#mid twenties crowd!!

[xehanortsreport]

hypmic the only franchise ive dipped into where one of the main characters is an actually middle aged man with three kids who is marketed with the same amount of merch and fanservice as his younger counterparts. im practically feasting. im never leaving this.

[monamipencil]

dilf neighbor! mingyu

genre; nsfw, some fluff, mdni <3 | tw; oral, (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), outdoor sex (but not public), unprotected sex (don't do this), creampie, mingyu with impregnation kink, ages are not mentioned but he's in his mid thirties and reader in mid twenties. | a/n; kinda ended it abruptly but hope you guys like it <33

dilf neighbor! mingyu who can't keep his eyes off you.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who knows it's wrong to lust after you. especially with a half-baked divorce in the process. but could he blamed?

dilf neighbor! mingyu who had a crush on you right after a small conversation you had with him during a neighborhood event. he feels stupid, and giddy as he walks home, thoughts of you sprouting in his mind.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who smirks when you complain about the hot summer. you tell him how you would like to use a pool, but the community one is too crowded and nasty. so he offers that you could use his pool instead.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who has a hard time hiding his boner when you wear your skimpy swimsuits. he denies whenever you ask him to join you, simply smiling and shaking his head.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who shows you around his house after your swim. he feels stupid to have crushes at his age, but he can't help it all. and the sight of your swim suit drying on the drying rack along with the rest of his clothes makes him giddy.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who eventually joins you in the pool but maintains a distance. the distance gradually reduces with your increasing visits.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who picks up on your flirting attempts when you ask him to apply sunscreen on your back. whether or not, he's applying the sunscreen, he's definitely feeling you up.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who offers to give you a massage when he feels your tense body. you agree, cunt throbbing with excitement. he slowly unties the knots in your muscles, descending lower and lower till he reaches your ass.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who sucks in a sharp breath when you tell him to undo your skimpy underwear for "better access."

dilf neighbor! mingyu who massages your inner thigh as you complain about the pain from the workout. you're talking but he can't hear a single thing, way too lost on your dripping cunt that glistens in the sunlight.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who tries to stay rational despite the odds. he tries to continue with the massage but it's fucking impossible with your small moans and groans.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who loses it when you turn around, laying on your back. your legs are spread before him, and you offer him a sultry look while lowering your pink tinted sunglasses.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who devours you open. his tongue laps at your cunt like he's been waiting for this. your arousal drips down his chin and lips and he scissors you open with his thick fingers.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who fucks you into the pool chair. he bends you in half with your legs over his shoulders while he fucks you deep. his cock stretches your gummy walls and it sends flutters to your stomach.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who makes you ride his cock out in the open. your moans are divine to his ears and he goes a little crazy, seeing the creamy white ring form at the base of his cock.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who sucks on your tits like it's his last day on earth. he fucks harder into you, cock slamming into your cunt again and again. he doesn't stop sucking on your nipples as he does so, adding to your oncoming orgasm.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who makes you cum around his cock, loving the way you clench around his length. and so he does, making you cum again and again.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cannot stop the thoughts of knocking you up in his brain. the urge to cum inside and fill you up is overwhelming. his breath hitches watching your breasts bounce as you ride him. his thoughts are infected with you lactating.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cums inside, filling you up with his cum. but he also buys you plan-b's, and makes sure you pee right after. he cleans you up, and carries you to his bed.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cooks dinner for you as you sleep. you wake up to the sound of cooking and see his large back hoarding the kitchen. he smiles, looking at your hesitant visage and beckons you to come in.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who melts seeing you in one of his t-shirts. he has to resist the urge to smother you in kisses but he does hug you and give you a long kiss.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who assures he wants more than just a physical relationship with you. he kisses your forehead and giggles when you reveal that you had a fat crush on him.

dilf boyfriend! mingyu who has you move in with him to take care of you and spend more time with you. plus why should you spend money on bills when you have him?

dilf boyfriend! mingyu who installs a hot tub for you to use during winters. he always wants the best for you and at his expense.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)

[rcmclachlan]

Wrote this today while I should've been working (don't tattle).

Submitting it for the approval of the Fuck It Friday Society. Thanks to @epiphainie for tagging me!

+

"So? Tell me about the hot pilot."

It takes only a second to scroll through the rows of photos until he finds the one he wants to show her, but instead of handing his phone over, he takes a moment to admire it. The post has nine photos in it and this is the fourth one in—it's by far his favorite out of all the others on the account. Considering how many contenders there are, that's really saying something. 

Maddie pointedly clears her throat and Buck ducks his head with a sheepish laugh, because he knows he's being mean by keeping her waiting. If the tables were turned and she was holding out on him, he'd be ready to tackle her to get to the phone. Plus, he's already looked at the picture at least three hundred times over the last two days; it's not like he's going to miss anything. He's pretty sure he could draw it from memory. 

Nervously licking his suddenly-dry bottom lip, he slides the phone across the counter to her, and she snatches it up like a winning lottery ticket, or Golden Grahams, which she used to hide from him when they were younger because he could house an entire box in a single sitting. 

She draws in a surprised breath when she looks at the screen, and he takes it as his cue to round the island and crowd in behind her so he can peer at it from over her shoulder.

Whoever took the shot should get a Pulitzer. It was taken through the open door of a helicopter, perfectly framing the three people in the cockpit. There are two kids—a girl no more than ten years old wearing a headset and looking at the instrument panel, while the other kid has their back to the camera, showing the familiar logo of two hands holding each other on the back of their shirt—and then there's Tommy, who's half inside the opposite door and haloed by the light of the Harbor hangar, his gaze focused on whatever he's pointing at on the panel. His head is slightly turned, exposing the textbook-perfect right angle of his jawline, and his mouth is half open. But, unlike every picture where Buck looks like a dumbass with his mouth open wide enough to drive a truck through, Tommy looks handsome and competent, caught mid-explanation about manifold pressure or rotor RPMs or any of the other gauges that Buck looked up before he'd called for the Harbor tour. 

"Buck," Maddie says, stunned. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but then she closes it with an audible click. 

"I know."

She spins around and smacks his arm, her grin threatening to consume her entire face. "Buck!"

"I know." He does know. He really does.

"Oh my god." Maddie turns back to the phone and swipes to see the other photos, but the only other one in the post with Tommy in it is a group shot. He stands in the back of a gaggle of kids with four of his teammates, taller than everyone else, and it's either the vivid blue of his flight suit or the magnetic force field that seems to hover around him all the time, but Buck's attention is drawn immediately to him. The first time he saw the photo, it took him a second to realize there were like twenty other people in it. 

"Oh my god," Maddie says again.

Each of Tommy's hands are on the shoulders of two kids, and he's smiling so widely that his eyes are almost closed. He looks so good. He looks like he did when he glanced up from the menu as Buck approached the table—like anyone in the world could've shown up but he was thrilled it was Buck specifically. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was the correct answer.

And that's a wrap on our annual flight rescue simulation! As always, huge thanks to the Los Angeles Boys & Girls Club (@labgc) for introducing us to the next generation of heroes. Can't wait to get up there with them again someday! #labgc #lafdharbor1 

He blows out a breath. "I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. There's no way you could've anticipated Eddie showing up." Maddie swipes over to Tommy's full Instagram profile and starts tapping open photos at random. When she gets to another of Buck's favorites—the one of Tommy mid-laugh, sandwiched between a man and a woman in a bar booth with trivia sheets spread out on the table in front of them—she mutters, "Good lord."

Buck looks at the man and how he's shoved up against Tommy's side, and he swallows around a familiar sour crackle in his jaw. He'd told Tommy point blank that he can get jealous, but he's a little surprised by how much he wants to reach right into the screen and rip the poor guy out of the photo with his bare hands. He shouldn't be shocked, though; he did maim his best friend for the crime of having Tommy's attention, after all. 

But that guy in the picture could've been Buck. If he hadn't been an asshole, he could've been the one sitting next to Tommy, pressed up against him and laughing, flushed with victory and good company and beer, filling out answers on the sheet and preening when Tommy turned an impressed smile on Buck for helping take their team to the final round because he knew things like what the fear of is flowers called and the world record for the longest hiccupping spree.

"I shouted to the entire restaurant that we were going to pick up hot chicks after dinner, Maddie," Buck says, and looks away from the photo where he isn't. "I might as well have paid someone to skywrite 'NO HOMO' above the Coliseum. So, yeah, I am an idiot for that."

She winces. "How'd he, uh, take that? Was he really mad?"

"Worse," he says miserably. "He was really nice."

Where his hand rests on the countertop next to her, Buck's fingers curl in to press against his palm, and the rest of his body wants to follow suit out of shame. He can't stop thinking about how quiet Tommy was after Eddie and Marisol left, how the confidence and charisma and razor-sharp wit had all grown dull and quiet from the time it took them to get up from their table and make their way to the street. 

When Tommy cut the night short, he could have been awful about it. He could have yelled. He could've called Buck a homophobe, or chewed him out for wasting Tommy's time, or sneer that Buck would be better off watching the movie from the comfort of the closet. It would've been well within his right to do any of it, and Buck had been prepared for it. 

He hadn't been prepared for Tommy to be kind.

"But it's not just that. I'm an idiot because… how did I not know? How do you miss something like this about yourself? Nine year olds are out there figuring it out with no problem, and meanwhile, I'm thirty-two and I had—I had no idea. I'm so stupid." 

He bends over and drops his head onto the counter with a painful, yet somehow satisfying thunk. 

Maddie places a hand between his shoulder blades. It's not too heavy, like she's holding him down, and it's not too light, like she doesn't know if her touch is welcome. It's just right. It always is. Even when she was a kid, she always knew how to hit the goldilocks zone when it came to comfort. His parents never came close. 

"What if it were me?" 

He tilts his head on the counter to look at the contemplative slash of her mouth. "What?"

"What if I were the one discovering this about myself?" 

The question is soft and sweet, like how their backyard in Hershey used to fill up with hundreds of dandelions in the spring and they'd spend hours picking them and blowing the clocks everywhere, but the smile on her face is the sound of their mother shouting at them to stop because she thought the dandelions were an eyesore and they were basically planting more of them to come up in the fall.

"Would you call me stupid for not figuring it out sooner? Would you say, 'Maddie, you're pushing forty, how did you miss this?'"

Offended, Buck comes off the countertop so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?! O-Of course not—"

"Then why is it okay when it's you?" She demands, voice trembling like she's physically pulling on the reins of her anger and it's fighting her, just like it did when he hitchhiked to Marysville with a group of boys and perforated both his ear drums jumping off the Rockville Bridge. "You don't get to call one of my favorite people stupid, okay? You're not. There's no time limit to these things, Buck. You just… you figure it out when you figure it out and not a second before, and I'd be saying the same thing if you were one of those nine year olds or if you were ninety."

Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but Maddie takes one look at him, clucks her tongue in sympathy, and then wraps her arms around him. He presses into her embrace with a grateful exhale. 

Clinging to Maddie, to the quiet, endless strength of her, is nothing new, and neither is the wave of sheer wonder and disbelief that nearly knocks him on his ass because somehow she's his sister. Out of everyone in the world he could've been saddled with, he got the best of the best. He has no idea what he did in a past life to have earned a place in her current one, but it must have been amazing. 

"Thanks, Mads," he says quietly into her hair. When she first started dating Doug, she switched from the peppermint conditioner she loved to the floral stuff he preferred. Buck inhales a little and swallows tears upon getting a whiff of something sweet and minty.

She pulls back a little and pats his chest, smiling. "So, what's the plan?"

He blinks. "The plan for what?"

"For trying again," Maddie clarifies, pointedly, like she wants to call him dumb but can't because she just spent the last five minutes telling him he wasn't. "So you screwed up. Big deal. We all screw up. What are you going to do to fix it?"

"Uh, I-I don't think he's going to go for that, to be honest," Buck mutters, looking down at his phone. 

Last night, standing in Miceli's foyer and practically leaving craters in the floor where he was bouncing excitedly on his heels, he'd texted Tommy to see if he was already seated. The last message Tommy sent him reads: Head toward the back. I'm in one of the side booths on the left. You can't miss me :-) 

There hasn't been anything since.

After Tommy cheerfully knocked Buck's entire world off its axis and walked out the door with a grin and the promise of a date, Buck had paced his apartment like a caged tiger, feeling both too big and too small for his skin, jittery and restless. The fourth time he'd stopped in the middle of a room and started laughing for no reason, he conceded he might be losing his mind. He'd felt like the only thing keeping him from exploding or floating into the stratosphere was the fact he had a shift in the morning. He'd kept away from the windows just to be on the safe side. 

You like men, he'd thought giddily to himself, over and over. You are attracted to men. A man asked you out on a date and you said yes because you want to go. A man kissed you tonight and you loved it. You didn't want to stop. You want him to do it again. 

It was like he'd finally found the last missing piece to the Buck puzzle he'd been searching for as long as he could remember, and slotting it into place felt like skipping the 5.0 upgrade and going straight to a different operating system. Increased storage capacity. Longer battery life. A brand new product.

He'd swore to himself that he would be cool about it. He wouldn't be a clingy, needy mess and drive Tommy off before he was able to explore whatever this was. That lasted all of twenty minutes before he was texting Tommy with trembling thumbs to thank him for coming over and clearing the air, and then threw his phone across the room. He spent the next ten minutes fighting the urge to claw his own face off until he heard the ping of a new text message.

It said, Sorry for the delay I'm still driving. Thank YOU for your hospitality ;-)

Buck had to go stick his head in the fridge to cool down about the implications of that, but once he calmed down and unscrewed the manic grin from his face, they were off to the races. 

The only times they weren't messaging each other were between the hours of 1am and 5:30am, or if they were on shift. Although Buck didn't exactly hold to that. He found ways to sneak off a text or twenty during calls when he could, and he had the sneaking suspicion Tommy was doing the same. The photo he got of the sun setting over LA, taken through a helicopter's windshield, was kind of a giveaway.

It's been 24 hours since he last heard the text tone he'd assigned to Tommy's contact file—a sort of whuff sound that reminds him a little of rotor blades spinning—and he feels like if he doesn't hear it soon, he's going to go insane. 

This is absolutely not the first time he's fucked up a date and was ghosted afterwards, but it is the first time the subsequent radio silence has made him feel like his colon is tying itself into a square knot. And he hates it.

"So, you're just—giving up," Maddie says, incredulity turning the question into a statement of disbelief. 

He looks away from the phone and shrugs. "I'm… being respectful. It's pretty obvious he doesn't want to hear from me. I wouldn't want to hear from me."

"You don't know what he wants," Maddie points out. "He said he didn't think you were ready for this, right? Maybe he's trying to be respectful too."

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but it sounds so plausible when she says it. Especially because Tommy hasn't been anything but even-keeled and kind and compassionate, and Buck truly doesn't think any of it is a front. If Buck reached out, he knows Tommy would respond. If Buck started texting him again and never once brought up the kiss or their disaster of a date, if he boxed up the overwhelming need to be the center of Tommy's attention and shifted things back to the safety zone of friendship, Tommy would let him. They'd be okay.

The thought of it makes Buck want to punch something. 

Maddie peers up at him with a sly tilt to her mouth, but instead of calling him on whatever she sees on his face, she simply says, "But I do think keeping this from Eddie is twisting you up a bit. Maybe you need to jump that hurdle before you can move forward."

He clicks his tongue and gives a reluctant nod, because she's right. As usual. "H-How do I tell him that I'm… you know."

"Okay," she says with a falsely bright smile and wide eyes, her tone needling. "If you can't even say it out loud, then maybe you shouldn't—"

"That I like men, Maddie, god," he whines, face hot. "You're so mean to me. Jesus, do you treat Chim like this?"

"Only when he asks really nicely," she says horrifyingly.

He sticks his fingers in his ears and starts shouting, "LA LA LA!"

Maddie cracks up, then gives his chest a conciliatory pat. Annoyed, he shrugs her off, which makes her laugh harder. "I'm your sister, doofus. I'm contractually obligated to piss you off until you do what I want sometimes. Didn't you read the handbook?"

Which makes him duck his head and laugh a little. "The handbook" was a running joke they had when they were kids about what siblings were and weren't allowed to do. He hasn't thought of the handbook since the whole thing with Doug, when he realized Maddie had been taken and a tiny voice in the back of the mind whispered, "According to the handbook, you're allowed to hunt him down like a dog and kill him."

Sighing, he leans into her and nods. "I know. I know I need to talk to Eddie. I-I just wish I had some kind of guarantee he's not going to—that nothing's gonna change when he finds out."

Leaning into him right back, Maddie promises, "If it does, I'll beat him up."

"Yeah?" He smiles, a little pleased by the thought. He wants to tell Tommy about it. But he can't. Not yet. "That in the handbook?"

"Page 53," she says, and hugs him.

[chosok-amo]

Filthiest suo smut you can write (bonus points for using “good girl”) 🫣

꒰   FREAKY DEAKY   ꒱

SUO HAYATO. . . . you and suo were dating back in high school, you two were love birds, people tend to go around calling you two soulmate because of how perfect you two are for each other, but you two break up, and meet again after 8 years. you two are at the local club with friends, and one thing leads to another, by at the end of the night, suo hayato found his dick inside you.

warning : age-up! suo sayato ( mid-twenty sou & reader ), ōral ( m! receiving ), dirty talk, degrading, praise kink, hair-pulling, name-calling, choking, fingering, toxicity.

w/c : 8,9k

as you stand with your friends, the music pulsating through the dimly lit club, your eyes scan the room until they land on a familiar figure across the way. your heart skips a beat—it's suo hayato. it's been over eight years since you last saw him, yet there he is, just as you remember.

that unsettling, bone-chilling smile curves on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. his presence is magnetic, even after all this time. he’s still wearing that eye-patch, a symbol of the man he was—and perhaps still is. memories flood back, mixing with the heavy bass of the music.

he catches your gaze, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. the room seems to shrink, the noise fading into the background as your past collides with the present. his smile never wavers, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he's doing here after all these years. it’s like a ghost has walked back into your life, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to face it.

you quickly avert your gaze, trying to focus on anything else—the lights, the crowd, the drink in your hand—but it’s no use. you can feel his eyes on you, that maroon gaze piercing through the dimness of the club, tracking your every move like a predator locked onto its prey.

you shift uncomfortably, moving closer to your friends, hoping the crowd will swallow you up, but it’s as if he’s tethered to you. every time you glance up, there he is, that unnerving smile never fading.

the air feels thicker, the music more distant as your anxiety starts to creep in. you know you should walk away, leave the club, but something keeps you rooted in place—maybe it’s the unresolved tension, the years of distance, or maybe it’s just the fear of what might happen if you turn your back on him.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the intensity of his stare only grows, making your skin crawl. it’s like he’s silently daring you to come closer, to confront whatever it is that lingers between you after all this time. but are you ready to face him?

your heart pounds in your chest, and you instinctively turn away, desperately trying to lose yourself in the sea of people around you. courage is the last thing you feel��you don’t want to face him, don’t want to remember the way his soft hands used to trace your skin, or how his lips would brush against yours in those quiet moments you shared.

no, you don’t want any of that. the thought of meeting him again, of exchanging words, or worse, feeling that familiar touch, sends a wave of panic through you. the memories are too vivid, too raw, and you can’t afford to let them resurface now.

you down your drink, hoping the burn will distract you from the growing anxiety, but it does little to calm your nerves. all you want is to escape, to forget that he’s even here, but the weight of his presence lingers, heavy and suffocating.

you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to ground yourself, but the images of the past keep flashing in your mind—his hands, his lips, his voice. no, you can’t do this. not here, not now.

with a shaky breath, you tell your friends you need some air, forcing a casual smile. they don’t question it, too caught up in the night’s excitement to notice the turmoil beneath the surface. as you make your way to the exit, you pray that he won’t follow, that this encounter will stay in the past where it belongs.

as you push through the crowd, trying to make your way to the exit, your eyes unintentionally catch sight of them—his friends, your old circle. nirei, with her always-cool demeanor, leans against the bar, laughing at something sakura said. sakura, ever the lively one, gestures animatedly, her laughter ringing above the music. umemiya, stoic as ever, stands off to the side, nursing a drink, while hiragi, with that perpetual smirk, surveys the room.

seeing them together, unchanged after all these years, makes your chest tighten. they were once a part of your life too, part of the memories you’ve tried so hard to leave behind. but now, just like him, they’re here, pulling you back into a time you’ve long since tried to forget.

you notice the subtle glances they throw in his direction, the way they seem to orbit around him, just as they always did. it’s as if nothing’s changed—as if you could walk over and slip right back into the group, like you were never gone. but the thought is fleeting, immediately replaced by the dread of facing them again, of them seeing the way you’re struggling to keep your composure.

you finally reach the exit, the cool night air hitting your face as you step outside. you take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease, but it clings to you, stubborn and unrelenting. their faces, their laughter, his smile—they’re all etched into your mind, no matter how much distance you put between yourself and the club.

as you stand there, away from the noise and the memories, you realize that no matter how much time has passed, some parts of the past are always ready to resurface, waiting for the moment when you least expect them.

just as you think you've escaped, just as the cool air outside offers a brief respite, it happens. a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you back inside with a force that takes your breath away. before you can react, you're dragged through the crowded club, everything blurring around you as panic surges through your veins.

within seconds, you're shoved into one of the bathrooms. the door slams shut behind you, and the sound of the lock clicking into place echoes in the small space. your heart is racing, fear and adrenaline mixing into a dizzying rush as you try to make sense of what’s happening.

you’re pushed back against the wall, your mind reeling, and then you see him—suo hayato, standing there in front of you, his presence dominating the cramped room. his maroon eye gleams with an unsettling intensity, and that bone-chilling smile is still fixed on his face, but now there’s something darker in it, something that makes your blood run cold.

