you" and with that,

his lips, on yours.

... TNBC ! | PART 2 (✖️ !)

taglist ! @zerasari @noidnoentry @heeseungskiwi @nonotwice1 @txtlyn @heelvsted @sunfull @nctdom @coriantiax @strawberrysavi @dopeydokyeom @sussyjake @sjkezz @no-jams-no-mans @simp4jongseong @fancycreatorofaspy @jiheon @imisshyunjin @flwrsforni

[gurugirl]

Mixed Signals*

Summary: You and Harry are best friends and there's no way he'd ever like you as more. Right?

A/n: best friends to lovers & mutual pining goodness 9.5k words

Warning: Some angst, some fluff, and some smut

You’ve known one another since you were 12. Harry’s always been cute. Really cute. It was hard to ignore your crush some days but most of the time you had no problem teasing one another, making fun of the other, and both pretending to not like each other. It was complicated having feelings for your best friend.

Then as you got older you were convinced he liked you back, but he got a girlfriend during sophomore year of college and so that had to be wrong. He obviously wouldn't choose another girl to kiss and have sex with if he liked you. You were a built-in sure thing, yet he went with the other choice.

Today you and Harry had gone to the amusement park together. You split a funnel cake with powdery sugar, you rode a few rides together, held hands as you ran through the rain back to your car and now here you were, in your bedroom at your parent’s house. The storm was heavy and the rain was falling hard and fast. Your parents were asleep and so you and Harry decided he would stay the night. It felt a little awkward for him to stay over because he hadn’t since he started dating Birdie six months ago.

But he’d slept over and in your bed plenty of times before Birdie. Nothing ever really happened. Well, except for the one time.

6 months prior

You’d woken up when you felt Harry moving in a rhythm that didn’t match up with your sleepy brain, so you turned and reached out for him to stop moving but you pressed your hand right over the skin on his hard penis, which he was pumping in his palm. He had been masturbating and was being really quiet, not making much movement at first. But once it started feeling really good and his balls squeezed as he was just about to come, he was shaking the bed a bit with his faster, more meaningful pace and it caused you to wake.

You both gasped the moment your hand came into contact with his, quite sizable dick. You were shocked first of all that it was sitting right there, just out and bare and his hand was clenched around it but also because of the thickness of him. You hadn’t realized. You knew what this was. He’d been masturbating and you looked up into his eyes, not wanting to look away from his pretty erection.

Harry was looking at you, suspended in motion. He intended on not waking you. Originally he was going to get up and go to the bathroom but then after he rubbed over himself he thickened up so fast, he thought maybe it would only take a couple of minutes. He was so horny and getting up from the bed would mean he’d have to walk 30 feet, open and close doors, move his limbs, and then he’d be standing while he wanked in the bathroom. It was a lot of effort, all that. This would have been a quick pop and then he could wipe up with the tissues sitting on the bedside table next to him. He’d never even have to get up.

He should have used better judgment looking back on it now, with your pretty eyes on his and his hand wrapped around his dick. And he saw the way you looked at his cock. Your eyes widened, lips parted. You paused for a bit as you slowly moved your hand away. It was almost like you wanted to keep your fingers on his solid smooth shaft. Warm. Long. Twitching as he was just interrupted from his orgasm.

So when you smiled at him and moved your own fingers down your long t-shirt and slipped them into your knickers Harry released the breath he was holding. You rubbed over yourself, fingers hidden by the fabric over them, and Harry started up his movements again.

You watched as he jerked his cock in a cadence that was the stencil for your own movements.

“C…can I see? Too?” Harry asked as he moved his free hand up to the band of your panties, still pumping himself.

You nodded at him and stopped your fingers for a moment as you pulled your panties down to your thighs. Then you quickly got back to work.

The sharp inhale of breath from Harry when he saw your pussy for the first time was not missed by you.

You spread yourself a little as you rubbed your clit to allow maximum friction. You and Harry were both rubbing your genitalia, masturbating with panting breaths right next to each other. You knew you’d regret this later but your tired/horny brain didn’t mind too much at the moment. Seeing Harry’s fingers wrap around himself as he fucked into his hand was so hot. And your little wet pussy in his view, arousal being pushed around over your clit, slushy sounds coming from you, it was his end.

You both came quickly, your eyes on one another, the scene was lewd and naughty. Harry ejaculated over his torso and his face scrunched, mouth wide open, breathing hard with one deep groan into the room.

Just the look on his face had you coming. It burst hotly from your veins as you watched his orgasming expression and you whimpered and moaned and when Harry heard you coming he opened his eyes to see for himself. He didn’t want to miss it.

After you both cleaned yourselves with the tissues on the bedside table, all in silence, you laid back into your pillow and Harry pulled the sheets back over his body. And it was never brought up again.

But that was just once. Before his girlfriend came into the picture, well, before they were “official” anyway. Which is probably why it was never brought up. And now he and Birdie were together, well, certainly nothing would be happening.

You both got into bed, joking around like always as you clicked your tv on so you could watch something for a bit. Neither of you was tired yet, you’d both admitted.

Harry slid into the bed next to you. You had your back against the wall and sat with your legs pointed toward the tv on the opposite wall. You’d stuffed pillows and blankets all around, both cozied in. But Harry was close and you were very aware of his proximity. Even with all the blankets and pillows, he’d wiggled in right next to you and his bony knee was dug into your low thigh. Burning, sizzling your flesh, and shooting up your skin directly to your core. You were so attracted to him, and it was moments like these that you hated it. Because he definitely didn’t feel the heat of proximity, his heart didn’t pummel his ribs in his chest, his tummy didn’t send out butterflies into his groin and make him drip with arousal as it did you.

You bit your lip and tried to keep your attention on the tv, or at least you tried to feign interest. Because you couldn’t pay attention to anything but the person sitting next to you. His looming presence. He was leaning toward you, his arm nearly pressed into yours, but just an inch short. It made the hair on your skin raise. Your throat felt dry.

Pay attention to the tv.

Then Harry chuckled and you turned to look at him, "What?"

"You. What're so you stiff for? Look like you're uncomfortable or something. This show's not that good, Y/n."

You forced a smile and knew you were red in the face. Your hormones were going nuts. Any time you were around him lately they were. You couldn't help it. You tried stopping the way you were attracted to him, the way you felt about him beyond just the attraction, the way it stung that he'd never choose you. But ever since that night when you masturbated together, the view of his cock in his hand had been carved into your brain, a permanent fixture and you had a hard time not thinking of him in that way.

"Oh just... I think I just need to..." you scooted around and moved away from him a bit. It helped you breathe. You acted like you were just trying to get yourself more comfortable when you lifted the blanket and pulled at it, to untuck it from your bottom, but the blanket wasn't really that tucked in so when you pulled you gave it too much muscle and the force caused your arm to fly up and you hit Harry in the chin.

"Ooomff!" He reached up and grabbed at his face and backed away from you.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! Let me see!" You got onto your knees and pushed Harry back, as you leaned over him to assess the damage. You'd whacked him good, "Does it hurt? Do you need ice? I'm so sorry, Harry!"

Harry just laughed and grabbed your hips, flipping you down to the bed, tackling you over the pillows, and holding you down, his hands pinning your upper arms down as he straddled you. You squealed and laughed at the sudden move.

Then Harry released your arms and brought his fingers down over your ribs and started to tickle your sides. You squirmed and kicked as much as you could and tried pushing his weight off of you but Harry was heavy and strong. Always freakishly strong.

"Oh no! Does that tickle? What 'bout here? Right here?" He continued his fingers over your shirt-covered ribs when you realized, between blushing and laughing from being tickled, that you'd taken your bra off because you two were settling in to go to bed anyway. It was a bit of a habit to remove your bra before bed.

And the reason why you realized it was because Harry suddenly slowed his movements and you opened your eyes to look up at him and saw the way his eyes were taking in the braless tits, with hard nipples poking through the t-shirt on the girl he was just tickling and it had you embarrassed.

You pushed at him to make him move off and he did. Silently. He didn’t say anything about it, just moved back to his spot on the wall and fixed his eyes on the tv.

You felt your face heat up and wished you could just disappear. Sink into the blankets and never come back up. He was obviously grossed out by your braless breasts. You swallowed the lump down your throat and tried to ignore how it made you feel that he reacted the way he did. Obvious disgust. And now? He can’t even look at you.

You both stared at the tv screen in silence. You went over in your head how you should apologize to him but the longer the moment had passed the less it seemed to matter. The damage was done. You felt nauseated.

Harry had tickled you plenty of times. In fact, he tickled you just about any time you were alone together and joking around and even in front of Birdie a time or two. Though you could tell Birdie was not a fan of him tickling you based on the scowl you’d receive when Harry would finally peel himself away from you. You loved it when he touched you, though. It felt like the only time it was okay to let him put his hands all over you and even though you truly were very ticklish, it turned you on just having his digits digging into your ribs or your tummy. But you wouldn’t ever tell him that. And you realized that if you had a boyfriend you wouldn’t want him tickling another girl that way either.

His voice made you jump as you were caught in a state of self-loathing and disappointment while trying to push down the reaction your body automatically had after he touched you.

“Y’hear me?” His head was leaned back to the wall as he was looking at you.

“Oh. No, I didn’t. Sorry.” Another thing to apologize for.

“Said that maybe we shouldn’t tell Birdie I’m staying the night. She wouldn’t like it.”

You nodded. Of course not. Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to know you're staying the night with your dog of a best friend. You put your gaze back to the tv and tried to brush off your upset. It was no use.

And suddenly his hand was on your wrist and he was leaning forward to get your attention, “Hey. Look at me. Are you okay?”

You turned your face to look at his handsome one and just shrugged, “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

“Cause you got pretty quiet after I tickled you. Did I do something wrong?” He seemed sincerely concerned.

You looked down at the blanket over your lap, “No. of course, you didn’t. Just felt embarrassed.”

Harry’s hand at your wrist tightened a touch, “Can you please look at me?”

You lifted your head again to look at him.

“There. Now, why did you feel embarrassed?” His kind eyes were always so entrancing.

“Uh… well, because I forgot I took my bra off and that was… well, it’s gross. I’m sorry.” You tried looking back down at your lap but Harry shifted and moved his hand from your wrist to your chin and gently tipped your face toward him so you had to look at him.

“What’s gross? Nothing gross has happened here tonight. And you shouldn’t be embarrassed. S’just boobs," Harry laughed his words as he spoke.

You nodded but kept silent. Yeah, just boobs. Ugly ones attached to your ugly friend, nothing to get worked up over.

Harry kept his eyes on yours for a little longer than he normally would and you swear you saw him look down at your lips and then slowly back up to your eyes. It had you feeling warm and confused. There was a time you thought he liked you but then he asked Birdie out and she was everything you were not. You two couldn’t have been more opposite. And that was all you needed to know to see he probably never liked you like that.

But this look, this gaze had your heart racing. You'd seen it before.

“Pretty.” He said it in nearly a whisper. A quiet statement that might not have been meant for your ears but you heard him. And he was looking at you as he said it, more to himself than to you.

You stitched your brows together and shook your head. No, that's unlikely that he'd said that. You huffed a laugh and tried to turn your face away but Harry's hand kept a loose grip on your chin, turning you back to face him.

"You're pretty. Very. It's why I think we shouldn't tell Birdie. Because she thinks I like you," Harry's words had you utterly confused. You're pretty, he says, but also, he doesn't want Birdie to know... it didn't make sense what he was saying.

"Right. But of course, you don't like me like that. So..." you looked down, and moved your eyes off of his beautiful ones while he still held your chin.

"I do. But... we're friends and... I guess that makes this complicated," he released your chin and you turned your head away. You knew it was a lie. He was just trying to make you feel good. Soften the blow of why he would never choose you.

"That's okay. I get it, Harry," you swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked your tears back. You would not allow yourself to cry in front of him about this. It was silly.

Harry sighed and from your peripheral could see him lean back to the wall where he turned to face toward the TV.

It was silent like that for a bit. No words, no movements. You were feeling quite sad and confused, but mostly sad.

You don't know how long you two stared at the TV in silence. The dark room was lit up with the TV screen and the volume was low so as not to wake your parents.

"So that's it? I get nothing from you?" Harry spoke quietly. You turned to look at him as he kept his gaze on the TV. His jaw was clenched.

"What do you mean?" You were so confused about everything that he'd said. Now, this?

Harry slowly turned his head toward you and he looked upset. He had a frown line between his brows as he spoke, "I just told you that I liked you and that I think you're pretty. You gave me nothing. You never give me anything. I've been flirting with you and dropping hints for years. I get nothing from you but jokes and you just brush me off every time." He sounded mad.

You blinked in your confusion and frowned, "What? What do you mean? Dropping hints? Harry, you have a whole girlfriend who is my complete opposite. I don't understand what you mean."

Harry shook his head and kept a look of disdain over his features, "You're always acting so clueless. We flirt and you brush it off. Remember when we... you know, you saw me that night and we both... did that mean nothing?"

You huffed and scowled, "Obviously it did but then you went and asked Birdie to be your girlfriend the very next week. What was I supposed to do? Beg you to not go out with her?" You had raised your voice slightly.

Harry let out a scoff, "I wanted you to tell me you liked me, Y/n. You never said anything about it again after that. The next morning when I tried bringing it up you made some joke about it. How it was gross. So, yeah, I tried to move the fuck on with a girl who I know for sure likes me."

You thought back to that morning after. You felt like he was not serious when he brought it up. It seemed like he was joking about it himself so you went with that vibe and brushed him off. But now he was here he was mad about it somehow.

"I don't know what to think Harry. You're confusing me."