“did you really think you could just walk away?” his voice is low, almost a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. his grip on your arm tightens, and you feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

you try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, keeping you trapped between him and the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. your mind races, searching for something to say, something to do, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s been waiting to solve for far too long.

“you can’t just ignore me,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “not after all this time.” his words hang in the air, heavy with implication, and you realize just how deep you’re in—trapped, with no way out, forced to confront the man you’ve spent years trying to forget.

the cramped bathroom's dim light reflects off the polished tiles, casting eerie shadows on the closed door and the small sink. the air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and the thumping bass from the club's music reverberates through the walls.

for the first few moments, the only sounds are the labored breaths escaping both your lips. your heart races so rapidly, you’re sure he can hear it. your mind is clouded by a blend of fear and a strange sense of anticipation—a feeling that’s hard to reconcile, almost contradictory.

“i’ve got you now,” he mutters, his teeth bared in a sinister smile. his hand slides down your arm to your hip, gripping tightly as he presses closer against you, pinning you further against the wall.

“you can’t ignore me anymore. we’ve got unfinished business, you and i,” he adds. his face is so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. as he leans in, the heat from his body radiating against yours, your back presses harder into the wall. his voice is a low murmur, each word accompanied by a breath that seems to caress your skin.

his hand on your hip becomes more firm, almost possessive, as if he's marking you as his. you can feel the coolness of his rings against your skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his touch.

“unfinished business?” you manage to stammer out, your voice quivering despite your best efforts to maintain composure. the warmth of his breath is almost unbearable, causing a strange shiver to run down your spine.

you try again to push against his chest, to create any space between you, but he holds firm, your efforts merely a token resistance against his strength and determination. “what the fuck are you talking about?” you demand, the accusation slipping out without thought.

he moves in closer, until there’s virtually no space left between you. his body is flush against yours, his breath now mere inches away from your face. his eye gleams in the dim light, studying you intently, an air of quiet satisfaction about him.

he doesn’t reply right away. instead, he brings his other hand up to your face, his thumb lightly tracing the line of your jaw. his touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to his unyielding grip on your hip.

his maroon eye searches your face with a relentless intensity, as if he's trying to decipher something hidden deep within you. his thumb moves slowly, tracing a delicate, circular path on your skin, gradually moving upward until it brushes over your bottom lip. the touch is soft, almost gentle, but it carries a weight that makes your breath hitch.

there's a brief silence as he watches you, and then he speaks, his voice softer now but still laced with that underlying intensity. “you really don’t know?”

his words send another shiver down your spine, and the tension in the small bathroom becomes almost unbearable. you can feel it building between you, thickening the air as the reality of the situation crashes down on you.

anger flares up in response, burning away the fear that had momentarily paralyzed you. your brows knit together as you glare at him, your voice sharp with frustration and defiance. “no, suo, i fucking don’t know.”

his thumb pauses on your lip, and the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth only fuels your anger. but there’s something else in his expression too—something that makes you feel like you’re on the edge of understanding, yet still in the dark.

you jerk your head away from his touch, but he doesn’t back off, his gaze still locked onto yours. the smirk fades slightly, replaced by a more serious look, as if your defiance has finally caught his attention in a way that matters. “then maybe,” he murmurs, his voice lowering even more, “it’s time you remembered.”

there's a pause, a moment where the silence in the bathroom seems to stretch out almost indefinitely. the only sound is the thumping bass from the club below and the sound of your own quickened breathing.

he studies you intently, as if seeing something hidden within you that you're not even aware of yourself. his smirk fades, replaced by a strange mixture of seriousness and something else—something almost like anticipation.

“maybe you need a reminder,” he repeat.

his words hang in the air for a moment, the implications of them becoming clearer with each passing second. his expression is intense, almost predatory, as he gazes down at you. his eye flickers between your eyes and your lips, as if trying to decide where to focus his attention. without warning, he moves his hand from your lip, instead reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. his touch is light but deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

the gesture is strangely intimate, his touch lingering against your skin. his fingers trail along your jaw and then down the side of your neck, sending another shiver through you. he leans in closer, his face so close now that you can feel his breath on your cheek. his voice is low, almost a whisper, as he speaks the next words. “close your eyes,” he murmurs, the command leaving no room for disobedience.

you hesitate for a brief moment, your mind swirling with a mix of fear, confusion, and a strange sort of anticipation. but his words, spoken in that low, commanding tone, leave little room for defiance.

slowly, almost reluctantly, you close your eyes, your world suddenly plunged into darkness. you’re acutely aware of his presence so close to you, the proximity making your stomach flutter with uncertainty.

the absence of sight seems to heighten the other sensations—the heat of his body against yours, the sound of your heart thudding in your chest, his scent, a mix of cologne and something else, something distinctly him. as your sight is taken away, your other senses seem to sharpen. the heat emanating from his body feels almost searing, the thump of your heart in your ears is almost deafening, and his scent wraps around you like a fog.

he’s silent for a moment, you can feel his eyes on you, even through your closed lids. after a few more seconds, he speaks again, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “tell me something, y/n,” he murmurs.

your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat, each beat echoing in the tight space between you. swallowing hard, you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. “what?”

your whisper hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain, as you wait for his response. the vulnerability in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him; you can feel it in the way his grip on you tightens ever so slightly, and in the way the energy between you shifts, becoming even more charged with the weight of whatever is about to be said.

his grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh just a little bit more. his other hand moves to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, forcing you to angle your face towards him. the silence stretches again, and then his low voice breaks it, his question spoken in a tone that's both commanding and oddly vulnerable, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“do you remember our first kiss?”

his question pierces through the charged silence, filling the small space between you with an almost tangible tension. the memory of that moment—your first kiss, all those years ago—floods back into your mind, and your heart stutters in your chest.

his thumb, still resting under your chin, moves in a slow, feather-light stroke along your bottom lip, the touch sending a jolt down your spine. his eye is fixed on your face, waiting for your response. the world seems to pause for a moment as the question hangs in the air. your mind whirls as memories surface unbidden.

you remember the softness of his lips, the heat of his body against yours, the way the world seemed to fade away as you lost yourselves in that one brief moment. it's a memory that holds so much power, so much emotion. but you’re wary, not quite sure what he's after with this question. your voice trembles slightly as you respond, “yes.”

his hand on your hip moves slightly, his fingers tracing small, absent patterns against your skin. his touch is strangely soothing, and yet it also serves to remind you of the physical reality of the situation—of his closeness, the pressure of his body against yours.

your answer seems to please him, as he lets out a small hum of satisfaction. his thumb continues its slow, rhythmic motion against your lip, as if claiming it in some way.

“good,” he murmurs, “i wanted to make sure.”

his gaze drifts from your eyes down to your lips, his eye flickering almost possessively over them. the tension between you ratchets up another notch—a simmering cocktail of memories, old feelings, and current confusion.

he leans in, closing the already small gap between you, his breath mingling with yours almost as if he’s tasting the air itself. his voice is a low, almost reverent murmur as he speaks again, “i’ve been thinking about that kiss, a lot recently.”

as he talks, his words brush against your skin like a gentle caress, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. his touch on your lip is still light and almost reverent, a stark contrast to the possessive grip on your hip. “and do you remember…,” he continues, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper now, “how it ended?”

his question hangs in the air like a challenge, his voice just barely above a whisper. the memory of how that kiss ended floods your mind again, the image hazy and uncertain after all this time, but still potent.

the air between you feels stifling, heavy with anticipation. his lips are just millimeters away from yours, his breath warm against your skin. his eye is fixated on your face, studying your every reaction.

he waits for your answer, his words lingering in the silence like a loaded gun. his voice whispers against your skin, each word carrying an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. the combination of his touch and the heat of his body against yours is almost overwhelming, but somehow you feel drawn in even closer, as if there’s some invisible pull between you that you can’t resist.

as he continues, his voice drops to a low murmur, the memory of that moment, of how it all ended, comes flooding back to you. “yes,“ you murmur back, your voice shaky. “i remember.” as you speak, his eye seems to narrow slightly, studying your face with an almost predatory intensity. there's a moment of silence, where the only sound is the thumping of your mingled heartbeats in the cramped space.

he leans in even closer, his lips now tantalizingly close to yours. his hand on your hip tightens, his grip no longer gentle but firm, a silent assertion of dominance. “tell me,” he commands, his voice barely above a whisper, “what happened next?” the air around you seems to grow even thinner, his proximity making it hard to breathe. his hand on your hip is a constant reminder of his control over the situation, his grip a silent warning not to defy him.

his lips are right there, so close you could almost taste them, yet still somehow out of reach. their heat seems to linger on your skin, a prelude to something more.

he repeats his demand, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your chest. “tell me what happened next.” the question pulls you from your fog, leaving you feeling both nervous and groggy, like you’re teetering on the edge of a dream and reality. your mind races, trying to piece together what he wants, but the haze of fear and the overwhelming presence of him makes it hard to think straight.

“you..” you manage to say, your voice shaky and uncertain. the words come out almost as a whisper, your nerves making it difficult to speak clearly. “you touching me and we...” his grip on your hip tightens slightly, and you can sense his frustration, but also a twisted sort of satisfaction. it’s like he’s enjoying this—the power he has over you, the way he can make you feel so small, so unsure.

he listens to your shaky words intently, his eye flickering between your eyes and your lips as you speak. his grip on you remains firm, his body pressing even closer against yours, as if he's desperate for any reaction from you. he seems to relish your nervous stammering, feeding off the sense of unease he's creating in you. it's almost as if he's testing you, seeing how far he can push you before you break.

when you don't continue, he prompts you again, his voice a low growl. “and then...?” your mind is foggy, overwhelmed by the heat of his body, the closeness of him, and the power he holds over you in this moment. you’re barely holding on, teetering between fear and something else—something that draws you closer to him, even when every rational part of you screams to run.

with a shaky breath, you finally find the words, your voice soft and groggy, almost as if you’re in a trance. “and then… we’re having sex, suo.”

the admission hangs in the air, your heart pounding in your throat as you wait for his reaction. the tension is almost unbearable, your senses overloaded by his proximity, his scent, the way his eye locks onto yours with a burning intensity. as your words hang in the air, you can feel his body tense against yours. his grip on your hip tightens even more, his fingers digging into the flesh with a possessive pressure. his breath is heavier now, and his eye widens a fraction as he processes what you’ve just told him.

he doesn’t respond for a moment, his voice coming out as a low, almost gravelly whisper. “say it again.”

“we fucked,” you repeat.

the words come out in a soft, almost breathless murmur, your voice still shaky from the tension between you. his eye darkened, his expression turning predatory. as you speak, his grip becomes even tighter, his fingers digging into your skin and holding you in place. his breath is hot against your skin, and his body tenses even more, as if he's barely holding back.

he leans in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear as he speaks again. his tone is low and almost dangerous, a mix of intensity and desire.

“do you remember how it felt?”

“no,” you manage to lie whisper, your voice harsher this time, filled with a mix of fear, anger, and uncertainty, “i don't remember.” he pauses, his eye narrowing as he studies your face, clearly displeased with your answer.

he releases his grip on your hip, his hand trailing up your body slowly, almost lazily. he stops at your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose but firm hold. he doesn’t apply any pressure, but it’s enough to make you keenly aware of his power over you.

he leans in, his lips almost touching your ear again, his voice a possessive growl. “that’s not the right answer.” the possessive tone in his voice ignites a spark of defiance within you. pushing him away with all the strength you can muster, you glare at him, your voice laced with anger and frustration. “oh, fuck you, suo!”

the words burst out of you, raw and unfiltered, as you struggle to regain your composure. the anger in your voice seems to catch him off guard, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes flickers. “you can just come back into my life after eight years of no contact and act all touchy and possessive?” your voice is sharp, laced with indignation and a deep sense of betrayal. “who do you think you are, showing up like this and trying to control me?”

the words spill out, each one fueled by the confusion and anger of seeing him again after so long. you shake your head, trying to emphasize just how out of place and unwelcome his actions feel.

he bristles at your harsh words, his eye flickering with a hint of annoyance. but rather than retreat or apologize, he seems to just double down, his grip on your neck tightening just slightly, a warning glance in his eye. “watch your tone,” he growls, his voice deep and authoritative. “i didn't come all this way just to be disrespected like this.”

he studies your face, his expression is a mix of anger and something else, something almost feral in its intensity, “you may have forgotten me, but we once meant something to each other.”

you snort in response, your voice dripping with skepticism and irritation. “yeah, right.” the dismissive tone in your voice echoes the defiance you feel, a refusal to be swayed by his attempts to rekindle old connections or assert dominance. his intensity only fuels your resolve to stand your ground, even as the tension between you remains palpable.

he tightens his grip a bit more, his expression darkening as your defiant attitude continues. he's clearly not used to not getting his way, and your refusal to submit to his demands is only serving to rile him up further.

he leans in closer, his face now mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “don't get cocky,” he sneers, his voice low and menacing. “you may have forgotten how it feels to be mine, but your body hasn't.” his words hit you like a bolt of electricity, a chilling reminder of your past relationship. your heart pounds in your chest, your mind racing as you try to process his implication.

he leans in closer still, his face almost touching yours, his voice now a low, possessive growl. “your body remembers, even if your mind doesn’t.” he pauses, his eye flickering over your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i can always remind you.” with his fingers still around your neck, the pressure just enough to keep you aware of his presence, you grit your teeth and mutter, “fuck you.”

his grip on your neck tightens, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. he leans in even closer, his face now directly in front of yours, his eye burning with anger.

“watch your mouth,” he hisses, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “i’m not some pushover you can disrespect like this. i will remind you who you belong to.” struggling to maintain your composure, you push against him with whatever strength you can muster, trying to create some space. “fuck off, suo!” you snap, your voice hoarse but determined, trying to assert yourself despite the intimidating closeness.

he falters for a moment, caught off guard by your attempt to push him back. but his surprise is short-lived as he quickly regains his composure, his grip on you only tightening further in response to your continued defiance.

“you never did know when to stop,“ he growls, his voice deep and frustrated. he takes a step closer, towering over you, his body pressing against yours again. “you always were a stubborn, unruly little brat.” he leans in, his mouth mere inches from your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “but i was also the only one who could make you submit."

his hand on your neck slides down slightly, tracing a possessive line along your collarbone as he continues in a low, dangerous tone, “and i still know all the ways to make you bend to my will.” just like that he roughly kisses you and as your lips meet, he takes immediate control, claiming your mouth with a fierce possession that leaves you breathless.

his hand on your neck tightens once more, holding you in place as he devours you, his tongue forcefully exploring your mouth as if trying to prove just how thoroughly he can dominate you with his touch alone. his other hand grips your hip again, pulling your body flush against his, his fingertips digging into your flesh in a way that sends chills down your spine.

he continues to kiss you hungrily, the intensity in his movements growing with every passing moment. his tongue tangles with yours, his mouth bruising your lips with a possessive fervor.

he pushes you back against the wall, pressing his body against yours, trapping you between the cold surface and his overheated frame. his grip on your neck and hip tightens even more, any attempt to break free becoming increasingly impossible as he pours all his pent-up hunger and desire into the kiss.

his body covers yours, his presence surrounding you completely, a reminder of the power he holds over you in this moment. the kiss continues, his tongue delving deeper into your mouth, his body moving against yours in a way that ignites a fire within you despite your efforts to resist.

he seems desperate, almost as if he's trying to claim every inch of you, to make you remember just how good it feels to be under his control. his grip on your hip and neck only becomes tighter, becoming almost borderline painful as he kisses you with a hunger that borders on frenzy.

he breaks away from the kiss, panting heavily, his chest heaving against yours. his maroon eyes burn with an intense lust as they lock onto yours, his expression smug yet filled with a raw need. “i've been waiting for this,” he murmurs huskily, his voice low and commanding.

his hands roam freely over your curves, tracing the outline of your breasts before slipping down to cup your ass firmly. he grinds his hardened member against your thigh, a clear indication of his arousal. “don't fight me, love. it only makes things more interesting.”

the combination of his words, touch, and proximity makes your head spin. your heart pounds in your chest, your body betraying your conflicted emotions as it responds to his touch involuntarily. he leans in again, his mouth near your ear, his breath hot against your skin. he murmurs in a low, possessive tone, “i know you're resisting, but deep down you remember how much you enjoyed submitting to me.”

he chuckles darkly at your silent struggles, feeling your body react to him despite yourself. he presses himself closer to you, letting you feel every inch of his solid muscle against your softness. “let go of your pride, darling,” he whispers seductively, nibbling on your earlobe.

his hand slides up your side, teasing the curve of your breast before pinching your nipple through the fabric of your clothing, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. you let out a soft moan and for a second your eyes rolled back inside your head as if it remembered the touch.

he smirks, pleased with your reaction. “that's it, my sweet. show me just how much you want this,” he teases your other nipple, alternating between gentle caresses and firm pinches. his other hand trails lower, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to find the warmth between your thighs.

he groans approvingly, feeling your wetness through the thin material of your panties. he slips his finger beneath the elastic band of your panties, teasing the edge of your slit. he circles your clit slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure. “you're so wet for me already,” he taunts, his voice laced with satisfaction.

he dips his finger inside you, feeling your walls clench around him. “you're going to come undone for me tonight,” he promises, his voice dripping with confidence. “oh, god—” something caught your throat— his long, sleek finger caught the air in your throat and your nails dig an invisible hole on his biceps.

he chuckles darkly, enjoying the effect he has on you, “god can't help you now, sweetheart. it's just you and me.” he pumps his finger in and out of you, curling it slightly to hit that special spot inside. his thumb rubs circles on your clit, increasing pressure and speed until your hips buck against his hand involuntarily.

“that's right, baby. ride my fingers like you used to ride my cock,” he growls, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark. his other hand gropes your breast roughly, tugging and twisting your nipple. he adds another finger to your slick entrance, stretching you further as he fucks you with his hand. his pace is relentless, driving you closer to the edge with each thrust.

“come for me, darling,” he commands, pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger, “show me how much you crave my touch.”

he leans in to capture your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you. his fingers continue to move inside you, milking every last drop of ecstasy from your trembling body. “s-stop, fuck—” you cries between his lips. your trembling hands move to push his hands away weakly.

he ignores your weak protests, maintaining the same punishing rhythm as he drives you towards another peak, “shh, don't fight it, baby. let go and enjoy the pleasure I'm giving you.” his thumb flicks rapidly over your swollen clit while his fingers curl to stroke your g-spot. you whimper a soft air, “oh, hayato. . .” and he can feel your walls fluttering around him, signaling your impending release.

“that's it, come for me one more time,” he growls against your lips, “then maybe i'll give you what we both really want— my cock buried deep inside your tight little pussy.” just like your body longing and begging for him your legs shaking between his. “oh god, oh god,” you mumble between your another moans.

he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb working overtime on your clit. he can feel your body tensing, your orgasm building to a crescendo. “let it happen, darling,” he urges, his voice low and hypnotic, “give in to the pleasure. surrender to me completely.”

with one final thrust and swirl of his fingers, he sends you hurtling over the edge once more. your body convulses in his arms, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. he holds you close, riding out your climax with you, savoring the feeling of your tight pussy clenching around his fingers. when the spasms finally subside, he gently withdraws his hand from your underwear, leaving you panting and dazed against the wall.

he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking your essence off them with a satisfied groan. “mmm, you taste even better than i remembered,” he purrs, his eyes gleaming with renewed hunger. he steps back, admiring the sight of you flushed and disheveled from your orgasms. “now that's what i call a proper welcome home,” he says with a satisfied smirk.

his gaze drops to the bulge straining against his trousers, a clear indication of his own arousal. “but it's not fair for me to get all the fun, is it?“ he muses aloud. “time for me to bury myself inside you where i belong,” he declares, with his free hand, he quickly unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down just enough to free his throbbing cock. the thick shaft bobs heavily in front of him, the swollen head already leaking pre-cum.

your rise and fall gently, trying to catch your breath before throwing the maroon irises in front of you a nasty look, “fuck you,” you grumble under your breath. hating the effect he still have on you with every single blood inside your body, with every breath you take you swore for the last twenty-five of your life you hate him— trying to hate him.

he chuckles darkly, unfazed by your defiance. “fuck me? oh, darling, i plan to do far more than that,” his voice is laced with a dangerous promise as he steps closer, pressing his erect length against your thigh. “you may hate me, but your body doesn't lie,” he says, reaching out to trace a finger along the curve of your hip. ouch!