Harry shuffled on the bed and turned toward you, his face still set in a serious expression, "Okay. Fair enough. I guess I should just…” he sat for a moment as he looked at you, his jaw clenched, “I like you. I would have liked to have asked you to be my girlfriend. Not Birdie. Does that clear up your confusion?" He looked down at you with his brows raised before continuing, "But you never could tell me what you felt for me. Every single time I tried to talk to you about it you laughed it off. So what was I supposed to do?" Harry laughed and shifted again, "You always give me mixed signals, Y/n. I see the way you look at me, and sometimes the way you flirt with me is not just a friendly flirt. And that night when we masturbated together... well that was something. But you're too scared to let me like you so you pretend there's nothing here. So that's why I have a girlfriend who's not you."

You were stunned. You couldn't look him in the eyes or breathe or move. You had to be dreaming but you also knew you weren't. You felt ashamed and disappointed in yourself because he was right. He'd given you a lot more than you'd ever given him and now it was probably too late.

You returned your gaze to his and soften your features as you pushed your nerves down to tell him the truth once and for all, "I'm sorry. You're right. I..." you swallowed to wet your dry throat and felt your nerves bubble over as you pushed them down to finally spit it out, "I like you. I have for a long time. I just... I didn't think you really would like me that way."

Harry's stern expression with the frown line softened as you spoke but then he shook his head, "Fuck that. I have tried to show you. Don't put the blame on me here - saying I wouldn't like you like that. What's that mean? That's bullshit and you know it."

You licked your lips and nodded. It was bullshit. You were just a coward, "Sorry."

Harry sighed and groaned, "Stop. I don't want to hear sorry. Do you have feelings for me? As more than just friends, Y/n. I need to know. It feels like you do but you keep pushing me away. I just need to know so I know what to do here."

You smushed your face up in confusion again, "What to do?"

Harry laughed in frustration and shook his head, "Answer the question."

You both stared at one another, the proximity was causing you to ache again. He'd put his hair in a bun before you got into bed because his hair had gotten long and for some reason, you found him even more attractive than when he had it down. His cheekbones were gorgeous. His features were perfectly symmetrical and handsome. There was no way he'd actually be into you. But he just said he was. You had to tell him the truth.

"I do have feelings for you, Harry. Um... deep feelings and I have for a long time. I like you a lot," you looked down and took a deep breath. You don't know why it was so hard to say but now that you had you felt your entire body tingle with embarrassment.

Harry was silent for a bit. It had you worried. You'd already struggled to tell him that you liked him and now he was quiet. You looked up at his face and Harry had his lips pursed to the side in thought. His light green eyes were on your face.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? What? Now I've said it and that's it?" You crossed your arms over your chest and Harry rolled his eyes.

"God, you're so frustrating. I just wanted a moment to bask in the news you'd just given me. Wanted a moment to soak it in." His expression became playful, a lopsided grin took over his features, and his dimples appeared. You smiled back at him and looked down at your lap.

"You like me enough to be my girlfriend?" He raised his brows at you and tilted his chin upward.

You parted your lips, "Uh... yeah. But you already have a girlfriend so..." you narrowed your eyes at him.

Harry let out a breath in disbelief, "Shut up. You have to stop acting like you wouldn't jump my bones this very second if I asked you to," he smiled as he spoke and you shoved at his arm.

"Would not! Harry, you have a girlfriend. You know I'd never do that."

Harry chuckled, "But you would be my girlfriend if I broke up with Birdie?"

You felt like you'd pass out. Was this happening? Harry was the only guy you'd ever felt anything for and he was gorgeous, fun, and your best friend. And now he was asking you this? Your answer was automatic, "Yes."

Harry's grin widened as he lifted his bum and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. You watched him pull up his messages and bring up Birdie's contact.

It was pretty late, nearing midnight. Birdie had known that you and Harry had gone to the amusement park together and you saw the messages from her that he'd not yet answered.

From Birdie: I thought you were coming over after?

From Birdie: Are you with her still?

Harry typed in his message quickly and hit send.

To Birdie: Yes. I'm with her. Sorry about doing this over text but it's late. I think we should break up. Have felt this way for a while. We'll talk about it tomorrow and I’ll explain.

You stared down at the phone as he locked the screen and put it face down on the bed.

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you looked up at Harry with new eyes. This all felt like a dream.

"There. I'm single now. Wanna go out with me, Y/n?" His smile was a bit cocky and you still had your mouth dropped open in surprise as you nodded.

"Okay. Yeah."

Harry wasted no time in leaning over you and cupping your face. He didn't press his lips to yours right away but you could feel his warm breath on your top lip. He smelled like mint and soap.

"Yeah? Are you serious? Because I don't just like you a little. I want you to be my girlfriend but this is more than that. You mean it?” Harry’s warm hands on your face felt dizzying.

You bit your lip to suppress the grin that was taking over and nodded, “I am. I’ve wanted that… this. I really like you, as more than a friend, Harry.”

Harry let out a sigh and closed his eyes before shifting to his knees, still with your face in his hands, his forehead to yours, “Fuck. Okay. Then I need you to understand me when I tell you this," Harry swallowed and you heard it and you felt his lips brush over yours briefly before he continued, "I'm in love with you, Y/n. I'm crazy about you."

Your lips were still parted. There was no part of you that didn't love every part of him and now he was here in your bed telling you he felt the same. It was insane how fast things changed from the moment you arrived at your bedroom until now.

"H... Harry... I love you too."

The moment the last word left your mouth his lips smoothed over yours in reckless haste. It was your first kiss with Harry, well like this because there had been the occasional peck of the cheek and forehead. But this kiss had your brain turned to putty. Your limbs were floating and your heart was bouncing around on the inside of your body. You lifted your arms to wrap around his neck and Harry moved his hands from your face down to your waist to pull you in close to him.

You’d kissed a handful of guys but none of them gave you butterflies the way this kiss did. None of those kisses filled your body with an ache and relieved the craving all at once. None of the kisses you’d had in the past felt like they’d change the course of your life like this one.

When his tongue pressed against yours you whimpered on accident, Harry broke from the kiss with a small laugh. His eyes were dark and his raspberry lips were wet and pinker than you’d ever seen them.

“God. So you’re my girlfriend? And you fucking love me?” Harry swallowed and let out a shaky breath as his chest rose and fell with a heavy breath, “I’ve just wanted you for so long. I feel like we’ve wasted so much time.”

Oh god did you want him too. For years. Everything about him was your ideal. You modeled every idea of a relationship after the friendship you had with him. You knew everything about one another and your feelings for him ran so deep that you felt it seep from the bottom of your feet and squish around with every move you made. Like stepping into the ocean and having your feet sink into the silky sand underneath. The kind that gets into your toenails and even after you’ve showered you find traces of it all over your clothes and your shoes and your floor. And then the night you saw his dick all those months back. You hadn’t stopped thinking about it. You’d only had a few quick boyfriends. One of them you had sex with but none of the guys you tried dating would come close to being like Harry.

You dropped your gaze to his crotch and noticed the sizeable bulge and you let out a laugh. It all felt so surreal.

Harry scoffed, “Looking down at the big guy? Do you want another peek at him so you can make a more informed decision as to whether you actually love me or not?” Harry’s words sputtered out in a laugh. He was always teasing like this. It felt like you two were back to normal but now there was a heavy blanket of sexual tension covering you both.

“Shut up! Do you think your dick is what made me love you?” You laughed and nudged at Harry but he grasped your wrist and kept you close. His smile had turned to something a little more seductive, the kind of smile you’d seen him give you before and you felt your tummy dip and soar. It was a smile that faded into something severe and tender. Like need and hunger.

“Probably. It’s what all the girls like me best for,” Harry chuckled and licked his lips. He was teasing obviously. Trying to be playful but you were reeling. You did want to see his dick again. You were already imagining what it might taste like in your mouth, what it would feel like inside of you…

“You’re so dumb,” you spoke with a smile and looked back down at the bulge and back up to him deciding to keep the moment light and teasing, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s see it again so I can decide if I want it near me or not,” you laughed and bit your lip as you looked at Harry. You both smiled and you watched as Harry bit his lip, mimicking your expression.

He kept his eyes on yours with his brows raised as if to say, challenge accepted. Harry was not one to shy away from showing his body. He was quite comfortable with himself. He’d walked around in front of you in boxers or naked (but covering his bits with a towel or a shirt) so many times you couldn’t count. He unbuttoned his pants and lifted his hips to drag them down his thighs. He paused for a moment, his eyes still on yours with a faint smile, head cocked to the side and brows still raised on his face as he pushed his boxers down and then took his t-shirt off swiftly, tossing it into the room. Some of his hair was pulled from the bun he had it in when he pulled his shirt off.

There it was. In all its glory once again. Long and thick and pink at the tip. Your breathing picked up and your head swirled in lust and you felt like you might pass out. But you wanted to touch him and you wanted him to touch you.

You lifted yourself to your knees and pulled your sweatpants down. You weren’t wearing panties but you knew where this was going. It was something you’d wanted for years. You decided that even if he didn’t want to have sex (which was highly unlikely) you’d be okay with that. But you wanted to have sex. The only time you’d ever done it was pretty okay. You liked it enough that you’d like to do it again, and you felt so close to Harry that you knew it would be better with him.

Harry’s gaze landed in between your thighs and his expression changed to something raw, carnivorous. His mouth parted and he couldn’t see your pussy but the view of your soft thighs and the way he knew you didn’t have a bra on under your thin t-shirt made him want to bite down on your smooth inner thighs.

When he reached for you to pull your body to his, you fumbled over his legs and he dragged you up to him where the bottoms of your thighs settled over the top of his, your legs straddling his hip as he leaned back. You pressed your lips to him and he put his hands on your sides. You both had no underwear on. If you moved up only a couple of inches your naked centers would come into contact.

Harry’s palms were gripping your sides keeping you in place. He wanted to bring you up to his dick and have you pressed to him, but he was holding back for your sake. He wasn’t sure if you wanted that or not, but you had taken your sweatpants off…

Harry’s mouth on yours, his tongue sweeping across your tongue, his strong hands holding your hips, the smell of his soap… it felt like everything you ever imagined. And you had imagined it. A lot. You often touched yourself thinking of the way his cock looked in his hand that night. In fact, ever since that night, you hadn’t masturbated to any other person. It had only been Harry from that day on. And now, you were sat in his lap with your warm centers so close you could feel the heat of it over your tummy.

You pushed at his shoulders and sat back to look at him. You wanted to pull your shirt off but there was a bit of you that was still feeling just a little shy. He couldn’t see that you didn’t have panties on yet. Once your shirt came off you’d be totally naked before him. He’d seen your pussy before, but that was in a moment of a sleep-filled lusty haze. There was no sleepiness to use as an excuse this time.

You brought your palms down over his chest and darted your eyes down to his cock. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. You knew he’d slept with three girls. He always told you about his sex life. He knew all about yours too. You hated that he’d been with other girls, far prettier than you thought of yourself.

But Harry hated that you’d been with anyone else as well. He wasn’t going to call himself a Casanova or anything but he knew he could be better with you than anyone else. Half the time he was with Birdie, he imagined it was you. He tried not thinking of you but anytime you two would hang out there was always flirting and teasing, and when he’d go to see Birdie after, if he had plans with her, he couldn’t get you off his mind and it was you he fantasized about.

When Harry began to grin at you because you were taking too long to make another move, which was true as you were just looking from his dick to his eyes, you laughed through your nose. It felt so silly to be shy around him, but at the same time, this was all new territory.

Harry started to laugh with you and then he softly pushed at you, making you fall to your back he kept his hands at your ribs and started tickling you to ease some of the tension because in all honesty, he was nervous too. You were laughing and kicking at him but Harry sat over your thighs keeping you from doing any damage and when he looked down that’s when he noticed your lack of panties. He paused his hands and softened them over your ribs, the pads of his fingers now faintly caressing your sides as he kept his eyes on your pussy. You watched his jaw go slack as he shamelessly inspected the way your thighs were pressed tightly together and how his cock was hanging right above you, it was beautiful, both of your naked bodies so near.

“Not wearing your knickers. That’s a surprise,” Harry smirked at you and brought his hands down to your bare hips and over your thighs and you watched as he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing harshly.

He pushed himself to hover over you and brought a hand down to your left thigh to spread your legs. He settled in between your thighs and leaned down to kiss you again. But this time he was directly over your body and you could feel the weight of his warm dick lying over your tummy and you moaned and spread your legs further. You knew you were already slick. You usually became wet anytime you were around him for long enough.

Harry groaned and you felt him rock down over you, his thick shaft digging down into you. He continued kissing and licking at your mouth when he reared himself back just a little, placing his cock over your pussy. When he nudged down a little to feel how warm you were he realized you were wet and he easily slid upward.

“God… Y/n. Fuck…” Harry moaned, not stopping his hips from rocking down over you.

You both continued moving together and kissing for long moments. It was something you thought you could do for all eternity. Harry’s heavy cock felt so nice in between your folds and being dragged up and down over your clit.

You whimpered when you began to tingle a little. You felt a little surprised that you could come like this, but of course, you could. It was Harry.

Harry stilled his hips and backed away from the kiss. His pupils were blown out and his lips were pink and puffy, “You’re so wet for me. Bet I could just slip right inside like this,” and he pushed down, nudging at your clit for emphasis.

You nodded, “Yes. I think you could…” you licked your lips and watched Harry’s face closely. You were hungry for anything he was willing to give.

“Can I lick your kitty for a bit,” Harry grinned as he said it. You laughed and nodded.

You held your breath as Harry moved down your body and he put his arms under your thighs and pushed you down into the bed. He looked up at you, still with that smirk on his face, and just as you were about to shove him for being goofy he opened his mouth and brought his tongue out to swipe up your wet folds. You were effectively rendered speechless.

He kept humming and you’d hear, “Mmm…” as he licked through your labia and over your clit. His eyes stayed on you as he ate you out. You watched as his tongue worked around your clit slowly and then he’d draw it into his mouth with a slurping noise. When he pulled his face away a bit to look down at your pussy you watched strings of your arousal from his mouth down to your pussy. He licked his lips, breaking the drips of arousal off and swallowing it down.