“it remembers how good it felt when i fucked you senseless.” his hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to cup your ass firmly. “and it wants more,“ he concludes, pulling you flush against him. with a swift movement, he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him more, the tip of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. you have to bitch your lips from letting you tear another moan.

“tell me you want me,” he demands, his eyes burning into yours.

your eyes shaking lightly. your hands make a fist, tightly as if you are trying to tear your skin with your nails alone. “i hate you,” you spat, this time, trying so hard to sound you mean every single word. he smirks, undeterred by your words. “that's it, say it louder. let me hear you curse me to my face.” he grips your hips tighter, positioning himself at your entrance.

without waiting for an answer, he thrusts forward, sinking into you inch by delicious inch. a guttural moan escapes him as he fills you completely, stretching your pussy around his girthy length.

“oh, fuck... you're still so tight,” he groans, starting to move inside you. each thrust is deep and powerful, designed to claim you utterly. your hands automatically looking for his broad shoulders to cling into like it's where you belong. “oh, fuck,“ you moan against his ear, throwing your head back.

he bites down on your shoulder, marking you as his again. “that's it, moan for me,” he encourages, his pace quickening. each thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

his hands roam over your curves, squeezing and kneading your flesh as if he's trying to imprint every inch of you onto his memory. “i never stopped thinking about this pussy,” he confesses, punctuating his words with a particularly deep penetration. his grip on your hips tightens, guiding you to meet his thrusts.

“you were mine before anyone else's, and you'll be mine again,” he vows, his voice filled with raw possessiveness. he takes advantage of your vulnerability, nipping at your exposed neck before moving down to lavish attention on your breasts. his teeth graze over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“does this feel familiar?” he asks, punctuating his question with a particularly deep thrust. “your body knows exactly what it needs— me inside you.” his hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading your flesh as if he owns you. and in this moment, he does. he keeps going, pistoning in and out of you at a brutal pace. his balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust, filling the room with lewd sounds of their coupling.

“i remember everything about you, y/n,” he murmurs against your skin, tracing patterns on your back with his fingertips. “how you whimpered when I touched you here...” he rolls his thumb over your clit, applying just enough pressure to send sparks shooting up your spine. it's like he's pushing a button, know which button that's going to make the best sounds, and he's going to do that, ever and ever again.

“and how you cried out when i filled you like this,” he continues, driving his cock deeper into your soaking wet cunt. “god, you were such a fucking slut for my dick.” his grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, pounding into you relentlessly.

“so tell me, baby, who's your favorite fucker?”

you can't process an appropriate answer but instead your chin rests against his shoulder, bouncing a little each time he thrusts into you and tightly holding to him, “so good..” you moan, “so f-fucking good.”

he smirks against your neck, loving the way you surrender to his touch. he grins wickedly, pleased by your response. “damn right it is,” he agrees, giving a particularly hard thrust for emphasis, “no one else will ever make you feel this way.”

one hand leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. he leans in, running his tongue along the column of your neck before biting down sharply. the vibrates of your moaning and whimpering flattering against sukuna's lips. “that's because you belong to me,” he growls possessively, punctuating his claim with another series of deep, penetrating thrusts. “this pussy is mine. this body is mine. everything about you is mine.”

he pounds into you harder, faster, chasing both your climaxes now. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the air, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion. you pull your neck away from his lips to meet with suo maroon irises. your cup his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. “i'm yours,” you whimper. he can feel your breath fanning on his skin.

his maroon eyes darken with lustful intent at your admission. “good girl,” he praises, his voice rough with desire, “say it louder. make sure i believe you.” he thrusts into you with renewed vigor, his hips snapping against yours with a force that borders on painful. but there's no pain in his touch, only pleasure, pure and unadulterated.

“say it again,” he commands, pinning you against the wall with his weight. “admit that you need me, that you crave my touch more than anything else in this world.” as he speaks, his fingers find your clit once more, rubbing circles around the sensitive bud while his cock drives deeper into your dripping heat.

“i'm yours,” you murmur before you captures his lips in a searing kiss, pouring all your pent-up emotions into the embrace. your tongue delves into his mouth, tangling with his in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

he kisses you back fiercely, his tongue dueling with yours in a heated battle of dominance. as he ravages your mouth, he doesn’t slow down his thrusts, keeping up the relentless rhythm that has you teetering on the edge of release.

breaking off the kiss, he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, nipping and sucking at your skin. “that's it, let go,” he whispers against your earlobe. “come for me, darling. show me how much you love being fucked by your favorite fucker.” he bitting your jaw before pulling his face away slightly, watching you close your eyes.

“look at me,” he orders, his voice husky with arousal. when you meet his gaze, he captures your lips once more, kissing you deeply as his orgasm builds within him. with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed deep within your womb. at the same moment, he feels your walls clench around him, milking his cock for every last drop as you come undone in his arms.

he stays buried inside you, breathing heavily as he rides out the aftershocks of your climax. your body clings to his, milking every last drop of cum from his throbbing member. slowly, he withdraws from you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “there's nowhere else in the world i'd rather be,” he admits softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your swollen lips.

he lets you down on your feet with his arms still wrap around your waist. your warm hand gently caresses his chest, down to his washboard abs before landing on his still-hard cock. your delicate fingers wrap beautifully around his shaft.he lets out a low chuckle, feeling your small hands wrap around his hardened shaft. “still eager for more, huh?” he teases, his maroon eyes glinting with mischief.

allowing you to take control, he watches intently as you start stroking him, your delicate fingers exploring every inch of his length. “fuck, that feels good,” he groans, tilting his head back slightly to enjoy the sensation. but soon, his patience runs thin. with a firm grip on your waist, he guides you to stand up properly.

“now let's see how well you can handle being taken from behind,” he whispers huskily into your ear. suo brings you to the nearest sink, and positions you with your back facing him. he can see your face from the mirror in front of you two. he steps close behind you, his hard cock prodding insistently at your entrance. in the mirror's reflection, his maroon eyes lock onto yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“watch yourself,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding, “see how i'm going to take you, right here where anyone could walk in.” without further warning, he grips your hips and plunges into you with a single, powerful stroke. a guttural moan escapes him as your warmth envelops his shaft once more.

“you're so damn tight,” he growls, starting to move. each thrust sends ripples through your body, the force of his penetration making the sink tremble beneath your hands. he grins at the sight of your flushed face reflected in the mirror, the way your lips part slightly as you gasp for air. “oh, h-hayato— god!” you sink your head down when you feel his cock full inside you.

each thrust sends ripples through your body, your breasts bouncing enticingly with every impact. he smirks, loving the view of your bouncing tits and the way your body responds to his touch. “that's it, darling,” he encourages, his hands roaming over your curves. “show me how much you love having my cock inside you.”

he increases his pace, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless efficiency. the slap of flesh against flesh fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep grunts. in the mirror, he watches you lose yourself to pleasure, your features contorting with each intense wave of orgasmic bliss. “look at me,” he demands, needing to see those beautiful eyes glazed over with lust and submission.

“n-no!” you stutter between your whimper and moan. your hands gripping tightly around the edge of the sink. your eyes tightly shut and your head sink further. he frowns slightly, not liking your refusal. grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“i said look at me,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i want to see the moment you come apart completely.” his other hand snakes around your body to toy with your nipple, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. at the same time, he alters his angle of penetration, aiming directly for that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“yes, just like that,” he praises, feeling your inner muscles flutter around his invading length. “let go for me, baby. give me everything.” tears stream down your face as suo grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. the tears ruining your mascara. “f-faster,” you murmur.

he snickers at your plea, the sound muffled by the wet sounds of his hips slamming into yours. “faster? you think you can handle even more?” he taunts, a devilish glint in his maroon eyes. increasing his pace to an almost punishing rhythm, he revels in the sight of your body shaking under his assault. each powerful thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, driving you closer and closer to the brink of insanity.

the mirror fogged up from your heavy breathing, creating a steamy backdrop for the erotic spectacle unfolding before them. and in the midst of it all, he can't help but admire the way your body clings to his, the way your walls squeeze down on his cock with each merciless plunge.

“fucking perfect,” he murmurs approvingly, leaning in to nip at the tender skin of your neck. “oh, god, i-i— please don't stop,” you cried. your hand flying around before it lands on suo's hair. your hand desperately grabbing his hair for your support.

he chuckles darkly, loving the way your body writhes against his. “not stopping anytime soon, sweetheart,” he assures you, nipping at your skin with a hunger that matches the ferocity of his movements. with one hand tangled in your hair, he pulls your head back further, exposing the delicate column of your throat to his voracious appetite. his teeth graze along your skin, marking you as his in a primitive show of ownership.

each thrust becomes a promise, a vow of the endless pleasure he intends to give— and take— from you. he can already imagine the marks that will decorate your body, a silent testament to the night’s debauchery. “scream for me,” he demands, his voice laced with raw need. “let everyone know whose cunt is being fucked senseless.”

he redoubles his efforts, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder with each passing second. “that's it, scream for me,” he encourages, his voice a guttural whisper against your ear. his hand slides down from your hair, grasping your hip firmly to guide you against his thrusts. the angle shifts, allowing him to hit that sweet spot inside you with even greater precision. you can hear the moans spilling from your lips, echoing off the walls of the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, he takes in the sight of your flushed face, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. the way your breasts bounce with each impact, nipples hard and begging for attention. it's a feast for his eyes, fueling his desire to claim you fully.

“fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, reaching up to tweak a nipple between his fingers. “i'm— coming,” you mutter as you look at suo from the mirror in front of you. he smirks, watching as your body tenses up, ready to surrender to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. “that's it, let it all out,” he encourages, his own climax looming dangerously close.

with a few more powerful thrusts, he drives you over the edge, milking your orgasm until every last drop of your essence coats his throbbing cock. your cries fill the room, mingling with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. as you come down from your high, he continues to pound into you relentlessly, chasing his own release. “not done yet,” he growls, his maroon eyes locked onto yours in the mirror.

feeling your pussy clench around him once again, he gives a final, triumphant thrust, his seed spurting hotly inside you. he leans against you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “fuck, that was incredible," he murmurs, his words still coming out in pants.

slowly, he pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of your spent pussy. he gives your ass a firm smack, his handprint reddening your skin. “you took my cock well, didn't you?” his hand moves lower, circling your clit teasingly. “but we're not done yet,” he warns, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

he steps back, releasing you from his grasp but keeping his hungry gaze locked on yours. “get on your knees,” he orders, his voice thick with lust. he waits impatiently for you to comply, his cock already starting to harden again at the thought of tasting your arousal. once you're kneeling before him, he grips the base of his shaft, giving it a few strokes to prime himself.

“open wide,” he commands, his maroon eyes blazing with a dark, primal hunger. as you part your lips, he guides his tip to your entrance, coating your tongue with his pre-cum. “mmm, delicious,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward to push deeper into your mouth.

he sets a steady rhythm, fucking your face with long, slow thrusts. the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth fill the room, accompanied by your muffled moans and his low groans of pleasure. he groans, enjoying the warm wetness of your mouth enveloping his cock. “that's it, suck me off,” he encourages, his hands tangling in your hair to guide you.

he watches through half-lidded eyes as you bob your head, taking him deeper with each movement. the sight of your lips stretched tight around his girth sends a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins. “you like this, don't you?” he teases, pulling away just enough to watch his cock slide out of your mouth with a pop. “loving the taste of my cum on your tongue.”

your hands moving upward, reaching for his hands to hold while your head moves in and out through his cock. he lets out a low chuckle, amused by your desperate attempts to anchor yourself while servicing him. “such a needy little thing, aren't you?” he taunts, tightening his grip on your hair.

emboldened by your submission, he starts to pick up speed, fucking your mouth with reckless abandon. the wet slap of his thighs against your chin and the obscene suction of your lips around his cock fill the air. “you're going to make me cum again if you keep this up,” he warns, his voice strained with pleasure.

but there's no denying the telltale twitch in his balls, signaling his impending release. he grins down at you, his maroon eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “that's right, take it all,” he urges, feeling his climax building at the base of his spine.

with a few more forceful thrusts, he reaches his peak, his seed shooting forth in hot jets that flood your mouth. he holds you still, making sure you swallow every drop, marking you internally as much as externally.

as the spasms subside, he slowly pulls free from your lips, a string of saliva connecting them for a moment before breaking. “good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheek gently with the back of his hand. you look up at him, eyes wide open with your lips glistening from his cum. he stares down at you, admiring the way your lips glisten with his cum. a sense of possessiveness washes over him, knowing that you've taken so much of him inside you.

he helps to stand properly before giving your forehead a kiss gently. despite the intense passion they just shared, his touch is gentle now, almost reverent. it's as if he's worshipping you with his hands, tracing the lines of your body as if committing them to memory.

“you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. there's no hunger in this kiss, only a profound sense of connection, of two souls intertwined.he deepens the kiss, savoring the taste of his own essence on your lips. When he finally breaks away, he gazes into your eyes, his expression softening. “i could get used to this,” he admits, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his usually confident demeanor.

leaning back, he takes in the sight of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, a visual reminder of their carnal encounter. “let's clean up, shall we?” he suggests, reaching for the tissue nearby to wipe the sweat from his brow.

as he starts to clean himself up, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. there's a tenderness in his touch and voice that contrasts with the possessive, dominant behavior he displayed moments ago.

it's... confusing, to say the least. the way he switches between these two sides of himself, the mix of vulnerability and confidence, leaves you feeling off balance, unsure of what to expect next. as he continues to attend to himself, you find yourself watching him a bit longer than perhaps you should.

he wraps your shirt around your shoulders, his fingers lingering on your skin as he does up the buttons of your shirt. his actions are deliberate, almost tender, a stark contrast to the rough passion of moments ago.

as he fastens your bra, his thumbs brush against the sensitive undersides of your breasts, sending a shiver down your spine. “remember when we first met?” he asks, a wistful note in his voice. “i never imagined our paths would cross again, let alone lead us here.”

he pauses, looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter, “but I'm glad fate brought us together, because being with you feels like...coming home.”

his words and tender gestures have an unexpected effect on you. your heart pounds in your chest as his fingers graze your skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake. the contrast between his dominating and tender behavior is almost dizzying. it's like you're seeing two sides of him at once, and you're not sure which one is real. you swallow hard, trying to steady your voice as you reply, your words almost catching in your throat. “i... i never thought I'd see you again, either.”

he finally finishes buttoning your shirt, his hands tracing down the front of the fabric, his fingertips lingering over your chest before he takes a step back. he studies you for a moment, a soft, almost thoughtful expression on his face. he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch achingly gentle. "you're even more beautiful than i remembered," he murmurs, his words sincere and raw.

“and now that i have you back, i'm never letting you go again,” he vows, his tone leaving no room for doubt. cupping your face in his hands, he tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “we've both changed since then, grown in ways neither of us could have anticipated. but one thing remains constant— the way you make me feel alive.”

he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes slipping shut as he inhales deeply, as if breathing in your very essence. “stay with me tonight,” he pleads softly, his voice raw with emotion. “let me show you how much you mean to me.”

his words make your heart leap in your chest. there's a tenderness to his tone and his touch that feels almost alien to you, given the dominant and possessive behaviors he's displayed up until now.

you find yourself melting under his gentle touch, his plea echoing in your ears. your thoughts race, your mind torn between desire and uncertainty. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you finally find your voice. “i don't know, suo. this is all so... sudden. i never expected to see you again, let alone like this...”

his expression falters for a moment, his shoulders slumping slightly as he absorbs your words. his fingers trace lightly across your cheek, his touch betraying a hint of vulnerability in that gesture.

he takes a step back, a small space opening between you. he looks at you for a moment, his eye searching your face as if searching for something. after a few tense seconds, he speaks again, his voice softer than before, “i understand if you need time to process everything. but i meant what i said. i want you in my life again, and i'll do anything to make that happen.”

he pauses, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “just... promise me you'll think about it, will you? give us a chance, see where this goes. because i can't deny this connection between us, and i know you feel it too.” the vulnerability in his voice and his body language are so different from his usual confident demeanor. it's almost... endearing, in a way. it's not something you'd expect from someone as intense and dominating as him, and it throws you off balance even more.

“okay..” you nod.

his expression immediately brightens up at your response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. he steps closer again, closing the gap between you. his hands find their way back to your hips, pulling you gently against his body. he looks down at you, his eye tender and searching as he studies your face.

[aurorawritestoescape]

BAD BLOOD

Pairing: step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

Summary: you want your stepdad and your step uncle offers to help.

Tw for this part: +18, mdni, smut, talk of step-cest (for now), everyone is horrible, EVERYONE, big age gap (reader is 22, Joel and Tommy are in their late and mid-40s), degradation, f!masturbation, dark Joel, perv!joel, soft dark Tommy, dark reader, dirty thoughts all around, face slapping, smoking, swearing

Word count: 3,5k

A/n: no one look at me🫣 This is part 1 of my depraved family fic as I call it. I plan on 3 parts, next two are gonna be much more smutty. I have a fever rn so sorry for any mistakes. Hope you enjoy! 😵‍💫 @milla-frenchy it’s your fault for hyping this up so much!😘

Masterlist || Part II || Series masterlist

“How’s that stepdaughter of yours? Calls you daddy yet?”

“No, Joel, she’s twenty two. She ain’t gonna call me daddy,” Tommy replies, fumbling with the coaster under his beer bottle.

“Never say never,” Joel mumbles under his breath.

They’re sitting in a crowded bar, their booth table is sticky, the whole atmosphere is depressing and Tommy feels dirty just being here. It was Joel who picked the place and Tommy didn’t object.

“She doesn’t care much about me. Busy with boys,” Tommy explains with a slight sadness in his voice.

Joel’s face twists in a grin, eyes cold and intent, “So she’s a slut?”

Tommy chuckles, “She’s young and single as far as I know. She’s old enough to date. I don’t see any harm in exploring herself.”

“This explorin’ sounds a lot like whorin’ around,” Joel grunts with a smirk, emptying another glass.

“Nah, she’s a good girl,” Tommy follows Joel, chasing the last of his beer with a few nuts.

“Gonna get another round,” Joel says, getting out of their booth. Tommy is about to stop him but he hasn’t seen his brother for a while so he decides that one more beer won’t harm anyone. Yet when Joel returns with four shots of tequila and then two more beers Tommy regrets his stay.

Joel insists and Tommy as always gets influenced by his older brother. They drink and discuss business, work, sports, they drink more and Tommy feels that the room starts spinning. He asks the bartender for water and then returns to the table.

“How long is your stepdaughter staying with you?” Joel asks narrowing his eyes at Tommy.

“For a few more weeks,” Tommy answers, surprised they’re talking about you again.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Joel lowers his voice, his eyes glinting under the dim lights.

“About what?” Tommy asks, glancing up at his brother. By the tone of Joel, Tommy knows what Joel is talking about and he averts his eyes looking anywhere but his brother’s face.

Joel leans back on the seat, his arm resting on the back of it.

“About fucking her,” Joel speaks louder making Tommy squirm in his seat, as his eyes are darting around the bar.

Joel notices his unease and smirks, “I’ve stayed for a couple of days and already noticed her parading around in her tiny skirts and crop tops. The bitch is waiting to be bent over your kitchen counter, brother.”

Tommy rubs his chin feeling blood rush to his face as well as his crotch, “No, Joel, I love Jess.” Why the fuck is his voice so quiet and shaky all of a sudden?

Joel isn’t having any of it, “Maybe you do, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting to fuck her daughter, right?”

Tommy laughs uncomfortably but the tequila has hit him hard so after a few moments he hums looking at the empty shot glass.

As if having been waiting for this tiny crack in Tommy’s facade, Joel leans on the table getting closer to Tommy, his scowl carnal and triumphant,

“Here’s my little brother. He’s still somewhere inside this boring family man. I remember you being able to get any girl you wanted. Fucked them good. I taught you everything I knew after all. They’re all simple sluts. Call them pretty, then slap their pussy and they’ll do anything for you, give you any hole. Do you want your stepdaughter’s holes, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes are blown out and dark, his palms are sweaty. The memories of his escapades flood his mind and he can’t help but get hard thinking of all the pussy he used to get. Before settling down.

“So do you?!” Joel interrupts his brother’s thoughts with a loud question. Tommy flinches, his nerves alight, head cloudy, and answers, “Yes.”

Joel tilts his head and continues, “How would you do it? Hypothetically of course.”

Tommy sees pride in Joel’s eyes and feels cocky. All his life he wanted to get his brother’s approval. It led to a lot of bad situations, as Joel’s influence had been almost always negative. But Tommy can’t help but go back in time to his younger self, drunk on tequila and his sibling’s poisonous words. Staring at his hands he starts talking, quietly but so Joel could hear him,

“I’d fuck her in her room. She has a nice big bed, all pink and pretty. Would push her face into a pillow and rail her from behind. You’re right. She acts like she wants it. Walking into the kitchen in the morning all sleepy in her tiny pjs. The shorts barely cover her ass. I caught a glimpse of her pussy once when she was reaching for the cereal. Nearly came in my pants. She sleeps in just those shorts. Easy access. Could slide them to the side and slip my cock into her tight pussy. Maybe she’d think it’s a dream. Imagine fucking her sleeping body. Fuck…She’d wake up full of her stepdad’s cum and wouldn’t know it. Only later when she starts dripping me out of her hole and...”

Someone shouts in the bar and Tommy snaps out of his drunk daydreaming. He adjusts his hardening bulge and glances up at his brother. He sees Joel’s expression and his body erupts in goosebumps. The man in front of him looks like the devil himself, eyes cold and dark, mouth twisted in a smile that resembles a scowl.

“Got you, brother,” he mumbles and Tommy sees a phone in Joel’s hand. The man puts it on the table and Tommy sees that he’s been on a call with someone. Joel hangs up and leans back grinning wider.

“What the fuck?” Tommy asks trying to clear his mind but in vain. Suddenly he feels like he has blacked out. He must be out cold, drunk and dreaming because he hears your voice. Here, in this dark sleazy bar.

“Hey, daddy!”

As if in slow motion caused by his drinking and shock he sees you slide into their booth and take a seat next to Joel. His brother throws his arm around you.

“What the fuck?” Tommy repeats his question, gaping at you both and you give him an innocent smile putting your hands on your naked thighs barely covered by a short plaid skirt, saying, “Just wanted to join you too. Seems like you’re having fun.”

You feel Joel’s heavy arm on your shoulders, his thumb is caressing your collar bone. You sense him staring at your cleavage peeking out of the low cut top and can’t help but gush.

“We are, baby,” Joel rumbles, licking his lips while Tommy is staring at you and your step uncle.

“Give uncle a smooch, baby. Haven’t seen you in a while,” Joel lowers his face closer to you and you feel tequila on his breath burning your cheek.

“You saw me at breakfast this morning, perv,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Suddenly a hand grabs a fist of your hair and yanks your head back. Joel is pressing his side to yours, his face hovers over you, as he hisses, “that’s no way to talk to your seniors, girl” His eyes are blown out, he is enjoying it and you are too. Your legs tremble and you feel yourself getting wetter.

Tommy gets up and tries to reason with Joel saying that people are staring and he must let you go.

You’re blinking up at your step uncle and forget why you’re there for a second. Your gaze darts to his plush lips, they are waiting to be kissed and bitten. You shoot him a smile and he groans.

Joel hears worried mumbling from around their booth and lets go of your hair much to your disappointment. He looks around with a polite smile, mouthing, ‘All good, just joking.”

You fix your hair and look at your stepdad who has plunged back into his seat, eyes worried and wide.

“You can’t grab her like that, Joel! What the fuck is happening between you too?” Tommy exclaims but in a hushed voice.

Joel adjusts the prominent bulge in his jeans and takes a big gulp of his beer.

You're batting your lashes at Tommy and breathe out, “Don’t worry, daddy. I’ve forgotten my manners.”

Joel chuckles, you smile and Tommy furrows his brows. “Since when are you calling me daddy,” that’s what he wants to ask but doesn’t dare, not when Joel is here, not after the conversation they’ve just had.

So he takes a sip and asks you if you want anything.

“Thanks, I’m good. My friend is waiting for me in the car. I just popped in to say ‘hi’ to my favorite stepdad and step uncle,” you reply, giving them both your sweetest smile, fumbling with your necklace. You haven’t missed the way they both stare at your chest.

You get up peeling off your thighs of the sticky seat and pause next to Joel for a second fixing your skirt. Tommy rises up to his feet but you stop him with a wave of your hand, “It’s ok, I’ll find my way out,” you giggle and get out of the booth. You look at Joel who’s shamelessly ogling your ass and legs.

You wait for him to pay your face some attention and when he finally glances up you bend over the table and kiss his scruffy cheek before whispering, “Bye, Uncle Joel.” When you straighten up and turn to Tommy, Joel places his big warm hand on the back of your thigh and gives it a squeeze. You move away from him feeling dampness between your legs and step up to Tommy, whose jaw hasn’t closed up since the moment you showed up.

You bend over and kiss his cheek too. Your lips linger on his face a little longer than necessary and Tommy places his hand on your shoulder to gently push you away. You feel a pang in your heart but don’t show it. You’ll have him very soon.

“Have a good night, daddy.. uncle,” you coo, looking at one man and then the other.

You turn your head to your stepdad and say quietly, so only he could hear,

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Tommy. I'll make sure to wear the pjs you like.”

You watch his face growing paler and your lips twist in a smirk. You turn on your heels and head for the exit, passing Joel and giving him a wink. He returns it with one of his predatory grins.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and as soon as you leave the bar you take a deep breath of fresh night air. You find your friend’s car, get in and ask her to take you home. You light a cigarette with shaky hands not being able to believe you got what you wanted. Well not exactly what you wanted but you’re definitely closer to the final goal.

You look at the red dot of the cigarette burning in the darkness of the car and remember today’s morning when you were smoking on the patio of your mom’s house.

***

Joel joined you there after breakfast and took a seat next to you. He lit a cigarette too and for some time you were sitting in silence. He was leering at you from the side of his eye and after a dozen of sleazy glares you got fed up. “Would you quit staring, old man?” you asked Joel in an accusatory tone. He just chuckled as his dark eyes slid down from your face to your chest, and then legs.

Everyone was aware that Tommy’s brother was a sleaze bag. Single, no children, with a bouquet of addictions which none of many rehabs could treat. He also was hot. You didn’t hate him, but rather came to admire the extent of him not giving any fucks. He always said whatever he wanted and trolled your mom whenever he’d visit his brother which gave you immense pleasure and satisfaction. At least someone didn’t see Jess as a perfect little house wife.

“I could ask you the same question, sweetheart,” he replied with a sly smile. You furrowed your brows in confusion taking the next drag and then quipped, “I wouldn’t look your way if you were the last dick left on the planet!”

He chuckled and you hated how much you loved the sound and the fact that you managed to make him laugh.

“Nah, angel, I’m talkin’ about the way you stare at my little brother,” You opened your mouth to tell him there was nothing little about Tommy but fortunately shut it just in time. You couldn’t forget the time you had caught him in the bathroom naked after taking a shower so you knew that his cock was long and thick. He had a happy trail on his soft tummy, a broad chest and muscular arms. You lost count of how many times you had gotten off to that image.

Suddenly your palms got clammy when you heard what exactly Joel said.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You should have your eyes checked, Joel. At your age it might be a good time to get glasses.”

He didn’t laugh that time, just looked at you intently with his piercing stare.

“I could help you get what you want,” he rumbled in the quiet of the yard. You narrowed your eyes at him, birds chirping in the trees was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. Is he joking? Is it some kind of a trap? You wouldn’t be surprised. It was Joel after all.

“What do you think I want?” you asked him carefully.

“To fuck Tommy and get back at your bitch of a mother.”

You laughed but it didn’t sound natural at all. You were surprised to your core that he read you like a book. You didn’t say anything and just continued smoking and staring into the distance.

“I have an idea and if you like the plan, we could help each other out.”

“How would we do it?” you asked and added hastily, “hypothetically of course.”

Joel told you about the plan, the first step of which would be fulfilled perfectly and the result of it would be stored in your phone now.

When he finished explaining it to you, you asked him why he wanted to ruin his brother’s life. Bringing the cigarette to his lips from time to time, Joel complained that Tommy had abandoned their family business, had left his life in Austin, had left Joel, his only family member, chasing some mediocre pussy (you smiled at that). Joel wanted his brother out of that marriage as he hated Jess (you smiled again) and wanted Tommy back. “I don’t know why you hate your mom like that but I don’t doubt you have a reason,” he concluded.

You hummed at that leaning back, your expression serious and pensive.

As if sensing your doubt Joel spoke again, “I’ll add a big bonus to our deal.”

You glanced his way and waited for him to continue.

“On top of getting my brother’s dick you’ll get mine as well.”

Now you couldn’t help but laugh, “Why the fuck would I need your dick?” you asked giggling, being in awe at the man’s enormous ego.

“You surely don’t need it, sweetheart, but fuckin’ hell you want it,” as if proving his point he grabbed his bulge and adjusted it looking straight into your eyes. “I’ll fuck you like no boy ever did. Like my little brother never will. Believe me, baby, if you want a good dickin’ down, you need Joel.”

With an open mouth you stared at the man next to you. The pull he had on you was hard to deny when your panties were soaked just being next to him, talking to him. His masculinity, his darkness, his self confidence captivated your soul, mind and body. But you couldn’t just admit it.

“I’m pretty sure I can have you right here, right now if I wanted to, dirty creep,” you spit out at him leaning forward and putting your elbows on your knees.

He turned his head away from you, smiled, then got up with a grunt and came up to your chair. He was towering over you, so much bigger and stronger than you that you started to regret your harsh words. You stared up at him hiding your growing fear as well as you could. His gaze was locked with yours and you flinched when he placed his hand on your cheek and rubbed your cheekbone with his thick thumb. Your eyes were about to flutter shut and it took everything from you not to purr into his gentle touch when all of a sudden he gave your cheek a slap, not hard, but your head spun to the side and you had to grab the arms of the chair for stability.

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he said and went inside the house.

You rubbed your cheek not feeling the pain but a surge of shame shooting into your heart and then right to your pussy. The desire to be used by him started burning in your stomach. You wanted both of the brothers now and if you could have it all in one move, why the fuck not?

Joel didn’t look surprised when you approached him later and agreed to the deal. You discussed the details and that evening everything went smoothly.

***

As soon as you are in your bedroom you rush to the night stand and grab your favorite toy. You throw it on the bed along with your phone and plunge down next to them. You take off your thong and notice that the gusset is soaked through. You throw the ruined underwear on the floor before taking your phone and adjusting AirPods in your ears. The house is empty, your mom having a girls night out, Tommy still in the bar, so you can enjoy the result of yours and Joel’s efforts fully. At least until you get the real thing. You find the audio and press play. Right into your ears as clearly as if he was next to you, you hear Joel’s drawl asking Tommy about you. You spread your legs and dip two fingers between your folds. You’re so wet they slide down to your entrance easily. You hear Tommy talk about you and your pussy flutters. You push the fingers inside and start slowly fucking yourself rubbing your clit from time to time. “So she’s a slut?” Joel asks in your ears and you moan moving your fingers faster. You can’t get enough of them talking about you like that. When Tommy calls you ‘a good girl’ you nearly come so you pull your fingers out and pant heavily trying to calm down. You know the good part is coming soon so you need to wait for it.

For some time you just lie there, eyes closed, skirt pulled up to your waist, pussy dripping and glistening under the light of the moon coming through the window. You don’t dare touch your nipples like you usually do, as you know you’ll come right away.

When you hear Joel’s “how would you do it?” you return your hand to your throbbing pussy. You plunge your fingers into your slicked entrance and slowly begin massaging your insides, pressing the pads of your fingers against your g-spot.

“Would push her face into the pillow… rail her from behind” You can’t help but moan so you bite on the back of your hand to stop your whimpers in case someone comes home.

“She acts like she wants it... I caught a glimpse of her pussy…”

Fuck, Tommy!

Your digits slide out of your hole and caress your pulsing clit. You feel your orgasm on the tips of your fingers.

“Easy access. Could just slide them to the side and slip my cock into her tight pussy…Imagine fucking her sleeping body. She'd wake up full of her stepdad's cum…”

“Stepdad’s cum” Fuck… You roughly push your fingers back into your hole, fucking yourself in earnest now and in just a few seconds you explode, pussy squirting its juices all over your bedding, your soaked hand still working your g-spot prolonging the hardest orgasm of your life. You arch your back, all your muscles tighten, and you bite your lip till it bleeds.

Your moans are leaving your mouth openly now. You don’t care anymore, blinded by ecstasy, drowning in pleasure. Nothing exists anymore, no one exists, just you and your hand on your fluttering pussy.

The recording stops and you lie on the bed spent, your limbs tingling pleasantly. Still trying to catch your breath, you throw your soaked bedding off, and the forgotten toy falls on the floor with a thud. You get under the blanket still clothed and as soon as you close your eyes you fall asleep.

***

Thank you for reading!❤️

Your comments and reblogs would make me very happy!💖💖💖

Part II

Tag list: @iamasaddie @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @missannwinchester @nervousmumbling

If you want to be tagged for this mini series or everything else of mine please let me know🫶

***

For other stepdad or ‘uncle’ activities check out these hot stories if you haven’t already 🥵

A little discipline - stepdad!Joel x reader by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Uncle Ezra by @bonezone44

App Store - stepdad!Joel by @toxicanonymity

Bad girl - stepdad!Joel by @seventeenpins

The final jump - stepdad!Joel by @talaok

Please heed the warnings of the fics!

[hippiegoth97]

Random Eddie Thought #2

This one really got away from me, but it's nice to write something new again :)

18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie, smut, sex dreams/fantasies, mentions of genital piercings/oral sex/masturbation/choking/unprotected sex, invasion of privacy, erections, crying, heavy kissing, idiots in love, best friends to lovers

A Few Tags: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @mediocredreams

@micheledawn1975 @slowandsteddie @bimbobaggins69 @etherealxwitch @taintedcigs

You're in the kitchen of your apartment, getting a snack to share with Eddie, your best friend, who's come to have a perfectly platonic sleepover with you. You've known each other since high school, becoming fast friends. You never fit in the with 'in crowd' and Eddie naturally picked up on your awkward and shy nature. Over the years he's managed to get you to open up more and be yourself, though it's mostly only around him, even after all these years. You tell each other everything, and have been there for one another through thick and thin.

One thing he hasn't seemed to notice, however, is your growing feelings for him. As you both matured into your mid-twenties, you've been unable to deny just how gorgeous Eddie is. With his long curls, big brown eyes, and lithe body covered in tats and piercings. Not to mention he's perpetually dressed in band tees and jeans that don't leave much to the imagination. Ugh, he's absolutely perfect. Inside and out.

That's not to say he hasn't always been hot stuff, because of course he has. But he's not the scrawny little boy who picked you out of a long line of geeks and freaks anymore. No, now he's a strong, handsome, sexy man. A man who treats you like no one ever has before. He brings you something every time he comes to see you, ranging anywhere between a new book or a pretty rock he found on a walk once. He opens doors for you, and holds you in his arms when you're sad. He makes you soup when you're sick, nursing you back to health even if it means missing work.

The only thing missing, is something you've craved since the day you met him. Something you've never spoken aloud. Something you've only verbalized in late night cries of ecstasy when you get off to the thought of your best friend. Something you've only admitted in the pages of your diary. The diary that Eddie has just found in your bedside drawer, along with a pretty pink rabbit that makes him chuckle when he first sees it.

And what do we have here?... Eddie thinks to himself, pulling the book out of its hiding place. It's thick, bound in leather, detailed with little leaves and flowers. He thinks maybe it's a poetry journal, or a sketchbook. You share his affinity for the creative. It isn't until he actually opens that he realizes what's inside. Your deepest, darkest secrets. He flips through the pages, noting the dates as he reads about strange dreams you've had, or bad one-night stands. His eyes widen when he reaches an entry from a week ago, with the opening line: I dreamt about Eddie again last night...

He debates putting the diary back, not wanting to invade your privacy. He's not one to snoop, especially when you tell him everything anyway. Well, at least he thought you did. He bites his lip, tapping his foot on the floor as he decides what to do. He really should just put it back, and pretend he never saw it (or your special toy). But something inside him begs to know what your dreams of him are like. If they're anything resembling the dirty fantasies he's had of you while alone in his bed, he can't let it go until he knows for sure. He decides to read the next few lines, after flicking his eyes to the doorway to listen for your footsteps coming back from the kitchen.

...it was the same as all the others. Eddie was in my bed, and we were naked. His soft, warm lips were on mine, his tongue was in my mouth, and his hands were everywhere. It felt so good, having him kiss me like that while he explored every inch of me. His fingers were carefully thrusting inside my pussy, making me so fucking wet. I could feel his dick pressing into my thigh, and I took him in my hand. The noise he made when I touched him was so beautiful, he sounded so breathless and needy for me...

Eddie knows he should stop. This is wrong. So, so wrong. These are your private thoughts, and he shouldn't be reading them. Even if they're making a tent form in his pants. His heart races in his chest, and he feels rather hot under the collar. His stomach twists with an uneasy mix of guilt and arousal. He lets out a shaky breath, once again weighing his options. Keep reading, or put the damn thing away and never, ever bring it up. He looks down the hall, wondering how much time he has left before you come back. Against his better judgment, he gives in to his desire for you. With eyes glued to your neat handwriting, he reads on.

...I could feel him grow in my hand, fuck, he was huge. I've seen it in real life before, and not entirely on accident. Since we're so close, we change in front of each other sometimes. And even though I've never seen it hard, I can tell his dick is big. It's even got a goddamn piercing on it, shining in the light like a lure. I swear to God, it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and take him in my mouth whenever I see it...

Eddie scoffs loudly, unable to believe you've actually been checking him out. A part of him wonders if this is a sick joke, that you'd somehow known to leave this here for him to see. Any second now, you'll come busting in here and laugh in his face. Maybe even snap a picture of his embarrassingly large erection amd make copies to give all your friends.

But that's not you. You're too kind and sweet to him to ever pull such a cruel (and improbably elaborate) prank. Sure, he's wanted you for years. To call you his girl, to love you the way you should be loved. To kiss you, and hold you, and touch you in all the ways he thinks you'd like. To love you, and spoil you like the queen you are in his eyes. He's just never allowed himself to think you'd ever feel the same about him. Until now.

"What are you doing with that?" You ask softly, frozen in place in the doorway of your bedroom with a tray of snacks in your hands. Your eyes are blown wide, as you've come back to find Eddie on your bed, reading your diary, with a huge hard-on in his pants.

"I-I, I was, uh, just...um..." Eddie babbles helplessly, slamming the book shut and tossing it across the room. As if it being anywhere else will magically absolve him of invading your privacy. You just stare at him as he goes red in the face, and gestures with his hands as he fails to come up with an explanation. "...sorry." He says after letting out a long string of unintelligible sounds. He cringes at the word, realizing it's not nearly enough. But his mind and mouth can't come up with anything that doesn't sound like a feral goblin choking on a chicken bone.

"What part did you read?" You ask, your own cheeks turning a deep crimson. You really hope he didn't find your latest sex dream entry, but the glaring evidence in his jeans tells you that's exactly what he saw.

"Read? No, I was, um...j-just skimming..." He chuckles nervously, hoping you'll buy it. But the darkening blush on your skin and tears welling in your eyes lets him know he's truly caught. "Sweetheart, I—" Eddie starts, standing up as you're about to fall apart.

"Eddie, I swear, I-I didn't mean it! It was just a dream, and pfft! I was high when I wrote that!" You laugh uncontrollably as a way to hide your tears of embarrassment, frantically shaking your head. You've never been so mortified in your life, caught red handed in the worst way possible. You could've gone forever without ever letting him know how you feel. The potential rejection seemed too painful to endure. "I didn't mean it, Eddie. I didn't." Your laughter devolves into soft sobs, your grip loosening on the tray. Eddie catches it before everything tumbles to the floor, setting it on your dresser.

"Sweetheart, c'mere." Eddie takes your hands in his, and leads you over to your bed to sit beside him. You follow him, unable to do much else as tears stream down your face. "I'm sorry for snooping, angel. That wasn't right for me to do." He says sadly, stroking your soft skin with his thumbs. You nod in response. "And we can pretend this never happened, okay? Like you said, it was just a dream." He offers, his own words stabbing into his heart at the idea of never fully being with you the way he wants. But he doesn't feel like he's earned it. Not after making you so upset, and betraying your trust.

"Why did you read it?" You ask abruptly, more curious than angry. As humiliating as it is that he found you out before you could tell him yourself, you want to know how those secret words made him feel.

"I got bored, and curious. I found it in your drawer, thinking it was poetry or something. But then I found the entry of you dreaming about me..." Eddie trails off, pondering what to say next. "...and I got more curious."