He focused his attention on your cunt and moved an arm out from under your thigh to rub his fingers through your folds. You moaned softly at the sensation and the way you were feeling so vulnerable under his close examination.

Harry looked back up at you, his fingers still working your pussy slowly, “You taste so good and you look so pretty. This pussy is the best pussy I’ve ever had, and we haven’t even really started yet.”

You panted when he spoke. You hadn’t expected those words to come out of his mouth. It was sometimes hard to be serious around him but this was no laughing matter. You were so turned on it hurt. You loved everything about this.

Harry returned his mouth to your cunt and then gently eased a finger into your entrance. You dropped your mouth open and let out gasps and felt your simmering blood turn to a boil as he sucked you in and licked you up. His finger massaging at your walls with the low murmur of the TV on in the background.

You put your hands into his hair and this made it come mostly out of the bun he’d had it in. It didn’t matter. He didn’t stop what he was doing to you and you yanked on his hair as you swayed your hips over his mouth.

You had to keep quiet, though. You still lived with your parents and they were just downstairs asleep. It was a conscious effort to keep your moans at a very soft volume, but the way his mouth felt on you had you wanting to be loud.

Harry began to groan a bit and with his cock desperate to be rubbed on something he rocked into the comforter under him, keeping his mouth on your pussy. You looked down at his face and he had his eyes squeezed shut. You could tell he was trying to get relief with the way his hips were grinding down into the bed. You pushed at his forehead a bit and he lifted his face, his lips ghosting over your wet pussy.

“Harry? Um…” you swallowed your nerves down, “… do you want to have sex?” You wanted to have sex. You wanted to feel him inside of you.

Harry’s brows shot up and he pushed himself up and looked around the room and back to you with a nod, “I mean… yeah. Of course I do,” he spoke with a laugh as he pumped his cock a few times for relief. He was aching already. Having his mouth on you was doing him in.

You sat up and finally pulled your t-shirt off over your head and Harry’s eyes widened. He climbed over you, pushing you back down to the bed, and attached his mouth to your tit and lapped around your pebbled nipple as he squeezed the other one under his palm gently.

He looked up at you and shook his, “Fuck,” before going down to kiss and suckle at your other breast.

You laughed when he nipped at you and he raised his head again, his hair all strung out and messy, half up in his bun, “How do you look like this and I never… shit Y/n. You’re so pretty,” he pushed himself up with his face scrunched, “I think I could cry. Fuck…” he palmed at both of your tits for a few more moments, watching as he smushed them together and pushed at your nipples. He couldn’t believe he was getting to grope you after all these years.

When he looked back up at your face you were smiling gently. He smiled back at you, biting his lips into his mouth, the indents in his cheeks carving inward, “Do you have a condom?”

You nodded and sat up again. Harry moved back to give you space and you pulled a packet from your bedside drawer and tossed it to him.

It felt so crazy to watch him naked in your bed as he slid a condom over his dick. A condom that he was putting on and was meant to be used with you. You were both going to have sex. Together. You had goosebumps over your skin but you felt hot. You had imagined this scene in your mind over and over again and now it was really happening.

“Do you want to get on top? Or what do you want? I’m not going to be picky here. I’m gonna like anything you want,” Harry spoke with a low voice as he settled next to you, his hand smoothing up over your hip to your tummy.

“Mmm…” you considered. You weren’t super experienced and the one guy you’d slept with never made you come so you weren’t sure what you liked the most, “Maybe you can start on top, and then we can switch to try with me on top if we feel like it?”

Harry nodded and squeezed your sides with a big smile. He pulled your face back to his and kissed you a little, his palm softly massaging your breasts. And in a smooth transition, Harry moved your legs apart and put himself between your thighs. He rubbed the insides of your soft thighs and got a good look at your pussy again before grasping himself and dragging the condom-covered tip through your slick flesh.

“Okay. Are you ready? Do you need anything first?” He wanted this to be the best you’d ever had. He didn’t want to do anything wrong and he wanted to make sure that you were happy and well-pleased with him. He wanted to be a good lover.

“I’m ready. Just need you,” you nodded and spoke in a whisper as you watched Harry’s arm flex when he lined himself up to you and began to gently and slowly move past your entrance. You watched Harry, his eyes on yours as he entered you for the first time. It was a gorgeous little stretch and pull and you gasped with a smile on your face.

Harry returned your smile and paused for a second. He wanted to enjoy this with you. He planned on going slow and connecting with you the whole time.

“Okay? Feels okay?” He breathed his words out and you nodded with a grin.

He began to push himself in further before he slowly reared back and then plunged in again, coating the condom with your arousal. Each time he backed out a little and then pushed back into you he got a bit deeper.

His languid strokes were slow and smooth. You were both panting and it felt so good. It felt like it was meant to. You were so happy, so beyond excited about Harry wanting you that your brain was fuzzy with joy and love and all those gushy gooey feelings. Harry leaned over you as he continued fucking into you slowly. He pressed his lips to yours and you opened your mouth up right away, licking his tongue and pushing your lips together with hot open-mouthed kisses.

You were glad the TV was on. It helped to drown out the noise of your mattress squeaking and the small moans and whines coming from you two. You kept quiet but you knew that if Harry sped up at all things would naturally become louder.

You rocked your hips upward each time Harry rolled his hips down into you, giving your clit the friction it needed. Harry kept his mouth over yours as his cock slid inside of you, deeper and deeper until he was pushed into the hilt and he let out a bit of a louder groan when he felt you squeezing him tight.

He lifted his mouth and with a small laugh he spoke, “Thank fuck for the condom or I’d already have been coming. You feel really good,” his grin was sexy and you lowered your hands to his bottom and pulled him in closer to you. He kept his eyes on you as he thrust upward into you, keeping himself fully sheathed inside of you.

You bit your lip and breathed hard through your nose. He was deep. It felt so good, though, to be connected to him this way and you nodded, “It does feel really good. I can feel you so deep, Harry,” your words were panted out as Harry continued rolling his hips upward to push your insides apart.

When he began to pull out to his tip and then glide inward you could hear how wet things were down there. Harry was grunting and he felt his groin get wetter and wetter each time he got balls deep. Part of him wished he get even deeper, push even further into you, lodge his cock into your guts so far that you two could never be apart again.

His cadence increased a little and the wet sounds of your bodies patting together were now just as loud as the TV. Though the volume was low, it was still an obvious noise of sex.

Harry put his hands into your hair and cradled your head as he fucked you, looking into your eyes, “I love you so much, Y/n,” his words were shaky breaths and he snorted a little at the end which had you laughing but when he gave you one harsh thrust you yelped and grasped onto his back with your fingers. He didn’t mean to thrust into you so hard but you felt so good. He couldn’t wait to start having sex with you all the time. This was the first time, though, so he really did want to go slow and make it meaningful, make it last and last. But he just knew that he’d be railing you so deep and hard and making you scream the next time. The first time, however, he wanted to show you his feelings, give you all of himself with a slow, decadent fuck and he wanted to savor the way you felt in his arms and on his dick.

Your mind was reeling from how he felt inside of you, the way his body felt over yours, how he made you feel so pretty and so loved, “I love you too, Harry…” you moaned your words and felt yourself being gently rocked upward at each of his plunges.