"About what?" You continue, your tears drying up.

"About whether or not you want me the same way I want you." He boldly admits. He may as well, since your diary entries admitted your own wonderful, awful, heart-breaking, nerve-wracking secret to him. You don't say anything else, eyes blown wide in shock. "I want to be with you, princess. I've always wanted that." He says emphatically, making your heart swell as well as race.

"Really?" You ask, as if his erection earlier wasn't enough indication of his desire for you. You've dreamt about this moment so many times, spent numerous moments throughout the days and nights hoping one day he'd see you. You now stupidly realize, that there was never a time where he didn't.

"Yes, really. If you can forgive me for being a creep, that is." He says with a chuckle, making you giggle as well.

"Yeah, I think I can manage that." You smile, squeezing his hands with your own. "How far did you get anyway?" You ask curiously.

"Uh, right about where you talked about wanting to suck my massive, pierced cock." Eddie replies, moaning in an exaggerated way on his final words to tease you.

"Ugh, that's so embarrassing!" You groan, covering your face in shame.

"It's really not, babydoll. I'm just flattered that you noticed." He insists, pulling your hands down so he can see your pretty face again.

"I'll count myself lucky you didn't read any more." You giggle sheepishly, recalling how the rest of that dream went. You riding Eddie's cock while his large hand wraps tightly around your throat, filthy praises leaving his lips to spur you on. Him fucking you from behind, tugging your head back by your hair as he grunts and groans with every thrust. Among other equally explicit things.

"Shit, now I have to read the rest!" Eddie says impishly, diving off the bed to get the diary that still lays on the floor.

"Eddie, no! Please, it's too embarrassing!" You shriek, clamoring after him. But he's quicker than you, snatching up the book and holding it above your head. You try to jump up and tear it from his reach, but it's no use. He chuckles at your foolish attempts, slowly moving closer to you while still holding the diary above your heads. His free arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close. Your hands meet his chest, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sudden movement. He gazes deep into your eyes with burning lust, a smirk plastered on his lips.

"Think of it this way, sweetheart. If I read the rest, I'll know exactly what we're doing tonight." He speaks seductively, in a way you've only heard in your dreams.

"This can't be happening." You scoff, convinced you somehow fell asleep before Eddie came over tonight.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I'm in love with you?" He asks, dropping the Casanova act for a second and tossing the diary on the bed. He cups your cheek, and leans in to kiss you. His plush lips meet yours, giving you a taste of sweet, beautiful reality.

"Mm." You grab hold of the sides of his face, deepening the kiss. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, drawing a quiet moan from you. Time seems to stop as your mouths move together as one, and joyful tears spring from your eyes. This is all you've ever wanted. To love Eddie, and to have him love you back.

He carefully leads you backwards to the bed, laying you down on top of it as he kneels above you. He pulls away, wiping the salty tracks from your face. He smiles warmly, admiring every last bit of you and saving it away to remember this forever. "Can I make you feel good, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, as if it's his dying wish.

"Please." You reply softly, giving him a nod.

"Perfect." He reaches over for the diary, finding his place as he lays down beside you. "Now...where were we?" He muses, eyes bugging out when he reads what comes next. "Christ, I picked a good night to be nosy." He turns his head to look at you, wearing a devilish grin unlike you've ever seen on him before. "I swear to god, I'm gonna make all your dreams come true, babydoll. Even if it takes all night." He purrs, before chucking the damned book away one last time and pouncing on you.

[021894s]

— 02 the invite [1.5k]

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

PAIRING: brothers bsf!sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: mentions of heartbreak, mentions of throwing up, cussing

AUTHORS NOTE: babies!! this is my first ever written piece!! it’s not perfect but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless. i’m excited for this storyline to begin to unfold. love you, thank you for reading <3

Sunlight streams through the curtains, and your eyes snap open. Panic sets in as you realize you're not in your own bed. Scrambling to check the time, the memory of last night's chaos comes flooding back – Jungwon, in a lot worse condition thanks to Jake's encouragement, making it so you had to play caretaker after the countless shots and rounds of beer pong.

You leap out of bed, heart racing. Class starts in twenty minutes, and your professor isn't known for leniency. Grabbing your things and getting dressed in some clothes you had left behind, you rush downstairs, only to nearly collide with Sunghoon, who's looking unfairly good with his tousled hair and that deep, just-woke-up voice.

"What’s the rush?" he asks, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

You're momentarily distracted by his disheveled charm, but the urgency of the moment snaps you back to reality. "I'm late for class," you blurt out, then remember Jungwon, still knocked out in the guest room. "Can you keep an eye on Jungwon? He had a rough night."

Sunghoon nods, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sure thing. you should go before you’re even more late."

Grateful, you offer him a quick smile, glancing around only to see niki and sunoo slumped on the living room couch. you turn back to sunghoon ,giving him a knowing look and bolt out the door, hoping you can make it in time.

You rush through the crowded hallways of your university, heart pounding in your chest. The sound of your footsteps echoes, matching the frantic beat of your thoughts. As you finally reach your classroom, you take a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing open the door.The professor pauses mid-lecture, giving you a stern look. "Late again, Y/N?"

You offer a sheepish smile, quickly finding an empty seat. "Sorry, sir. it won't happen again."

as if your morning couldn’t have gotten worse you feel your phone buzz with a new message. Glancing down, you see it's a forwarded email – a formal wedding invitation from your ex. Your heart skips a beat as you read the elegant script, announcing their upcoming marriage. It's a surreal moment, one that brings a mix of emotions swirling through you.

You're not sure how to react. Part of you is happy for them, genuinely wishing them the best, but there's also that tiny, complicated twinge of... something. It's not exactly sadness, not exactly jealousy, just a poignant reminder of the past.

Leaning back in your chair, you can't help but let your mind wander to Jeno. he was your first everything. Your first love, your first heartbreak, the first person who made you feel like you were truly alive. You remember the way he used to hold your hand, the way he smiled just before he kissed you, and the way he made you laugh until your sides hurt.

Heeseung had always been wary of Jeno. He'd seen the signs, warned you about his antics, and tried to protect you like he always has, naturally, being your older brother, but you don't regret a single moment. Despite the warnings, you plunged headfirst into the relationship. You got to experience love—the highs, the lows, and everything in between.

Even now, with the wedding invitation in hand, you can't bring yourself to feel bitter. Heeseung might give you that 'I told you so' look, but you'll just shrug it off, because to you, love, even when it ends, is something to cherish. It taught you, shaped you, and you wouldn't trade those memories for anything.

Class finally ends, and you make your way back to your brother's house. Opening the door, you find everyone except jay, saerom and jake in the living room, engaged in a random conversations about the previous night.

As you step into the living room, the change in your expression doesn't go unnoticed by Heeseung, his brow furrowing with concern. "What's up?" he asks, his voice tinged with brotherly caution.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of your phone in your pocket. Sighing, you pull it out and hand it to him. "It's Jeno's wedding invite," you admit, watching his eyes scan over the elegant script, capturing the attention of your friends in the room. Heeseung's protective instincts kick in immediately. "You're not thinking of going, are you?" He hands back your phone, his gaze steady on yours.

You meet his look with a resolve that surprises even you. "I think I need to," you say firmly. "For closure." Heeseung doesn't look convinced, but he knows better than to argue when your mind is made up. "Just... be careful, okay?" he says, and you can tell he's trying to understand. You nod, grateful for his concern but knowing this is something you have to do for yourself.

Niki, always the joker, jumps into the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. . "I never liked Jeno anyway, you were too pretty for him, and he’s the clumsiest person to literally ever exist”. You can't help but laugh at Niki's attempt to make you smile. "Thanks, Niki," you say, playfully rolling your eyes. "But let's not get too carried away with the ego boost, okay?"

you glance over at jungwon, who clearly has not made a full recovery and is still very much regretting letting jake feed him shot after shot. it’s then you realize that you have no idea about saeroms whereabouts. that probably makes you the worst best friend known to man but in your defense, you had a pretty hectic morning. iyou catch sight of her walking out of jake’s room. confusion spreads across your face. why would she be in his room?

looking a little disheveled, she freezes as she notices everyone's eyes on her. The not-so-secret secret is out, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"Guys, it's not what it looks like," Saerom stammers, but the knowing smiles and snickers from heeseung and sunghoon tell a different story.

You raise an eyebrow playfully. "you and jake? when did that happen?” Saerom bites her lip, trying to suppress a smile. "Okay, okay, maybe it's a little bit like what it looks like, and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i was afraid you’d be upset since yknow jake is heeseung’s friend and all" she admits. “trust me im more worried about you catching something from jake than him being my brothers friend” you tell her.

heeseung smiles, “trust me jake’s ONLY been sleeping with her”. you snap your head, giving her an offended look, “my BROTHER knew about this before me? ok now im hurt”. Sunghoon laughs, “it was kind of hard not to find out when they both clearly have a thing for exhibitionism”.

“ ok i think im gonna throw up now” jungwon says causing everyone to let out a laugh”.

niki gasps, “SO THIS is why you’ve been wanting to come to every ksana party??? i knew you were still a boring bitch”. “ok who invited him” saerom rolls her eyes. the sudden commotion in the room wakes sunoo, who had still be deep asleep on the couch next to niki. “what’s going on” he says in a groggy tone. “you don’t wanna know” sunghoon tells him.

you turn to him. Once again admiring his look, now put together as opposed to his disheveled state you encountered when you ran into him this morning. you made a mental note to thank him later for keeping an eye out for jungwon.

You can't help but feel grateful for your friends, even in the midst of reminiscing about your past. With their humor and love, you know you'll be able to face whatever comes your way.

later on back at your place, you catch Saerom up to speed on all the details. “that dick invited you his wedding???, what the fuck is his problem” saerom states with a tone of disgust. “i found it odd too but I think it’s what I need in order to finally close that chapter in my life” you say, assuring her.

“you now what this means right?” she presses. “no?” you ask, a bit confused as to what she has up her sleeve. “you need a date!” “yeah no” you quickly reply. “come on babes you can’t show up alone. you need to show him that you’ve moved on too and don’t care that he wasn’t the one for you”. you ponder her idea. it wouldn’t be so bad. it’d save you from the internal embarrassment of showing up to your ex’s wedding all alone, looking like some pathetic loser who came to drown in her sorrows at the sight of her first love being wedded away to a different woman. after more careful consideration, you reluctantly agree. saerom claps her hands in excitement. “where in the world am i going to find someone that’ll agree to being my date within 2 weeks?” you weren’t exactly the popular type around campus, despite being heeseungs little sister.

“i can ask jake, maybe he’ll know someone?” saerom suggests. you’re hesitant and take a moment to really think about your plan here. “we need to find someone you can be comfortable with. you’ll need to hold hands and do couple shit to make it beliveable”. Saerom tells you, a little to excited about the whole ordeal. you swallow, oh boy are you in for a ride.

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylaly @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @heelovesmeknot @kookify

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability. 

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning. 

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations. 

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays. 

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret. 

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards. 

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival. 

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains. 

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter? 

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet. 

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation. 

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship. 

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup. 

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear. 

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device. 

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.” 

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine. 

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned. 

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age. 

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs. 

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn. 

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally. 

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter. 

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind. 

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life. 

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown. 

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care. 

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst. 

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts. 

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall. 

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries. 

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him. 

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess. 

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system. 

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important. 

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock. 

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart. 

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions. 

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame. 

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness. 

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it. 

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once. 

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left. 

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react? 

How did she react? 

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?! 

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[its-time-to-write]

hi! Could you please write something with like reader opening the door one day when Roy stars knocking for training but reader and Jamie aren’t open about their relationship yet? I think it would be cute xx

I also thought this was cute. Not sure if anyone notices/cares, but all my titles are song lyrics based ever so loosely on the vibe I am trying to convey. Thanks for another great request!

what it is

Someone’s aggressively knocking on the door and as you roll over to check the time. It’s 4am, and you poke Jamie who is fast asleep beside you.

“Babe,” you whisper, “someone’s at the door.”

Jamie groans and mumbles something incoherent. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell something’s off. You reach out your hand and feel his forehead. It’s burning up.

The knocking continues and Jamie lets out another groan and says something that sounds like raining? Oh. Training. You remember he trains every morning at 4, but you’ve never seen who he goes with. He just kisses you in your sleep and is back right as you wake up for the day. 

You roll out of bed, grab one his sweatshirts from the floor, and pad downstairs to the door.

You swing open the door mid-knock. The man on the other side lowers his fist, looks at you all squinty for a moment, then says, “Who the fuck’re you?”

You return the look. “I live here. Who the fuck are you?”

The man scoffs. “No, you fucking don’t. This is Jamie Tartt’s house. Jesus fucking Christ, is he fucking blowing off training because of a fucking one-night stand?”

Oh. You know who this is. This is Roy Kent. You didn’t know he was the one training Jamie, but you guess it makes sense based on how much Jamie talks about him. It’s Roy Kent this, and Roy Kent that, and Roy says I need to eat more protein, and Roy said my hair looked funny today, does it look funny to you? 

You sigh. You and Jamie have been together for three months, and you basically live at his house. You’re really only at your flat to change clothes. You have a toothbrush, pajamas, and half a wardrobe at Jamie’s. Your books have started to make their way onto his shelves too, as you read them and then leave them for him to start. That was a little bit of an accident at first, after you left This Side of Paradise one night and came back to a different bookmark on page 34.

Anyway, Roy Kent doesn’t know you’re dating Jamie, or that anyone is. You suppose in his mind, Jamie is happily single, fucking around like the twenty-something year old footballer he is. 

Roy is still looking at you expectantly, so say, “I do live here. Why don’t you come in?” and hold open the door a bit wider. 

Roy’s face says fuck it, and he follows you inside to the kitchen. 

“Can I get you some tea?” you ask quietly, although Jamie can sleep through anything. 

Roy seems surprised by the question, but says, “Yeah, sure,” as he stands by the kitchen island.

“Jamie’s sick,” you say. “He’s still asleep upstairs. I doubt he’ll be up for training today.”

“Right, yeah,” says Roy, “I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you? Jamie’s not fucking supposed to be doing the whole one-night stand thing, he told me it’s too fucking distracting from training.”

You chuckle. “That’s comedy gold right there. Yeah, no, I’m not a one-night stand. I’m his girlfriend.”

Roy’s impressive eyebrows lift in shock, and you laugh again and give him your name. “Didn’t know I existed, did you? I’m not one for crowds or a big fuss. I told Jamie if we made it four months than he could start telling people. He was a little upset, but,” you shrug, “no point in making it a big deal if we just break up, right?”

You can practically see the wheels turning in Roy’s brain as he does the math.

“So you’re telling me that you’ve been fucking dating this little prick for three fucking months, and he hasn’t fucking said anything?”

You nod. 

“Fuckkk,” Roy whispers, “that makes so much fucking sense.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“He’s been less of a prick recently,” Roy explains, “More considerate, been carrying around fucking books and shit. Not fucking flirting with everything that fucking moves. Thought maybe he was just taking beating Zava too fucking seriously.”

You nod and move to pour the tea. You and Roy both turn as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. It’s Jamie, who is wearing a headlamp, pajama shirt, athletic vest, and a single sock. And, thank God, pants.

“Ready for training coach,” he says with a salute, but the action almost makes him fall over. He looks all pale and sweaty, with bags under his eyes.

“Told you he was sick,” you say.

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all Roy can come up with.

Jamie seems to notice you for the first time and breaks out into a smile. “Roy! Look! I have a girlfriend,” he says, words a little slurred while pointing to you.

It’s punctuated by a “Jesus Christ,” from Roy as Jamie wobbles, unsteady on his feet from his fever.

“Alright, mister,” you say. “Back to bed.”

Jamie frowns. “Always so mean,” he says. He does an imitation of your voice, “No Jamie, you can’t tell Roy about us. Yes Jamie, I know Roy’s your best friend. No Jamie, I don’t think you love Roy more than me.” He looks at Roy as you sling his arm around your shoulders, supporting him at his waist. He puts his fingertips on your lips as he says, “See what I have to put up with?”

You roll your eyes and suppress a smile as Roy says, “What you have to put up with?”

Jamie is so loopy right now. He lays his head on yours and smiles again. “Look at this. Me two favorite people, finally meeting. You should stay for dinner, coach.”

Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh as you both mutually decide not to point out that it is now 4:30am and dinner is a long, long way away.

“Let’s go get you out of those clothes and into bed,” you say as you start to lead him back to your room. 

Jamie casts a look back at Roy and wiggles his eyebrows. “Babe, you can’t just say things like that in front of granddad. Might give him a heart attack. Old people are such prudes.”

“Go to sleep, Tartt,” Roy says. He looks at you and says softly, “I can see myself out.”

You smile and wave with your free hand. “It was nice to meet you,” you say. “Hopefully we can meet again under more normal circumstances.”

Roy nods once and does what you think is a smile? He turns and heads out the door as you maneuver Jamie upstairs. Jamie Tartt has a girlfriend. And a good one at that. What is the world coming to?

[nadvs]

　　💻　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 ⟢ even from afar

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary it’s hard enough to pretend you’re over someone. it’s even harder when you see them with someone new.

author’s note i was listening to ‘carousel’ by isabella on loop while writing this… entirely the vibe of this blurb.

blurb in the cam girl universe (18+), following the alt ending, based on this ask. all angst!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

having to find a second job was a hassle. after her car broke down and she got a ridiculous estimate that made it clear that getting a new car would be the financially smarter option, she knew she needed to find another source of income.

there were no other placements for her as a maid, so she secured a job as a server for a high-end catering company. it’s yet another position where she’s tending to the island’s wealthiest and snobbiest, but she tries to have a good attitude about it.

tonight, she’ll hand out drinks and refreshments and be cordial but quick like she’s been trained to be, giving guests what they want but not bothering them with her presence. it’ll be fine. maybe she’ll even earn some tips.

but then she sees rafe across the crowded banquet hall. and her stomach drops.

when she secured this job a couple of weeks ago, the tiny possibility of him being at an event she had to work gnawed at her in the back of her mind. but now, he’s really here, in the same room as her, looking agonizingly good in a navy suit and white button-up, his hair pushed back.

meanwhile, she’s in an uncomfortable uniform, a black dress that ends mid-calf, paired with practical shoes. as if she needed the reminder of how divided their worlds are.

the last time she saw rafe was over a month ago at his friend’s place, the house she started working at when she had to leave the cameron residence. when he called her so fucking stubborn. when he told her he loved her.

while she’s supposed to be focused on filling her tray with martinis, she can’t tear her eyes off of him, hating herself for still missing him.

then, she sees a woman’s hand cupped around his bicep, her manicure flawless, her bracelet shining under the chandelier lights. her hair is perfect. her dress is beautiful.

and her heels are the farthest thing from practical. because she doesn’t need to worry about being comfortable. the pain of seeing rafe with another woman, obviously a rich one, tears through her with no mercy.

she swallows down her nerves and looks down at her tray, mentally telling herself that if she really has to cry about it, she can cry later. she has work to do.

she thought she was feeling better about all this. admittedly, sometimes, she has to dismiss the frustrating worry that she was too impulsive with kicking rafe to the curb. but she was sure she was getting over him.

yet right now, her heart is a traitor, pounding with anticipation and pain and yearning as she looks at him. she’ll stay away from that particular area. it’s the only way she’ll make it through tonight.

it’s not that easy. almost twenty minutes into the gala, she gets pulled in to the group of four, having to face rafe again. the man whose house she cleans, rafe’s friend, looks at her with raised brows when he realizes it’s her passing by.

“what, we don’t pay you enough?” he asks with a laugh. “had to get a second job?”

she stops in her tracks. she looks up at him with a forced smile. god, she hates him. he’s cruel. he always bosses her around. he actively tries to make her feel like she’s below him.

she doesn’t want to look at rafe. she can’t.

“just getting more experience,” she says sternly but politely, then tries to step away.

“wait,” the woman on rafe’s arm says. “i’ll get a passionfruit martini.” she doesn’t even really make eye contact, more focused on her phone.

but rafe’s eyes aren’t on his girlfriend. or his phone. he’s staring at the beautiful girl wearing a uniform she shouldn’t have to wear, working a job she shouldn’t have to work. it still keeps him up at night, why he wasn’t good enough, why she didn’t want him spoiling her anymore.

“it’s a closed menu,” she replies, still refusing to look at rafe, “but we have french and lemon drop.”

the girl looks up from her phone and scoffs.

“you can’t just make it?”

rafe sees it in her eyes, how frustrated she is at his girlfriend’s attitude. he’s frustrated, too. he still doesn’t even know what he’s doing dating her.

but she’s been a good distraction. and maybe he’s an asshole for using a person to distract himself, but she’s just as shameless, a kook who’s been trying to hook up with him for ages because rafe’s notorious for not wanting to be locked down into a relationship.

he’s just a fling, a game to win to her, while she’s just a diversion from the weight that won’t leave his shoulders.

“we can’t make it,” she reiterates.

“why not?”

“just take what’s on the menu,” rafe tells her.

“babe,” she complains. “they have a whole bar over there. they can make it.”

finally, the woman he loves meets his eyes. and his entire body tenses. he misses her so fucking bad that he aches.

he stopped going to his buddy’s house so he wouldn’t have to see the girl who broke his heart working there. does she know that she still carries a piece of it everywhere she goes? does she even care?

rafe takes a glass from the tray, never losing eye contact with her.

“we’re good,” he says, his voice low, his stare heavy. “thanks.”

he hands the drink to his girlfriend, hoping it’ll shut her up. they’ve only been together a week and rafe is already sure he’ll be ending things.

because now, he’s been reminded of what it’s like to really love someone, to be so attracted to a woman that it’s like she’s the only person in the room, to want to spend all your time with her.

he’s found that in only one person. and she just walked away, eyes flitting away from him with hurtful indifference.

“wait, how do you know her?” his girlfriend asks his friend.

“she’s my maid,” his friend replies.

“is she always so fucking rude?” she scoffs. rafe sighs to himself. he thinks she should have been much ruder.

“not in bed,” his friend says with a grin.

“bullshit,” his other buddy laughs. “you’re not really hitting that, are you?”

“jealous?” he replies.

rafe’s blood goes hot. he doesn’t believe it. not for a second. not when he saw the way she looked at his friend. there was nothing but vitriol in her gaze.

she can’t be sleeping with him. but the thought of his idiot friend trying to put any moves on her, making her uncomfortable, makes him feel like he might go insane.

he has to be sure she’s being treated okay. and honestly, he’ll take any excuse to talk to her.

as she stands at the bar, tidying up the dirty dishes she just collected, she realizes she can hear her heartbeat over the music and conversations.

rafe has a girlfriend. already. they broke up, if she could even call it that, a month ago. he said he loved her. and now he has an insufferable, spoiled girlfriend. was anything he ever said genuine?

“hey.”

his familiar voice makes goosebumps blossom over her skin. she looks up to see rafe standing at her side, eyes travelling over her face.

the things those eyes have seen. her, in every way, in so many positions, taking her in while he called her perfect and said she was made for him.

“what is it? i already told your girlfriend it’s a closed menu,” she says sternly, unable to curb her envy.

despite everything, rafe’s lips curl up into a smirk. she’s jealous. a girl who doesn’t have any feelings for him wouldn’t be jealous.

“you care that i have a girlfriend?”

she picks up her tray and holds it to her chest, as if it can offer her any protection against the hurt he’s caused her, and stares up at him.

she never felt any reason to lie to herself or to him about the nature of their relationship. she never cared about her pride. she lost it long ago.

she steps an inch closer, making sure nobody else hears. it’s easy. she’s used to having to hide what they have. or had.

“it’s really fucked up to say you love someone, then be with someone else like, a second later,” she mutters. “i don’t care that you’re dating someone. it’s just obvious i’m not as important as you said i was.”

it’s not the answer he expects. she sees it in the way his face falls.

if he really opens up his heart right now, he’ll cry. he reminds himself of why he came over here in the first place.

“listen, it’s…” rafe swallows hard. “i’m here because he’s saying you two are hooking up.”

she sighs, rolling her eyes. his friend would. he’s a grade-a douchebag.

“i know it’s bullshit,” rafe says. truthfully, the confidence he has in her is refreshing. he was so possessive when they were together, but he knows her well enough to know she wouldn’t get near him.

“i just wanted to make sure he’s not doing anything to you,” he tells her. “are you okay?”

it’s a loaded question. no, she’s not okay. she’s so far from okay. these past few weeks have been hell. and she’s staring at the man who both ruined everything and could make it all better at the same time.

when rafe sees her brows drop and her eyes gleam with tears, his core twists in agony. what the hell has she been dealing with?

“you’re crying,” he says quietly, shocked to see a crack in her armor. ever since the night she ended things with him, she’s been cold and unforgiving. but now, she glances away, trying to swallow down the tears.

she remembers the nights they spent together, when they pushed each other to such physical limits that she was brought to tears, when he pointed out that she was crying in that exact tone of voice, stopping everything to comfort her.

“i need a second,” she says, stepping to the side. his hand rests on the inside of her elbow.

“let me come with you.”

again, it’s so out of character for rafe. he wouldn’t ever ask for permission before. he’d just follow her when she didn’t want to be followed, claiming her as his, angry that his property wasn’t doing what he wanted it to.

she didn’t doubt that he thought he loved her. but this is the first moment where she isn’t entirely doubting that it’s real. that it’s authentic, respectful love. and the revelation makes her uncomfortable and regretful and confused.

“okay.” the word comes out of her mouth before she can think.

he follows her into the empty coatcheck booth, shutting the door and turning on the dim light. they find a spot between filled up racks, jackets smelling like expensive perfumes and colognes. at this point, she’s sniffling back her tears.

rafe doesn’t know what to say. he just wants her to stop crying. it’s wrong. this is all so wrong. she shouldn’t be standing here, suffering in any way. she should be out in the crowd with him, as his date, smiling and laughing, without a shred of sadness sitting on her soul.

“i’ll kill him,” he says impulsively. “what is he doing to you, baby?”

“don’t call me that,” she replies. “you have a girlfriend.”

rafe looks down, exhaling sharply.

“not really.”

“what does that mean?”

“we don’t give a shit about each other,” he admits with a humorless chuckle. “it’s been a week and she already flirts with other guys in front of me. and i don’t even care. if you did that in front of me-”

rafe stops himself. it’s too much. he looks up at the ceiling. there’s no point in telling her how much she means to him when she doesn’t return the sentiment.

she tilts her head. hearing that his relationship is a superficial farce is unbelievably relieving, part of the reason being that if that girl out there is really his type, she never even stood a chance.

“tell me what he does,” he says.

“he’s just…” she shakes her head. it’s been torment, dealing with the environment at the house she cleans at now.

“he purposely makes messes just so i have to stay late to clean them,” she admits. “he says shit like ‘i know my stuff is worth more than your house, so i better not catch you stealing.’ and i would quit if i could, but-”

“why can’t you?” rafe urges. she sucks her teeth in frustration. he’s so out of touch.

“i have rent and bills. i need a new car. and it’s not like there’s a lot of options for people like me on this island.”

rafe stills. it’s the first time she’s ever said something like that out loud. she never seemed to think she was below anyone. it’s what split them up, her being so sure he saw her as just an object, even though that was never the case.

hearing her categorize herself like that with defeat in her tone is a punch to his gut.

“people like you?” he echoes.

“i shouldn’t be in here,” she sighs. “i shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“why is talking to me so goddamn bad?” rafe says, his temper flaring for the first time tonight. finally, after weeks of pain, they’re having a civil conversation, and she’s already dismissing him.

she looks up at him wordlessly. for once, she doesn’t know what to say. but then it comes rushing back, why she pushed this beautiful man out of her life. it cuts through her like she heard it a second ago.

“the shit you said to your friends-”

“stop,” he mutters. “don’t do that to me. i apologized a million fucking times.”

she crosses her arms, entirely at a loss. she’s not sure what he did could ever entirely leave her mind.

rafe rakes his hand through his hair, his bangs falling over his forehead.

“how much do you make cleaning?” he says. “i’ll double it until you find somewhere else to work.”

“what?” she says. here he is, wanting to solve all her problems with his wallet yet again, like they never had a brutal falling out.

“just let me do this,” he says.

her brows knit in confusion.

“why?” she finally says.

“are you kidding me?” he scoffs. “don’t make me say it when you’re not gonna say it back.”

she realizes he doesn’t want to say he loves her out loud. her heart is pounding even harder now.

the door clicks open and her eyes widen in concern, gripping rafe’s hand out of instinct. they’re concealed entirely behind the coat rack, but if anyone comes around the corner, they’ll be found.

she knows that rafe wouldn’t be in any sort of trouble. she, on the other hand, would be fired.

they have nowhere to go or to hide. they stare at each other, suspended, listening to someone she assumes works for the venue sorting things.

rafe can’t help it. his thumb strokes over the back of her hand. she looks down, gazing at the way her hand looks in his.

the endless nights they spent together rush through her head, how she felt his body surrounding hers, felt his lips on hers, felt him deep inside her. but those nights weren’t endless. they came to a crashing halt when her worst fears about him came true.

rafe gazes down at her, eyes travelling over her lashes and her lips, imagining that she’ll look up at him again, lean forward, and finally, finally, kiss him and give him the air he needs to breathe again.

but the door shuts and she lets go of his hand.

she doesn’t say anything. so, he does.

“just tell me how much you make there,” he says. “you don’t have to go back.”

she’s never had someone take care of her like this. he knows she won’t give him what he wants anymore. nothing physical. nothing at all. and she’s at her wit’s end, exhausted from working two jobs. she’ll take the help.

“i’ll text you,” she says. then, she rushes past him to get back to work. at the end of the night, she texts him the amount she earns in a week. he sends her well above double.

two days later, she’s sitting in her bedroom studying when she hears a knock on her apartment door.

it’s an older man at her front step, asking for her by name. she confirms she’s who he’s looking for and he hands her a small paper envelope.

“it’s parked out front,” he tells her. she watches in confusion as he leaves.

when she shuts her door, she opens the envelope to see that it’s a car key. she rushes to the kitchen window, looking out at the front of her building, and hits the lock button. the shiny car’s lights blink in unison.

it’s true. rafe bought her a fucking car.

she sinks into the closest seat at her kitchen table, staring down at the keys. it’s a ridiculously lavish gift, especially from someone she pushed out of her apartment last time he was here, someone she dismissed so harshly.

minutes later, she texts rafe: i can’t accept this.

he’s sitting in his bedroom when the text comes in. he knew she’d say that, which is why he paid someone to drop off the gift and leave before she realized what it was.

he replies soon after: if you think i expect anything, i don’t. you already told me nothing i do will make you want me again, so i know better. i want to do this for you. just take it. please.

she rereads the message over and over. then, she closes the conversation.

the wound he left in her is still bleeding. she knows because when she imagines him touching her again, she’s sure she’ll just remember the horrible things he said, the disgusting things he let his friends say.

and the pain of that would be too sour to allow her to feel anything sweet.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

How to Suck Your Best Friend’s D*ck 🍆💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima 💋

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Hurt/Comfort

CW: MDNI!, Characters are in their mid-twenties, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, hand job, lemon, making Out, Blow Job (giving + Receiving), Smut, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling, Anxiety / Panic Attack, Mental Illness, OCD, Hurt/Comfort

💕Link to My Master List 💕

How to Suck Your Best Friend’s Dick

Kirishima runs his hand through his bright red hair in frustration as he looks himself up and down in his floor length mirror. He’s going out with the class 1A crew tonight to celebrate Bakugo’s 25th birthday and he can’t find anything to wear.

He’s currently wearing his typical dark skinny jeans; a charcoal waffle patterned long-sleeved tee and an oversized puffer vest. A long silver chain dangles at his side, clipped across his right pant pocket for aesthetic. He’s popped on a pair of steel earrings, with a matching industrial bar across the shell of his left ear.

He admires himself from a few different angles. “Ugh…so tacky.” He groans, pulling off his jeans to try something else. Katsuki is always telling the red haired hero to step up his style game. He’s constantly calling Kirishima out on his lack of fashion sense. But the thing is – Kirishima loves whenKatsuki notices what he’s wearing. He lives for the little moments when the explosion hero is nitpicks his outfits. Making fun of him for “dressing so tacky” or for “overdressing for the event.” It feels good to be looked at by Katsuki – to know that the blonde’s eyes (if even for a brief moment) are crisscrossing Eijiro’s toned body, appraising him.

Maybe tonight he’ll surprise Katsuki for once. Eijiro opens his closet again and grabs a shopping bag that’s shoved to the very back. Earlier that month, Mina took him shopping to buy what she called a “more low key” outfit to wear on dates. He had been complaining that the paparazzi always noticed him when he was out. He loved being acknowledged for his hero work – but there were just some nights when he wanted to fly under the radar. Mina had pointed out that his distinct punk style made him stick out like a sore thumb everywhere he went. Red Riot the hero had a style and a personal brand that was so strong; it made it impossible for him to blend in with a crowd.

“Red Riot has a brand, but Eijiro doesn’t need to stick to just one style.” Mina had told him as she searched through the racks of Abercrombie at their local mall. “Let’s start building up your civilian wardrobe. You’re 24 years old, it’s about time you started experimenting with your look. You don’t always have to wear the same pair of black skinny jeans. Let’s find some outfits that make you feel hot and confident!”

And that’s how he ended up with the shopping bag. He reaches down and pulls out a pair of soft corduroy pants. As he steps into the textured fabric, he wonders what Katsuki might think about them. They’re so different than what he usually wears, but they hug his ass much more nicely than his usual baggy clothes. Next he shrugs into a dark blue button down, leaving it unbuttoned over a white undershirt. He swaps out his steel earrings for a pair of small black studs. Lastly, he adds a pair of dark brown Chelsea boots to complete the look. He’s surprised at how comfortable the shoes are – he always thought boots like this would be stiff and unyielding.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. Not bad – he smiles as he admires his new look. He cuts an impressive figure – the clothing hugs his figure in all the right ways, showing off his toned Pro Hero body. Mina really knows her stuff – he snaps a selfie and sends it to her, praising her fashion know-how. She instantly replies with a dozen smiley faces with heart eyes and the words “Wonder what Bakugo will think?” With a side eye emoji.

Kirishima grins at the message before looking back into the mirror. He unties his hair from its messy bun, letting it fall to his chin. On a typical day, he’d style and spike it up with an unholy amount of hair gel. But for this new look he’s trying…maybe tonight he’ll just leave it down. He grabs a hairbrush off his bedside table and smooths it out as much as he can. He’s having fun trying something new!

Feeling confident with his new duds, he checks his watch. Shit! Running late as usual. He hastily grabs his wallet and phone and all but sprints out the door.

The crew is meeting in their usual spot – The Wallfish - a grimy dive bar 4 blocks over from Kirishima’s apartment. The bartender is friendly and the place is always filled with locals. It’s low-key and no one pays any mind to the group of top ranked Pro Heroes and UA graduates that regularly frequent the establishment. It’s a special place – a holy place. The kind of spot the group can go to unwind after a long day of being Pros.

Kirishima arrives at the tiny dive out of breath, bursting through the door 20 minutes late to the party. He sees his friends crowded at the far side of the bar, all smiling and laughing in the long, dimly lit room.

Most of Class A is there – Mina and Hagakure are making heart eyes at the hot bar tender as he pours them drinks. Midoriya and Todoroki are sitting at the bar, laughing over tall glasses of some craft beer Eijiro can never remember the name of. Shoji and Oijiro are bent over Shoji’s cell phone near the jukebox, trying to remember the name of a 80s song they had heard earlier that day on the radio. Momo and Uraraka are chatting animatedly in the corner, the anti-gravity hero is clutching a cloud of “Happy Birthday!” foil balloons with All Might’s face printed on them. Other members of the class are scattered around the room – swapping work stories and sharing life updates. They’re all smiling, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

And then there’s Bakugo – his best friend of all. The explosion hero has his elbow propped up on the bar, a low glass of whiskey in his hand. There’s a smile stretched across his handsome face and he’s snorting at some dumb story Denki is recounting. Katsuki is wearing a tight grey polo and a pair of dark navy joggers that perfectly shape his taught ass. His thick blonde hair is just the right amount of ruffled, and he’s looking gorgeous as all hell. Feeling someone’s eyes assessing him, Katsuki looks up and meets Eijiro’s gaze for a moment. His searing ruby eyes give Eijiro a quick once over and he smirks before turning back to Denki. Eijiro’s heartbeat quickens.

The sturdy hero quickly shakes his head to clear it and then looks back around the room at all of his dear friends. Seeing all his buddies in one place causes a feeling of warmth to well up in Eijiro’s fast beating chest. He smiles fondly at them all. It’s incredible that even years after graduating UA, they’re all still close like this. He doesn’t have long to bask in the glow of his love for his friends, because soon enough – they notice him.

“Oh my God! Eijiro, you look so CUTE!” Hagakure squeals, pulling Mina in his direction. “Mina told me she helped you go shopping – but I had no idea she had picked out something this hot! I want to strip you down and eat you up!

Kirishima blushes bright red as Momo and Uraraka take notice of him as well – rushing over to gush over his new ‘fit.

“Eijiro – you look wonderful!” Momo says, taking him in. She’s wearing a black backless dress that’s as sexy as it is expensive. “I love your Chelsea boots – so fashionable!”

“I just figured it would be nice to try something new.” He stammers, trying not to draw any more attention. “The paparazzi have just been hounding me lately – I want to be able to have a low-key night out for once without ending up in the tabloids.”

“His dinner date last week ended up on the front page of the paper.” Mina whispers conspiratorially to the other girls. “The paparazzi recognized Red Riot’s trademark look right away and wouldn’t let him enjoy his dinner in peace.”

“Oh no! That’s awful.” Uraraka gives him a sympathetic look. “How did your date react?”

Kirishima’s shoulders slump. “Well she liked the idea of going out with a Pro Hero…until the paparazzi knocked her wine into her lap and ruined her dress.” The girls gasp in horror.

“Did it stain?” Momo asked, dismayed. It is common knowledge that in Momo’s opinion, a ruined outfit should be punishable by law.

“Oh, yeah.” Kirishima makes a face. “It was red wine and she was wearing white. She left the date right then and there. Billed me for dry cleaning the next day.”

“Oh nooooooo!” Hagakure wails dramatically. “I’m guessing there won’t be a second date?”

Kirishima shakes his head no. “I knew that being a Pro would be challenging…I just never thought it would be so difficult to date in the spotlight. So I’m trying a more toned-down look. I don’t know if this outfit really screams “Kirishima,” but it’s nice to try something new!” The girls all nod approvingly, clearly proud of Kiri for pushing himself out of his comfort zone. They catch up for a bit – sharing bad date stories and swapping style tips. Hagakure has recently hooked up with a hot B-list Pro and is thrilled to share the details. Momo is hiring her first sidekick and is looking for referrals. Uraraka is looking for the perfect leather jacket but can’t seem to find anything nice under $400. After a half hour of chatting and swapping advice, Kirishima bats a few All Might balloons away from his head and excuses himself so he can go greet the birthday boy.

He sees Bakugo has moved to sit with Midoriya and Todoroki. He’s on his second whiskey and he’s grinning widely – a sure fire sign that he’s buzzed and happy. Katsuki’s gotten better at chilling the fuck out over the years, but it still takes a bit for him to let his guard down – even amongst friends. But with Kirishima, Bakugo is always comfortable. When it’s just the two of them, the vibes are immaculate – they can chill, have deep chats, and just enjoy silence together. It’s one of Eijiro’s favorite things about their friendship – how natural it feels to just do nothing together.

Tonight, though…tonight is an event. The entirety of their friend group is out and loud and ready to party. Kirishima makes a beeline towards his best friend, waving hello to other members of class 1A as he does so.

“Happy Birthday, man!” He claps a hand on Bakugo’s back, trying not to notice how toned and muscular the explosion hero’s shoulder feels beneath his grasp.

Katsuki looks up at him with intense ruby eyes. Once again, his eyes dart across Eijiro’s body as he all but drinks in the new outfit. Katsuki takes in the fitted pants and the new shirt before hovering on Eijiro’s loose red hair. For a moment he seems – speechless? Kirishima smirks, and Bakugo’s eyebrows knit together in an angry reply. He opens his mouth to make a comment on Kirishima’s ‘fit, but is quickly cut off by Izuku’s enthusiastic welcome.

“Kirishima! Hi! You look great – I don’t think I’ve seen your hair down like that in a while!” Izuku babbles, waving to get the bar tender’s attention as Kirishima pulls up a bar stool.

Bakugo rolls his eyes at his green-haired friend before turning back to Kirishima. His cheeks have the tiniest tinge of pink as he says: “Yeah, it’s nice to see you without that shitty hair style for once.” Kirishima smiles at the backhanded compliment and Katsuki looks away, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

The bar tender plants a martini in Kirishima’s hand without giving him a glance. As a regular, Eijiro hasn’t had to place an order in years. He sips the drink and grins as his friends start recounting stories from their first internships. Todoroki and Midoriya laugh as they mock Bakugo, remembering the way Best Jeanist had forced him to style his hair.