Harry began to shake a little, he felt his balls tighten and he knew he was going to come soon. He stopped rocking his hips and breathed for a moment to calm down. He wanted you to come first.

“Wanna get on top and ride me?” Harry kissed your lips after he asked and you nodded into his lips.

He quickly pulled out and got onto his back as you climbed over him and sat up. You placed your palms over his chest and Harry put his hands on your outer thighs, loving the view of your tits and your stomach on view for him. He was over the moon. It was also a nice reprieve for him to have you switch positions so he could regain his composure and not come too fast.

Harry watched you as you grasped his cock, wetted hair at the base, and the condom smooth underhand. You would love to feel him without the condom. You’d heard things about the extra friction and heat that could be felt without a condom, but you were just happy to be getting his cock at all.

With one hand on his chest to stabilize yourself and your other one holding his shaft steady, you sink over him slowly and watch the tip slip in. Harry held your hips and watched as your pussy spread for his girth and he twitched as you lowered only an inch. Once you got his head past your entrance, you kept him shallow inside of your cunt as you placed both palms at his chest and moved slowly just over his tip, really feeling the way it opened you up, savoring the thickness of him.

Harry smiled at moved his gaze from where you were connected to your eyes, “Just gonna fuck tip? S’that feel good like that, Y/n?” His voice was deep and strained.

You loved how it felt in fact, “God, Harry… it just feels so good. Just wanna, go like this,” you said as you pushed down over him, getting only a tiny bit deeper before moving back upward so he was nearly all the way out, and then fucking down on his tip again, “for just a minute. It’s so thick.”

Harry closed his eyes at your words. He knew he was large. But hearing you say it while you were naked and your pussy was gripping at his head, the little sounds of your arousal being plunged into, the smell…

Soon, though, you wanted to feel him pushing your wet walls apart again. You wanted him moving your insides around and feeling how much he could stuff you full. You lowered down further until you were seated over his lap with his balls tucked securely under your bottom. You ground over him for a moment, rubbing your clit onto his pelvis.

Harry moved his hands from your waist to your round bottom and he hung on tight as you rode his cock, slicking yourself up and down, with your hips angled to keep your clit in contact with him. It sent electricity through your body when you had his length inside of you this way. It was deeper when you were on top and it ached inside of your body as you moved down over him. You couldn’t help but start tearing up just a little because it was everything you’d wanted for years.  

Harry was silent other than his own breathy grunts each time you moved down over him. He saw how you were getting a little emotional, but he was too. He pulled you down so he could press your lips together and he adjusted his hips and began to gently rock into you from his position. It was soft and slow still, but the springs in your mattress were squeaking in rhythm with his upward thrusts.

It was so intense, the way everything felt in your body, your heart was pounding and your mind was surging with thoughts of complete bliss to be loved in return by Harry. He loved you. He wanted you. His cock was pushing into your pussy and everything just felt so good. Your mouth and his mouth moved slowly, softly as you both moved your hips together.

When you suddenly felt the snap of your orgasm begin to pulse around your middle and the tingle started to spread from your tummy to your clit and then into your vagina, you knew it was going to wreck you. This wasn’t just going to be like the orgasms you achieve by rubbing at your clit quickly in bed each night. Harry's big dick was pressing into your g-spot with ease and the way he was moving into you meant you felt him inside of you and your orgasm was going come from inside of you as well.

Harry felt you begin to quiver and your mouth stopped moving on his when you began pulsing gently over his cock. He increased his speed of upward thrusts just a bit and the bed began to rock a little harder. The sound of wet skin making contact was in rhythm with the springs in your bed and you began to moan a little louder than you should have.

Harry knew you were coming when you began to shift over him faster and began to moan. He tried to put his mouth over yours to keep you quiet but you angled yourself away from him as you gasped and rocked your pussy over his cock, “Fuck, Harry! Holy shit!”

Harry laughed as you clenched his dick and your moans were so loud. He couldn’t stop you, though. And he just hoped your parents couldn’t hear you. You felt so good on him, coming and moaning and shaking in your orgasm.

Harry watched your face with your mouth dropped open and your tits bouncing as you used his cock for your pleasure. He threw his head back into the pillow and smiled as he gasped and spurted into the condom. He was in heaven, coming with you on him, your name falling from his mouth. He loved that his dick made you feel so good you lost control of yourself.

Harry panted and shut his eyes tight as he released his come, his orgasm finally giving him total relief.

You collapsed over him as you began to come down and breathed into his neck with a big smile on your face and a few tears on your cheeks. It was probably the happiest you’d ever been. All in one night Harry had admitted he liked you, then told you he loved you, then fucked you so good you cried. And now he was yours.

Harry rubbed over your back slowly and kissed your temple. He loved this moment. He knew there would be many more like this and it squeezed his heart just thinking of how you were his now.

You pushed yourself by your elbows and looked down at Harry and his disheveled hair. The band that held his bun in place was nowhere to be seen, his chest flushed with a big dimpled smile on his face.

“Harry…” you didn’t have anything in mind to tell him. You just wanted to say his name.

“Y/n…” he said to you as he pinched your bottom and you jumped but he held you down over him so you couldn’t move too far from him.

Everything felt so natural with Harry. So real and so fun and it just made sense now. You’d always been in love with him and he’d always felt the same for you.

You both smiled as you started to laugh again, “That was… the best. I’m gonna need to buy more condoms, though. Because we are doing that again.”

Harry nodded and breathed out a laugh, “Yeah? You wanna fuck me again, Y/n? S’that mean you like me?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes and clenched down over his cock, squeezing him tight and Harry gasped. You waited for a moment before you responded but then with a smirk on your face and a hand at his temple brushing his hair back you said, “I fucking love you.”

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[brookiidookiii]

ROTI contestants in the hunger games.. what if we did that huh

OKAY IM GONNA GO INTO A LOT OF RAMBLES AND RANTING UNDER HERE LMAOO I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS i need to get it out my system. ofc since theres only 13 contestants for ROTI, id have to include some pointless ocs that only serve the purpose of getting slaughtered but ehhh theyre not that important. for the districts-

district 1- lightning and dakota (altho dakota is more trained for the cameras than actual combat)

district 2 - brick and jo

district 3 - B and female tribute

district 5 - sam and staci (i have no clue where to put him since realistically theyd die first thing in the bloodbath. "yeah, did you know my great great great great great great half aunt susan invented the hunger games? ya, before them people just watched TLC")

district 7 - mike and zoey

district 8 - anne maria and male tribute (once again didnt know where to put her. maybe id switched mike and zoey to be district 8 since zoey can make clothes)

district 10 - dawn and male tribute

district 11 - scott and female tribute

district 12 - cameron and female tribute (maybe ill put him and staci together)

any unnamed districts or characters, just assume theyre filler characters . mikes alters are still here, except mal because i dont like mal and hes too OP. and for the winner??? im sticking to the elimination order in the show for this one to avoid any problems (also itd be fun to see how cameron could kill jo) so the finale comes down to brain vs brawn once again

cameron, zoey and mike all have their little alliance for a while (until scott kills of mike at the feast) and for a while it comes down to cameron feeling guilty and upset because he knows that if the three of them made it to the final 3 together, cam would be killed off immediately. brick jo and lightning and the other careers (minus dakota) all have a little alliance and until it comes down to just brick jo and lightning, jo and lightning are planning to kill off brick together. that is until brick sacrifices his life for jo (im thinking a collapsing cave?) and dies and jo feels guilty forever

dawn and scott have an alliance as well until dawn tries to poison his drink, but since scott is a farmer boy and would know a lot about how to recognize tainted water, he swaps his drink for hers, killing dawn with her own drink.

manitoba, svetlana, and vito are all mikes alters and theyre careers. chester is just chester he doesnt do much.

btw there wont be that much romance, only between mike and zoey (though a svetlana and anne maria mutual attraction isnt that bad..). ofc i also have my bias as a jock shipper too but thats all for now. ill probably make more with this au lets see

[amaya-writes]

the promise ring thing sounds so cute omg! could i req megumi with his childhood love they're just innocent lil kids (well not that little maybe like 12-13 ish?) and he just thinks reader is ,, magical and he's maybe seen or read sm that talks about giving someone you love a ring so he gives reader a cute ring, maybe a ring pop?

Ringtober Masterlist

Notes: I think you wanted a scene where he actually gives reader the ring but I just thought the idea of him buying the ring with Gojo was so cute so I did this instead

Warnings: n/a just fluff

Characters involved: Megumi Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru

Fem reader, you/yours

A promise ring wasn't a light commitment. Or at least, that was what the store advertising those flashy rings with colourful crystals had said.

It was a token of your undying affection for the person you gifted it to, a symbol of your promise to stay by their side and cherish them for as long as you knew each other.

But most importantly, it was a promise—a promise to one day solidify your relation into something more, to create a permanent bond of mutual love and trust.

And how could a gullible tween like Megumi ever turn down such compelling advertising?

He didn't care that Gojo let out innumerable coos and taunts as Megumi excitedly ogled at the glass display, or that any of his schoolmates could walk past that store at that moment and witness the great Fushiguro Megumi gawking over a Sanrio ring.

He wanted that ring, no- needed it.

"Gojo-"

"Not gonna happen, kid."

Megumi couldn't help the annoyed frown that tugged on his lips. Gojo had given him a clear ultimatum when they stopped by that shop, if Megumi wanted the ring, he had to tell Gojo why.

Normally that wouldn't have been much of an issue, except Gojo knew you. He had seen you at least a handful of times helping Megumi after class or chastising him for beating up yet another kid.

And knowing the insufferable jujutsu sorcerer, he would most definitely pull some embarrassing stunt if he knew who Megumi's crush was.

His crush. The thought itself was a little surprising.

Fushiguro Megumi, a delinquent known for being a troublesome loner, had a crush on you, the smart, pretty and absolutely perfect girl who was unfortunate enough to be his seat partner.

And he wanted to give you a promise ring.

His cheeks dusted pink as he envisioned himself giving you the pink and white my melody ring that would no doubt have you giggling in delight. The sight earned another mocking taunt from Gojo as he whipped out his phone to click a quick picture, making Megumi glare at the black device.

He would work on deleting that photo later, but for now, Megumi needed to get that ring.

A sigh fell from his lips as Megumi dejectedly muttered your name. He had tried saying it as softly as he could, but judging by the wide grin on Gojo's face, the white-haired man had defintely heard.

"How adorable, you're crushing on that cute girl who helps you with your homework."

Megumi didn't bother gracing him with a response, instead moving to enter the shop. He had to secure the my melody ring before someone else stole it!

"Hey, Megumi-kun, think I should put in a good word for you?"

Gojo's sing-song taunt made Megumi throw a murderous glare over his shoulder, earning a loud laugh from Gojo.

"Oh come on, what's with that look? I would an amazing wingman."

Gojo continued with his teasing even after the two successfully left the shop with the ring, but Megumi couldn't find it in himself to feel as annoyed a he usually would.

Instead, he felt a swarm of nervous butterflies run rampant in his belly.

Megumi was finally going to confess to you with a promise ring. He just hoped you wouldn't turn him down.

[wastingawayinmyroom]

Ur my mutual and I love u sooo

ROMANTIC PRONGSFOOT HCS-

SCREAMING RN I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK THIS

ROMANTIC PRONGSFOOT MY LOVELY LAB EXPERIMENTS (affectionate) WIUWNIUANIUWI

guys PLEASE for the love of god stop making james the most sunshiny person ever

like yeah that’s PART of his personality

but not the whole thing

romantic prongsfoot makes SO much sense bc james legit bullies people so sirius won’t be bored

like “sirius wants to do something? ok bet, my bff can’t be bored” SIR YOU’RE IN LOVE

GET THE LEGAL PAPERS PLAN THE WEDDING IDGAF

james is morally grey for sirius pass it on

that made no sense lmao

hc that sirius asked james for a hair tie once and james didn’t have it so he felt guilty and started carrying them around on his wrist 🥰🥰🥰

inspired by my boyfriend

anw it becomes a common sight for him to be braiding sirius’ hair or playing with or like just doing something with it

because ✨hair✨

in non aus they hex people together as dates

in aus they probably have sleepovers and write those outrageous “am i an asshole” things on reddit lmao

also sirius has an obsession with james’ eyelashes

because i said so 🥰🥰🥰

they’re the most full, beautiful things on earth

and paired up with the cute puppy eyes?

no wonder sirius does everything james asks

i love them so much wowohuww

warning nfsw - okok but they would have THE MOST intense sex ever

like i’m talking chest to chest or back to chest AT ALL TIMES

they literally cannot get enough of each other

no but imagine

them lying down together and sirius complaining about how he wants them to be closer

james: what do you want me to do be inside of you???

sirius: yes.

they’re so wiubakhbakjbiuaq

ok no more nfsw, now onto violence!

james considering himself a good person with morals (sir you BULLY people for FUN be so fr 🙄)

but the morals are just like “i won’t kill people but i’ll make them wanna kill themselves”

anw in comes sirius “fuck around and find out” black who just. goes with the flow

like “oh i injured someone? womp womp bitch lmao”

and he gets more and more obsessed with this boy who literally does not give a shit abt anything

until he’s washing blood off in the sink

and saying “it was for sirius, it had to be done” until it becomes a mantra

give me murder husbands prongsfoot!

ok no more warnings

soft prongsfoot

cuddles and gossip sessions in bed until 3am

bc come on

they besties

and whenever they’re without each other for more than an hour

they start like writing shitty letters and stuff like that

except they never send the letters

it’s like writing in a diary basically

and when one of them finds the other’s “love letters” (cheesy lmao) they tease the other mercilessly

bc

again

they besties

let them be besties

stop making one of them die and the other go to jail for 12 years for “killing” the other (which they didn’t do) and then the other dying

like please i want my happy smutty violent fluffy prongsfoot 😭😭😭

goodbye i need to sleep again (i’ve slept for 15 hours so far i’m trying to set a record)

[yey56]

HOME

Thorin Oakshield x Modern reader. (Implied to be Spanish)

You've been 10 years in middle earth, at first you were confused and lost, the language everyone talked was what you knew as English or as they referred to, common tongue. Even though you didn't knew what happened and where were you, you tried to adapt as quickly as possible. You cut your hair short pretending to be a young boy and enlisted yourself in a monastery as an scribe.