“I have sensitive skin – I’m allergic to hair products!” Bakugo groans as they pass around Midoriya’s phone to admire photographic evidence. Kirishima leans across Todoroki to see the photo – a young Bakugo stares daggers at the camera, his hair slicked back in a comical replica of the Fiber Hero’s signature coiffure. Best Jeanist looms behind him in the pic – tall, denim and in his prime as the Number 3 hero. Kirishima can’t help but notice the softness that touches Katsuki’s eyes as he glances over at the photo – Jeanist had been an invaluable mentor in their first year.

Eijirou marvels at how complex of a person Katsuki can be. Over the years, the explosion hero has definitely mellowed out. He’s calmer now, less angry. He’s a loyal and true friend. Katsuki is now the guy Kirishima calls for empathy after a particularly bad day at work. The friend he spends every Saturday night with playing video games and eating vegan nachos. Katsuki has always been in his corner – standing with him through good times and bad. Pushing him to become his best self as a Pro Hero and as a man. Katsuki has so many layers and sides to him – and Eijiro fondly realizes he likes each and every one.

“Why are you looking at me like that, shitty hair?” Katsuki’s low voice shakes Eijiro from his train of thought. With a start, he realizes that he’s already finished his first drink and the alcohol has made him hazy. He’s been openly staring at his friend for a solid minute.

“Damn, that’s strong.” He compliments the bar tender before turning back to his friend. “I dunno man, I was just thinking about how glad I am that we’ve been friends for so long! Happy to be out here celebrating you.”

“You’re too corny, Eij.” Katsuki says roughly, but he’s still grinning. The smile is unguarded and genuine – a sign that Katsuki is a drink or two in as well. They spend the next few minutes catching up about the latest video game releases and whose apartment they’ll go to for game night.

An hour goes by, then two. Eijiro can’t remember the last time he’s had so much fun.

Soon enough, he’s got three drinks in him and is dancing with the girls by the jukebox. He’s won a game of drunken charades against Tokoyami and has arm-wrestled with Shoji at least twice. Now as he’s dancing, he feels loose and warm and fuzzy. Mina grabs his hand and twirls him in a quick circle before pushing him towards Denki. The two bump their hips together in sync, eliciting squeals from the girls. Uraraka has acquired a hot pink-feathered boa from who-knows-where and has used it to ensnare Midoriya and pull him onto the dance floor. The green haired hero tries to remember the dance choreography from the school festival that they performed at all those years ago.

Everyone is comfortable and happy and beaming. It’s definitely shaping up to be one of his all time favorite nights out when Katsuki lightly grabs his arm and pulls him off their self-designated dance floor.

“What’s up, man?” Kirishima runs his hand across his forehead to wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his face. He’s a bit flushed from the dancing. “Having a good birthday so far?”

Katsuki’s arms are crossed and he’s looking down at Kirishima appraisingly. He ignores the question.

“Meet me in the bathroom in 5 minutes.” He says mysteriously, before turning and stalking away. Kirishima feels a burst of excitement in his belly as he watches his friend go. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. He swings by the bar and downs a quick glass of water before making his way to the restrooms. The girls try to beckon him back to the dance floor and he waves them off with a laugh.

 “I’ll be right back – gotta take a leak!” The lie comes to his lips smooth as molasses. He’s pulled this disappearing act before.

He slips into one of the unisex bathroom stalls, flipping the lock so that the outter knob reads “occupied.” He barely has a second to breathe before Katsuki has him pressed against the wall and at his mercy. Eijiro groans appreciatively as he feels the full weight of his friend’s body press against his chest. Bakugo’s hands are all over him – on his chest, at his throat, inching up his shirt.

“This damn outfit.” Katsuki mutters gruffly in his ear before smashing their lips together. The kiss is both searing and demanding. Kirishima leans into Katsuki’s hot mouth, desperate to savor every moment their lips are connected.

This is something they do every once in a while – when they’re both buzzed and horny and single. They make out in bathroom stalls and dark alleyways. They press their bodies together until their limbs become so tangled up it’s impossible to tell where one person begins and the other ends.

And then…they never discuss it.

Eijiro’s breath hitches in his throat. “You…you like it?” he stutters out as Katsuki kisses down the sensitive skin of his throat, pulling Eijiro’s undershirt collar aside for better access. He receives a low growl in response.

“Your ass in these pants…” Katsuki’s hands wander down to the swell of Kirishima’s ass and squeeze. Eijiro yelps in surprise, and feels Katsuki smile into the curve of his shoulder. “Is that my birthday present?”

Kirishima feels himself flush at the praise. The new outfit has him feeling bold – “Actually I’d like to give you your birthday present somewhere more private.”

Katsuki doesn’t seem to hear him, as he’s preoccupied licking a hot stripe down his best friend’s collarbone. His hand has slipped into Kirishima’s back pocket for a better grip on the sturdy hero’s ass. Eijro’s legs feel like jelly, and he activates his quirk – hardening his shins and thighs to keep himself standing upright.

“Mmm…love it when you use your quirk.” Katsuki whispers hoarsely.

Eijiro feels his pants tighten. He wraps his arms around Katsuki’s neck and stuffs his fingers into his friend’s thick blonde hair. Katsuki lets out a soft sigh at the contact and bites lightly into the soft flesh of Eijiro’s shoulder.

“Listen, come back to my place. It’s right around the block.” Eijiro whispers, pushing lightly on Katsuki’s head, encouraging him to continue nipping a his sensitive skin.

At his words Katsuki breaks away from him, looking uncertain. They have never touched each other like this at either of their apartments, in either of their beds. They hang out often enough – meeting up for weekly gaming sessions with the other guys or grabbing takeout together while streaming an action movie. Katsuki is a constant presence at Eijiro’s apartment. And yet – the two had been careful to never cross any lines in their living spaces. Kissing at Kirishima’s place would carry an implication – the hookup would have to actually mean something.

Kirishima holds his breath for a moment, waiting for Katsuki’s answer. The explosion hero looks thoughtfully at Kirishima’s face, and then at his lips.

“Yeah…okay.”

Kirishima lets himself break into a grin. “Okay!”

He pulls himself away from Katsuki to take a quick look at himself in the bathroom mirror. He smooths the creases out of his shirt and makes himself presentable before unlocking the door and stepping back out into the social scene.

Out around the bar, the birthday party has clearly devolved – everyone is tipsy and buzzed. Their friends are laughing and chatting, all in various states of inebriation. The difference in how Class 1A handles their alcohol as staggering - Todoroki looks like he is falling asleep in his chair at the bar, meanwhile Ida has taken over the dance floor and is executing quick, sharp dance steps alongside Ochaco. Denki and Izuku are giggling over their latest round of beer, as Mina flirts shamelessly with their favorite bar tender.

“Birthday boy leaving already?” Denki calls out, drunk off his ass. “I didn’t get to give you a round of birthday shocks yet!”

“Katsuki’s pretty wasted!” Kirishima calls over lightly. “He’s gonna sleep it off on my couch.”

Katsuki looks pissed at the implication that he’d let himself get wasted this early in the night, but the excuse is undeniably a good one. He pretends to stumble and Kirishima catches him easily, wrapping an arm around the taller man’s waist. He feels a jolt of electricity run through him at the intimate touch. F

rom across the bar, Mina gives Eijiro a knowing look and he feels his face heat up in response. She’s the only person who Eijiro has ever confided in about his clandestine make out sessions with Katsuki. She smiles slyly and points to her phone, a clear request to be texted updates later.

Denki and the rest of the group wave hazily as they leave, a broken chorus of “Happy Birthdays!” ringing out into the night as the pair stumbles out the door and into the street.

“Our friends are so great, aren’t they?” Kirishima smiles as Bakugo lets his weight sag against him. They walk slowly on the cobblestones towards Kirishima’s apartment building.

Katsuki, in a rare moment of softness, looks up into the flickering streetlights and murmurs “yeah, they really are pretty great.”

Eijiro smiles widely as he looks down at his best friend. Katsuki’s grip around his shoulders tightens for a moment. It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been out in the open before. Eijiro knows that to any passersby they look like two good friends walking home after a night out. But if their friends from Class 1A were to see them like this…would they know?

It doesn’t take a special quirk to notice the way that Eijiro’s face flushes when Katsuki brushes his fingertips along Eijiro’s pulse point. It doesn’t take a master of stealth to figure out why the two are constantly disappearing together during late nights on the town.

Eijiro is pulled from his thoughts as they arrive at his apartment building. Katsuki detaches from him and the sturdy hero finds himself shivering with the sudden loss of his friend’s body heat. He reaches into his pocket and fumbles with his keys, nervously jamming them into the door’s lock.

“Eh? Is that what I think it is?” Katsuki peers curiously over Eijiro’s shoulder as the sturdy hero clumsily unlocks the door. Dangling from his silver key is an officially licensed Dynamight enamel keychain shaped like a grenade.

“Oh, yeah…” Eijiro says sheepishly. “Your assistant always sends me and the guys the first versions of your merch before it hits the market. I thought this design was pretty sweet – sorry if that’s lame.”

Katsuki smirks and reaches into his pocket to pull out his own keys. He holds them up for Eijiro to see – dangling from Katsuki’s own cluster of keys is a rubber keychain of a red stylized “RR” logo.

“Funny – your agency sent me a sick Red Riot crewneck last week along with this. I’m not usually one to rep hero merch, but sometimes I’ll make an exception.”

Eijiro’s heart ricochets around his chest. He takes a steadying breath before jokingly saying “I didn’t realize you were such a big Red Riot fan.”

“Of course I am, idiot.” Katsuki avoids his gaze and moves to push the door open since Eijiro has frozen in the doorway. “You’re my favorite hero. After All Might, of course. And maybe also after Best Jeanist if I’m feeling sappy.”

Katsuki leads the way to Eijiro’s second floor apartment, taking the stairs two at a time and keeping his face hidden from his friend’s view. Eijiro wonders if Katsuki is blushing as furiously as he is. You’re my favorite hero. Goddamn Eijiro’s never been so simultaneously turned on and lovesick in his life.

At the top of the stairs, Katsuki easily opens the door to Eijiro’s modest one bedroom apartment. Eijiro knows he’s an absolute idiot for never locking his door, but at this point he’s too turned on to care. He follows Katsuki into his comfortable living space. A charcoal colored sectional dominates the center of the room, dividing up the living room and kitchen areas. A large television is mounted across from the couch with an array of gaming devices stacked neatly in the shelving unit beside it.

Eijiro is particularly proud of his kitchen – a clean area defined by white subway tile and jet black appliances. A slick dark Kitchen Aid mixer sits at the ready on the sparkling counter. A collection of mismatched barstools sit beneath a stretch of countertop. A framed poster of Crimson Riot hangs above a cheap bar cart in the corner. Home, sweet home.

“I’ve always liked that you have the money to own this whole building, but you still rent this crappy place.” Katsuki smiles over his shoulder at Eijiro.

“Hey, hey – it’s not crappy. It’s well loved!” Eijro makes a face at his friend, but then notices the paint that’s chipping around the kitchen window. “Okay…admittedly it could use a fresh coat of paint. But being a Pro Hero doesn’t exactly leave time for me to work on home improvement!”

“Your place is great, Eij.” Katsuki says, moving to cup Eijiro’s face in his strong hands. “It’s perfectly you.”

Their lips connect, and Eijiro swears he can see stars at the contact. He’s almost giddy with delight – they’ve never been intimate in complete privacy like this before. All of those stolen kisses in bathroom stalls have been uncomfortably public and quick. Now, they can take their sweet time with each other. Katsuki kisses him slow and deep, as if he’s realizing the same thing. Eijiro realizes with a start that they’ve never kissed somewhere so quiet, either.

They stand like that for a while, just kissing in Eijiro’s homey living room. Katsuki pushes his fingers through Eijiro’s bright red hair before brushing his fingertips along the base of the sturdy hero’s scalp. Eijiro smiles into the kiss - it feels like heaven to be touched so tenderly.

Eijiro moves his hands to rest on Katsuki’s chest, feeling his friend’s rapid heart beat. He breaks away from the kiss and dips so that he can kiss along the tendons of Katsuki’s neck. The explosion hero sighs and seems to revel in the attention Eijiro is giving his sensitive skin.

“Maybe we should…uh…take this to the bedroom?” He grunts out as Eijiro nips at his earlobe.

“Yes.” Is all Eijiro has time to say before Katsuki grabs his hand and drags him across the apartment and through the threshold of Eijiro’s bedroom.

Eijiro’s room is a safe haven from the world of Pro Heroes and villains. The walls are a warm cream color and the décor is simple. It doesn’t fit at all with the punk aesthetic of the civilian clothes that are safely tucked away in his closet. There’s a small desk in the corner that houses his sleek laptop and the personal journals that he uses for therapy. Over the desk hangs a bulletin board filled with postcards and letters from friends and special fans.

A few framed pictures hang on the walls showing scenes from Eijiro’s life and childhood. Several hold beloved photos of his UA friends and mentors. One particular picture catches Katsuki’s eye – it depicts the two of them as first year students. They are wearing early versions of their hero costumes and look so incredibly young. Their arms are wrapped around each other and Katsuki has a fierce expression on his youthful face. Young Eijiro is displaying his trademark shark toothed grin. They look fresh and unburdened, two kids on the precipice of manhood. Two children about to be used as soldiers in an ugly war. Katsuki shakes his head to clear it of shadowy thoughts.  

Most of the room is taken up by a plush king sized bed that’s across from Eijiro’s closet. It’s stacked with pillows and sports a dark navy duvet. A large IKEA Blåhaj shark plush rests upon the soft duvet.

The space looks like a standard bedroom for a man in his mid-twenties. It’s sparse but clean. Aside from a few letters tacked to Eijiro’s bulletin board, the room holds no evidence of his Pro Hero career.

Katsuki flops down on the comfy bed like he owns the place and grins up at Eijiro. He pats the space next to him as an invitation. Eijiro smiles and places a hand on Katsuki’s chest, pushing him onto his back. He climbs on top of the explosion hero and resumes kissing down his neck.

“Doing this on a bed is a nice change.” Eijiro exhales, his breath ruffling the hair at the nape of Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki hums in agreement before rapping his arms around his friend and rolling them over. Eijiro’s eyes widen in surprise as he finds himself pinned down by Katsuki’s muscular frame.

Katsuki leans down and kisses up Eijiro’s strong jawline before recapturing his lips. It’s not long before he’s deepening the kiss, adding his tongue into the mix so he can get a taste of Japan’s sturdiest hero. Eijiro melts at the contact, letting his own tongue tangle with Katsuki’s.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long.” Katsuki breathes as he breaks the passionate kiss. He looks down at Eijiro with a hungry look in his eyes. “Look at you…all mine.”

Fuck.

The piercing look in Katsuki’s ruby eyes is just too much. Eijiro is so turned on he can’t help himself - he rolls his hips and grinds against Katsuki and their hard dicks collide in the most delicious way. Eijiro’s never felt anything quite like it and he finds himself moaning softly at the contact. Katsuki responds with a thrust of his own, shifting slightly for a better angle. For a few minutes they just kiss and grind against each other. It’s like they’re teenagers again- all awkward lust and experimentation. Katsuki wants nothing more than to rip off Eijiro’s clothes right then and there.

Soon, both men’s breathing has grown ragged and Eijiro thinks that if they keep going on like this he may very well cum in his pants. He puts his hand back on Katsuki’s chest and lightly pushes against him to signal that he needs a break.

This is completely unknown territory for both of them, after all.

They’ve both been with girls in the past – hookups and girlfriends and one-night stands that have taught them the basics of pleasure and sex. But neither of them has ever slept with another man – and the thought of touching each other intimately is almost terrifying now that they are about to do it.

Katsuki sits back and takes a deep breath. “Let’s take a break for a sec.” He says, his voice husky as he shifts to adjust his hard cock in his pants.

“Are you nervous, too?” Eijiro asks him with wide eyes, unsure of what else to say.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous.” Katsuki says harshly, causing Eijiro to wince. “Sorry – sorry.” Katsuki amends, reaching forward to place a hand on Eijiro’s shoulder. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while. With you. But I’ve never fucked another guy, let alone one of my best friends. I don’t want to make things weird between us.” He says gruffly, his voice sincere despite the intense look on his face.

“Listen, man. It feels like we’ve been into each other for a while, so I don’t think that acting on our feelings is gonna change much. I’ve always liked you because you’re…well…you.” Eijiro reaches out to place his large hand over Katsuki’s. “I know you don’t like any of this mushy stuff, but I think we need to get it out into the open before all of the physical stuff. Clear the air.”

Katsuki groans in frustration, as if this conversation is physically challenging for him. And maybe it is.

“Ugh, fine.” He grunts out, turning over his hand so he can interlace his fingers with Eijiro’s. “I think you know how I feel. But if you need me to say it out loud, I’ll say it dammit.”

In the pregnant pause that follows, Eijiro realizes that he’s been holding his breath. He looks down at their intertwined hands and exhales softly. He’s waited so long for this moment, for these words.

“I’ve liked you as more than a friend for years.” Katsuki’s face softens, losing its typical tough mean mug. His expression is gentle, almost loving. Eijiro has only seen this look once or twice on his friends’ face, and his heart squeezes deliciously when Katsuki’s eyes dart up to meet his own. The look that passes between them is so sincere; it makes Eijiro’s head foggy.

“I don’t think I really understood my feelings fully until last year. That night at the bar when we first kissed…I was drunk and all I wanted to do was feel you against me, to feel your touch. When I woke up the next morning and remembered the way that we’d kissed in the bar bathroom… Eijiro I was a fuckin’ mess. I thought I’d ruined everything between us. But also…I didn’t care. I just wanted to kiss you again.”

Katsuki pauses to catch his breath. His face is flushed a deep, deep red and he looks embarrassed as all hell. But then he sticks out his chin defiantly and says “I kept trying to date girls and move on, but I always kept coming back to those feelings. I kept coming back to you. For months and months we pretended everything was fine. We’d get meals together, team up at work, go out with our friends…but any time we got a little alcohol in us it was game over. Every time we’re drunk, we can’t keep our damn hands off each other.”

“I’ve had a massive goddamn crush on your shitty ass this whole time. You’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone on this fuckin’ planet. You’re the first person I go to when I can’t get out of my own head. You’re one of the only people who understands what I went through in that shit war when we were kids. And on top of all of that…” Katsuki’s mouth quirks into an unexpected grin. “On top of all that, you’re hot as all hell. Dammit, just look at you.” Katsuki gestures at Eijiro vaguely with his free hand. “Sometimes it pisses me off how fuckin’ attractive you are with that shitty hair and your stupid piercings. Your stupid punk outfits.” Katsuki blushes impossibly deeper. “Eijiro shut me the fuck up I’m just embarrassing myself over here – “

Eijiro cuts him off with a kiss so deep it leaves them both breathless. He grabs Katsuki’s face and moves to straddle the blonde’s lap. Between breathless kisses he manages to say “That’s Exactly.” A kiss. “How I Feel.” Another kiss. “Katsuki.” The name comes out of Eijiro’s mouth as more of a moan than anything.

Katsuki grins as he moves to kiss down Eijiro’s neck. He revels in the way he can make the sturdy hero moan so easily, so freely.

“I’m fuckin’ done talking.” Katsuki says as he runs his hands across Eijiro’s toned chest. “Lose the shirt, idiot.”

Eijiro doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls off his navy button down and the white undershirt along with it. Suddenly, he’s bare chested and a little self conscious as Katsuki takes him in.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Katsuki mutters as he kisses down the hard slope of his best friend’s chest. Kirishima’s never been one for nipple play – that is, until Katsuki runs his tongue in lazy circles around his chest.

“Shit!” Eijiro cries out in surprise at the sparkling sensation that shoots straight to his groin. “Y-you can keep doing that.”

“Oh, can I?” Katsuki says teasingly. He’s got a classic Bakugo shit-eating grin on his face as he lowers his mouth to Eijiro’s left nipple. He takes his time to suckle the hard nub before releasing it with a small pop! Kirishima whimpers in response.

Katsuki continues to lick and suck his way across Eijiro’s broad chest, his calloused fingers reaching up to run across the red head’s smooth jawline.

“You should take off your shirt, too.” Eijiro finally manages to squeak out in a much less-than-manly voice than he’d like.

Katsuki looks up at him with hazy eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The explosion hero leans back and carefully strips off his charcoal colored polo. He tosses the shirt to the floor unceremoniously and allows Eijiro a moment to appreciate the hard, rippling muscle that’s left in its wake. An angry red scar winds across his left shoulder and down his chest. Eijiro traces the path of the scar reverently with his fingertips.

“Did it hurt?” He breathes out, letting his fingers wander across Katsuki’s healed flesh. “Is this one from the war?”

Katsuki lets out a deep breath as his friend traces a light fingertip across the ragged flesh. “Yeah.” He says softly. “It hurt like a bitch. And it’s ugly as all hell. But, hey, I’m still here.”