One day, after running away from that monastery you met Gandalf, after one week of traveling together (because he insisted that it was not save for a young boy to wander alone) you confessed to him your situation and that you were actually {gender}

He took you to Rivendell and after a lot of prove Gandalf improvising and convincing, you proved your situation to the elves who decided to let you stay. You read and studied magic and became really eager to learn more and more, you hunger for knowledge only growing each day; after years of trying you finally managed to perform magic even though you were human.

You became a good sorcerer, exploring the world to find old scriptures, runes and other magical things.

After 12 years in middle earth and already settled in a place you could call home; out of the blue you received a visit from Gandalf who wanted you to join with him as extra magic assistance to some dwarfs quest to regain their home, at the start things were tense you were only talking to Gandalf, Bilbo and occasionally the Durin brothers, but after multiple near death experiences you were able to make good friends with most of the group.

Of course some dwarfs were slower to warm up to you, like Dwalin, who unlike his brother Balin (God bless his soul) took a long time, but nonetheless you established a mutual respect with each other that was near friendship, and of course Thorin. What is there to say about him? You guys do not get along, well sometimes you do but that's the exception not the norm.

You're both very demanding and authoritative so of course whenever he order something and you do not agree with it, the dwarfs and Bilbo already expect a war between you two.

You don't like how he expects you and Bilbo to just agree blindly with everything insult he throws your way and he doesn't like how you are always questioning him like a freaking philosopher.

Whenever the company wasn't sure what the right direction was:"are you sure we're heading east?"

Every time he insulted you and Bilbo: "you think you are oh so high and mighty but you got lost more than once heading to Bilbo's home."

When all of you got lost AGAIN: "Don't blame me, if you were able to get lost in the shire what should I expect?"-yeah, you LOVED to remind him of his lack of sense of direction.

Oh and his favourite: "quit you're grumpy ass, you undermine the morale" THE AUDACITY!

No one ever has had the courage to talk that way to him, and every time you opened you mouth to answer him everything he received was sass.

He didn't even comprehend why would you help them, neither you or the hobbit had nothing to do with Erebor and yet here you were, helping them to regain they're home.

And of course asking you was not an option since your conversations were based on mutual roasting.

But he wasn't blind either, even though you were known for being always joking and with a really cheerful behaviour he had observed you while you were on watch or when you were riding your horse.

I'm those specific moments you seem to space out for a while and your face turned into a melancholic gaze, almost longing. You seem to be remembering something that brings you pain.

Like tonight for example. You were on watch with him since you both tended to sleep less, it wasn't uncommon for you to not talk during these watches. But this time Thorin was trying to mentally prepare himself to ask you the question which answer that had him so impatient.

Again you were with that relaxed yet perturbed face, looking at the fire as if it had all of the answers in the world.

Finally he managed to murmur something: "(y/n), why are you helping us retake Erebor. What do you seek to find in this quest"- the question came more harshly than he intended.

This was the first time he referred to you by your name, usually he would talk to you without saying your name or referring to you as human or woman. You knew this was a serious question and not just another way to start a fight.

You looked away from the fire and directed your eyes towards his blue ones. You stayed like that for a moment until you finally responded

(Y/n): Thorin, you know that I am not from. This world right?- he looked at you and nodded- well, I cannot go back home, I'm trapped here.- you voice trembled a little, not enough for it to be noticeable- probably forever.

Another silence was formed, he though he had make you uncomfortable and was going to apologise, but you continued talking.

(y/n): I don't have a chance to go back home, but you do. All of you do, you have a chance- (a low one)- you mumbled.- but a chance after all.

Thorin: (y/n)- he started not knowing how to react to that, he knew the feeling very well, to crave a home. Before he could continue you interrupted him.

(y/n):that's the reason I want to help you Thorin, I want to help you achieve what I cannot- you said, now the tremble of your voice being noticeable, you were smiling calmly at him but in your eyes there was a deep hurt, a pain he could identify in himself.

He then noticed that you were in similar situations, you've mentioned before how you appeared here unwillingly and how you didn't know your way back, now he new there was no way back for you.

That was the root of that glance, all of that pain. In your world you probably had friends, family; maybe the reason of your lack of sleep was because you dreamed about you homeland and yet you couldn't reach it. Just like him.

Before he could try to apologise or offer words of confort you had already went to your bedroll.

Now he understood, you were just as homeless as they were, and even though you were still willing to help others who were in a situation like yours.

After that night in which you opened to him he started to be a little more soft with you. Hell he even started to make small chat with you. At first there just things about your time in middle earth: places you visited, the experiences you had, in what you has worked all this time, what made you so attracted to magic. And of course you also question him about his life

You started to enjoy a lot more his company and also you started changing your opinion on him, now he was only half an asshole :)

But as time passed you conversations started to get a little more personal, he started to get curious about your home.

The improvement of your relationship with the leader of the company didn't go unnoticed. Fili and Kili were the first to notice, you both changed from fighting like sworn enemies to chatting like old friends. Also Balin, who was very observant, noticed how Thorin's gaze was softer whenever he talked to you, relaxed even.

One night he asked you a question about your world when all of you were eating, this obviously caught the attention of the others who stared bombarding you with questions about it. Your culture, gastronomy, customs, language, religion...

You spend all that night telling them about you world and most specific, your country.

You teach them simple words and expressions like:

Joder, hola, madre mía, adiós, amigo, montaña, flauta ...

Dwalin was the one who started implementing your insults to his vocabulary, and his brother, Balin sometimes greeted you in your native tongue.

Since you had shared so much about your culture with them, the dwarfs and the hobbit also started expressing more about their own cultures. Little words un Kuzdul were teached to you and Bilbo by Balin and Ori.

Bofur Kili and Fili teached you about some songs they liked to sing.

Thorin looked at the scene with happiness in his eyes, you were besides Ori, he was the one that got most involved with your language and was determined to learn it. His nephew's and Bilbo were beside you, hearing everything you were explaining about grammar.

He felt his heart warming, your melancholic glances were less and less each day and his ability to takes his eyes off you was weaker each passing day.

That night the both of you had to stay on watch again, the difference was that, unlike 6 moths ago the atmosphere was no longer tense. You had share a lot of yourself with him, the longing for your family, for the landscapes of your city for the feeling of a home. And he had reciprocated your trust with his own.

He got lost in your concentrated face as you draw some simple runes to show him how they worked, it was there when he realised he loved you, he loved your dedication, he loved you strengt, he loves your sarcastic comments, your witty tongue and overall you will power.

He could not replace your home but he wished that once he Erebor was retaken he could offer you one, with him in the mountain.