“Yeah.” Kirishima leans forward to kiss along the rough skin. Katsuki shivers in response, no one’s ever touched his scars like this. Kirishima’s lips brush across the scar tissue so lovingly, so reverently, that it makes something in Katsuki shatter inside like a dropped dinner plate.

“You’re still here.” Kirishima says under his breath, moving to capture Katsuki’s soft lips. The two kiss more slowly now, more deliberately. Bringing up the war has brought a strange kind of stillness to them both. They know how close they each came to dying, how precious these quiet moments are in the grand scheme of things.

Kirishima has never seen his friend so tender. It’s strange, he thinks, that this is the manliest Bakugo has ever looked to him. His features are so soft and open – it’s as if his typical scowl has been wiped clean off of his face, leaving nothing but sweetness. Kirishima knows that true manliness – true chivalry – can only come about when one is completely open about whom they are. In this moment, he feels that he’s finally seeing Katsuki for all that he is, and all that he can be.

Katsuki moves his fingers to Eijiro’s hair, softly combing through it in a way that is so loving it makes Eijiro want to die. The sturdy hero leans into the touch and finds he almost keens with pleasure at the way Katsuki smooths a thumb behind his ears. Katsuki moves to leave a wet trail of kisses down the sturdy hero’s neck.

“You’re so goddamn cute.” Katsuki breathes as he surfaces for air. “Fuck how have we not done this sooner?” He slowly fans out his fingers on Kirishima’s exposed abs. Kirishima laughs as Katsuki’s fingers hit a ticklish spot on his stomach.

Katsuki continues to kiss his way up Eijiro’s neck while moving his fingers further down the sturdy hero’s stomach. “God I’m so turned on right now.” Katsuki whispers. His hot, wet breath in Eijiro’s ear causes the red head to shiver. He feels Katsuki’s fingertips tracing lower and lower on his belly.

Katsuki ghosts his hand over Eijiro’s waistband and spreads his fingers wide over his friend’s crotch. He feels the hardness under the fabric of Eijiro’s pants and his hand jumps back, recoiling from the feel of his best friend’s hard cock. They both scramble away from each other awkwardly, both wide-eyed.

Eijiro feels as if he has been doused with a bucket of cold water. He realizes with a shock the magnitude of what they are about to do with each other. Kissing is one thing…but actual sex is a whole other playing field altogether.

“Eij…” Katsuki starts tentatively. “I didn’t mean to, like, withdraw like that. I just don’t know what to do.”

Eijiro nods, grateful to be blessed with another rare moment of vulnerability from Katsuki.

“I know, dude.” Eijiro consoles. “I always had a vision of how this could go down in my head. But being here with you right now…there’s nothing that could have prepared me for this.”

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. So what’s our next step?”

“You’re usually such a know-it-all, Kats.” Eijiro teases, moving to get closer to his friend again. “I thought you were the big bad leader of our group.”

Katsuki scowls at him, but reaches out to wrap an arm around Eijiro’s shoulder all the same. He draws the red head to his chest fiercely. “Yeah, well, it takes time and experience to become a gay sex god, doesn’t it?”

This sets Eijiro off in a fit of giggles. He leans into Katsuki’s bare chest as he laughs, taking in the warm cedar scent of his friend’s body.

They sit like that for a minute – wrapped up in each other and grinning at Katsuki’s stupid posturing.

“Listen, man.” Eijiro says after a moment of comfortable silence. “We can just stop here if you want. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Katsuki’s not having any of Kirishima’s gentle and generous platitudes.

“I don’t wanna stop until I make you motherfucking cum, shitty hair.” He huffs, the old Bakugo fire flaring up. Eijiro’s heart does a somersault.

“You wanna…make me cum?” He says in a quiet voice.

“Of course I fuckin’ do! I thought we got all of the sappy shit out of the way already. Why else would I be sitting here with you half naked? You idiot. I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you cumming for literal months.” Katsuki squeezes his friend’s bare shoulder.

They sit in silence for a moment, processing all that Katsuki has just confessed. A blush blooms brightly across the explosion hero’s cheeks and he moves to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. Eijiro’s nose picks up the strong sent of caramel.

Katsuki is notoriously self-conscious about his sweaty palms – his quirk causes him to produce flammable nitroglycerin-like substance in his sweat that has a very distinct scent. The Explosion Hero developed a nasty OCD habit a few years ago that caused him to repetitively wipe off his palms when stressed. After months of Katsuki being frustrated while trying to get rid of the tic on his own, Eijiro had contacted an old friend from the support course to help out. Hatsume had been thrilled to take on the project, and worked to develop a special pair of non-flammable gloves for Katsuki that would absorb his sweat without issue. Katsuki had pretended to hate the gloves, but they gave him a sense of security and safety that he had been missing when in his civilian clothes. The war had fucked everyone up, and the gloves had been a tool in helping Katsuki process his posttraumatic stress disorder and OCD alongside a trusted therapist.

But here, in Eijiro’s bed, Katsuki’s hands are bare and the Pro Hero is clearly stress sweating all over his clean cut pants. Eijiro knows Katsuki well enough to recognize the beginning of a panic attack when he sees one. He gets up and crosses to the other side of his room, sliding open a dresser drawer and retrieving a washcloth-sized swatch of fabric. He returns to his bed where Katsuki is rubbing his hands up and down his legs, still trying to erase any trace of sweat from his warm palms. Katsuki is absolutely locked in on the motion, staring down at his hands as he runs them across the thick fabric of his pants again and again.

Eijiro reaches out and places a hand on top of Katsuki’s to stop him from continuing the repetitive motion.

“Hey, Kats. It’s okay.” He wraps the small rectangle of fabric around his friend’s hands. Katsuki looks up at him, embarrassment ringing his eyes. He’s extremely self-conscious of his OCD repetitive motions, and Eijiro is one of the only people who know how bad his tics can be.

“This is a fabric sample that Hatsume sent over before she made your gloves. Look – it can absorb everything no problem. You’re okay.” Eijiro says softly, encouragingly. Katsuki sighs in relief as he sinks his hands into the fabric and lets it do its job. “Everything is okay. There’s nothing to be insecure about. I know you.”

Katsuki closes his eyes at the words, grateful. He takes a few calming breaths just like his therapist taught him to do all those years ago, back when he was trying to recover mentally from the war. He lets his breath out in a low hiss. Eijiro puts his hands on Katsuki’s arm to help ground him. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Eijiro eventually moves his hand to the small of Katsuki’s back, where he rubs soothing circles into his friend’s taught muscles. Katsuki continues to focus on his breath work, flowing through the beginning of the anxiety attack the best he can.

As Katsuki tries to re-center himself, Eijiro feels selfish for the way his brain repeats Katsuki’s words with relish - I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you cumming for literal months.” Eijiro has been doing the same for the better part of the year – getting off to hazy fantasies of a fucked out Katsuki. He tries to refocus himself so he can be helpful to his friend as they get through the anxiety attack at hand.

“Let me go get you a glass of water.” Eijiro says soothingly, rising to go to the kitchen. Katsuki nods thankfully as he continues to go through his breathing exercises, he’s finally starting to calm down.

Eijiro walks through his kitchen and grabs his biggest Owala water bottle and begins filling it with filtered ice water. Katsuki has a tendency towards getting dehydrated with his sweat-based quirk, so this isn’t the first time Eijiro has had to water his best friend. This also isn’t the first time he’s had to coach Katsuki through an anxiety episode.

Once the bottle is filled to the brim, he retreats back to his bedroom where Katsuki is sitting cross-legged and looking a hell of a lot better. He gratefully accepts the silver water bottle from Eijiro and starts gulping it down.

“Hey – slow sips! Slow sips!” Eijiro chides him, sitting down on the bed a few feet away from his friend. Katsuki scowls but obliges, taking gentler, measured sips until he’s drained half of the bottle.

“Better?” Eijiro asks, careful to give his friend some space.

“Yeah.” Katsuki breathes out slowly. “Thanks.”

“Always.” Eijiro smiles and grabs Katsuki a Red Riot branded coaster from his bedside table. Katsuki takes the coaster, smirking at the huge stylized “RR” that adorns the cardboard circle, and sets down the bottle on Eijiro’s bedside table. He then unwraps his hands from the square of special fabric so he can lay the rag to rest on the table as well.

“You always fuckin’ know how to handle my stupid ass.” Katsuki says weekly, all tough guy bravado long gone. In fact, Eijiro guesses he probably left the last of his faux-machismo at the bar alongside their friends.

“That’s what friends are for.” Eijiro says automatically. Katsuki reaches over and nervously covers Eijiro’s hand with his own. The sturdy hero can tell that his friend is still self-conscious about his sweaty palms, but is trying to move past his moment of anxiety.

“You and I – we’re more than friends, Eij. You know that.” Katsuki says softly. “Do you think we can keep going?”

“I don’t know if we should, Kats. This is a lot. It’s a big step. Maybe we need some time to breathe and regroup. We want whatever this is between us to be healthy.” Eijiro knows he’s sounding an overly cautious mother hen, but he can’t help himself. He doesn’t want to ruin their shot at being together.

 Katsuki looks at Eijiro with sparkling eyes. “Yeah I get that. But I think I’m good now. I really want to see this through…to touch you.”

Eijiro nods. “Are you sure? If you just want to go to sleep, I can take the couch. We can try again when we’re both in a better headspace.”

“Dammit, I’ve waited literal years for this. For you. I’m not going to let some shitty PTSD from a shitty war ruin a perfect night.” Katsuki scowls.

“Alright. Then let’s keep going.” Eijiro smiles softly. “But if you need to take a break at anytime you let me know.”

“Ever the chivalrous hero.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, but Eijiro can see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s me.” Eijiro puffs out his chest and strikes a mock-heroic pose. “Why don’t we slow down a little and, like, cuddle?” His cheeks heat up at this suggestion. He feels like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for, but he thinks Katsuki might think the idea is dumb.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Take it slow for a sec and ease back in.” Katsuki agrees. He scoots himself up the bed so that he can rest his head on Eijiro’s pillows. Once he situates himself comfortably, he opens his arms out to Eijiro expectantly. The gesture is so sweet and strangely innocent for Katsuki. It’s a testament to their closeness, as well as to the fact that Katsuki is still coming out of his PTSD anxiety attack headspace.

Eijiro crawls up the bed and settles himself down in Katsuki’s arms. He marvels at the way his best friend’s arms wrap so securely around him. He feels so safe, so relaxed in the embrace. They lay there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each others’ bodies before Katsuki turns his head to capture Eijiro’s mouth in a tender kiss.

This kiss is different from the others – it’s soft and slow and Eijiro can feel himself absolutely melting into Katsuki’s muscular frame with each brush of their lips. Katsuki moves one of his hands to cradle the back of the sturdy hero’s head, binding them together. Eijiro shifts so that his hands are pressed against Katsuki’s strong chest. He’s falling so incredibly hard right now – he’s so stupidly in love with this man that he feels as if he’s drowning in fizzy, sparkling stars.

With time, the kisses become fiercer. They’re both guys with wild hormones, after all. It doesn’t take much for them to get back to a frenzied state of lust. Their hands roam each other’s bodies freely now, getting more and more comfortable with each caress. Katsuki boldly reaches between them and runs his hand along Eijiro’s clothed cock, causing the red head to moan softly with want. Eijiro’s strong hand finds the curve of Katsuki’s ass and squeezes. The explosion hero hisses at the contact, feeling his weighty dick twinge with need in his pants.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, hand still resting on Eijiro’s strained crotch. He seems hesitant, unsure of what his next move should be. It’s so unlike Katsuki that Eijiro takes notice.

The sturdy hero breaks their lips apart and places a soft kiss on his friend’s smooth cheek.

“I think I’ve got an idea that we can try to kind of take the edge off.”

He slides off the bed and moves to retrieve his laptop. He props it up at the edge of the bed and flips it open, typing in a website address at Katsuki watches on curiously. It only takes him a moment to work out what Eijiro is doing.

“You think watching porn is going to help?” Katsuki says skeptically, despite the excited throbbing that’s occurring in his boxers.

“I do.” Eijro says, queuing up the site’s most popular video of the day.  An attractive heterosexual couple saunters on screen and begins to make out furiously. He gets up and walks to his nightstand, sliding open the drawer to reveal a fresh bottle of unscented lotion. He flops onto the bed next to Katsuki, and sits with his back against the headboard, legs strewn out in front of him. He pours a generous glob of lotion into one hand and holds the bottle out to Katsuki.

“We’re going to jerk off together like two normal guys and just see where things go from there.”

Katsuki tentatively reaches out a hand, palm facing up. Eijiro pours out another liberal portion of lotion. Katsuki accepts the lotion and hovers his hands uncertainly over his pants, looking to Eijiro for instruction.

Eijiro steels himself and gathers his nerve. This was his idea, after all. He takes a deep breath before shoving his pants and boxers down his muscular legs with one hand. He’s not particularly graceful as he shimmies out of the garment, but who gives a shit. He tosses his boxers to the ground and settles into a comfortable position. He looks down to see his thick cock standing at attention, flush against the hard planes of his Pro hero abs.

Katsuki looks on almost hungrily as Eijiro stares straight ahead his computer screen. The couple in the laptop screen are now stripping off each other’s clothes with abandon. The woman drops to her knees and begins to suck off her male counterpart. Eijiro feels his dick throb with need in response to the visual.

Nervously, he moves to grab his cock with his hand. Instant pleasure floods through his nervous system as he coats his dick in a thick layer of lotion and begins to jerk himself off. He throws his head back into the headboard of his bed and groans with satisfaction as he squeezes his fist lightly around the shaft of his hard member. He gets lost in the sensation for a moment before he remembers with horror that he has an audience.

With some trepidation, he peers over at Katsuki to see his friend working to remove his pants one leg at a time. Katsuki’s dick is so perfect that Eijiro’s mouth almost waters when he sees it – it’s flawlessly long and has some weight to it. The tip is flushed dark and leaking beads of pre-cum before Katsuki takes it in his hand and starts to slowly jerk himself off too.

They sit like that for a few minutes – watching the porno while slyly watching each other. With each passing moment, Katsuki becomes more vocal. He sighs, moans and groans along to the film as the porn star couple continues to get physical. He shyly glances over at Eijiro as he gets in a particularly good stroke, sighing as he does so.

It’s when Katsuki starts replacing his wordless moans with Eijiro’s name that things start to get particularly steamy.

“Eij…” Katsuki groans out as he fists his hard cock. The sturdy hero’s face flushness he turns to give Katsuki his full attention. They are sitting a foot apart on the bed – a distance that feels simultaneously both too far and too close. Eijiro decides to bravely close the gap, dropping his dick for a moment in order to scoot clumsily towards his friend.

“Kats…is it okay if I…?” Eijiro holds up his hand, motioning towards Katsuki’s crotch in an offering that needs no further elaboration.

Wordlessly, Katsuki nods and slides his hand down to his thigh. Their eyes remained locked as Eijiro reaches across to put his own hand on Katsuki’s throbbing cock. Electricity shoots through Katsuki’s body as Eijiro confidently flexes his fingers around his friend’s dick.

“Is this alright, man?” Eijiro whispers, his mouth barely moving as he stares at Katsuki’s toned, naked body in reverence. He revels in the way that every nerve in Bakugo’s body seems to be alive and ticking in response to Kirishima’s capable touch. There’s a small tremor running through the explosion hero’s legs. With relish, Eijiro realizes that Katsuki is desperately fighting his body’s natural instinct to thrust up into his fist.

“Yeah, whatever.” Katsuki says sarcastically, but his eyes are desperately begging Eijiro to keep going. Ever the people pleaser, Eijiro obliges. He slowly drags a fingertip up his friend’s lubed-up dick and watches as the member twitches in response. Katsuki blushes, almost ashamed of how turned on he is at the simple gesture. Eijiro smiles and a look passes over his face that’s almost wicked. The explosion hero almost shivers at the way his friend’s crimson eyes light up with mischief.

Eijiro continues to pump his dick and slowly gains a good rhythm. After a few minutes, Katsuki is absolutely blissed out. His eyes are half lidded as he watches his friend slowly work at his cock – each thrust pushing him closer to his limit. The sound of the porno has faded into the background; all Katsuki can hear is the gentle wet sound of Kirishima jerking him off.

“Faster.” The explosion hero mutters breathlessly, and Eijiro is more than happy to indulge him. “Ugh…” Katsuki’s moan is like a song Eijiro wants to hear on repeat. He continues to run his hand up and down his friend’s thick shaft, stopping every once and a while to concentrate on the head.

“If you keep going like that…I might…” Katsuki whispers, and Eijiro stops dead.

A beat. “Why’d ya stop?” Katsuki’s voice is almost a whine and Eijiro smiles.

“Because I want to use my mouth to make you cum.”

“Oh.” Katsuki’s mouth has gone dry. “Have you ever…?”

Eijiro’s cheeks heat up. “No, never with a guy.”

“Ok.” Katsuki isn’t really sure what to say aside from: “Neither have I.”

“Alright, we’ll be each other’s firsts then.” Eijiro says mock-enthusiastically, but he’s sweating.  This is so goddamn nerve wracking! You’d think that being best friends for the better part of a decade would make this kind of thing easier.

Surprisingly, Katsuki is the one to break the tension. He’s sitting there – naked and handsome. He moves to pull himself up so that his back rests against the headboard of Kirishima’s large bed. His cock standing at attention, slick with the lotion and pre-cum. It’s practically begging for Eijiro to wrap his lips around it.

“Jeez, I wish there was some sort of fuckin’ manual for this. Something like “Blowjobs 101,” or “Fucking Your Best Friend: For Dummies.” Katsuki says, his mouth quirking up at the corner the way that Eijiro loves.

Eijiro chuckles. “Hmm or even: “How to Suck Your Best Friend’s Dick.” A comprehensive guide!”

“Now that is a title that would make me buy a book.” Katsuki lets out a laugh. His voice softens. “It’s just me, Eijiro. Just two buddies hanging out and fuckin’ around.”

Kirishima smiles and runs a hand through his dark red hair. He scoots up the bed towards Katsuki, his eyes laser-focused on his friend’s stiff cock. He feels his own dick twitch with need and tries to ignore how fucking turned on he is.

“Now get over here Eij.” Katsuki beckons him closer, reaching out to pull him in for a soft kiss before whispering with a wolfish grin: “It’s not gonna suck itself.”

For some reason, that turns on Eijiro even more. He reaches down and gives his dick a few satisfying pumps. “Shit, Kats.” He moans, and Katsuki just smiles at the way he’s tearing his friend apart with words alone.

“Fuckin’ get to it already.” Katsuki says almost lazily, seeing the way that Kirishima’s body responds to being bossed around. “I don’t have all day here.”

Eijiro doesn’t need telling twice. He slides down the bed and positions himself between Katsuki’s fuzzy blonde legs. From where he’s sitting up against the headboard, Katsuki surveys his friend with an intense look in his eyes.

Eijiro gulps and takes in the man before him – Katsuki is all hard muscle and angles. His chest is toned and bare, but a wispy golden happy trail runs from his bellybutton down to his groin. Katsuki has a surprisingly slim waist that tapers down into a muscled “V” shape. He’s well endowed – in Kirishima’s opinion; his dick is the perfect size. Kirishima slowly licks his lips as he reaches out to take Katsuki’s length in his hand once more.

Katsuki’s eyes slide closed with pleasure as Eijiro begins to pump his cock again. Before he has time to register what’s happening, Eijiro leans forward and rolls his tongue across the head of his penis. Katsuki’s thighs jump with the unexpected sensation.

“Oh!” He lets out a small noise of surprise, and Eijiro takes the response as encouragement. He runs his tongue in a circle around Katsuki’s tip, before sucking the entire head into his mouth experimentally.

Here’s the thing – Eijiro has been on the receiving end of a lot of blowjobs in his adult life. He tries to remember the tricks that his past partners have performed that made him moan the most. He recalls being most impressed by women’s ability to multitask while performing oral.

Okay, he thinks as he continues to suck on the head like a pacifier, I can do this!

As he continues to suck, he uses his right hand to jerk Katsuki off, while moving his left hand to lightly fondle his friend’s balls.

“Holy shit Eij…” Is all Katsuki can say before Eijiro moves to take another few inches of cock in his mouth. He slides his lips down Katsuki’s rigid shaft as he continues to pump. It takes a moment or two, but soon Eijiro has the perfect rhythm going –he’s moving his hand and mouth in tandem in a way that’s making Katsuki see stars.

Katsuki is in absolute heaven. The view of Kirishima going down on him is enough alone to get him off. Kirishima pulls his lips off of his friend’s cock with a resounding “pop!”

“How’s that, Kats? Everything okay?” It’s so damn chivalrous of Kirishima to check in with his partner, and Katsuki’s heart rate quickens in a way that he’d be embarrassed about if he weren’t so fucking horny.

“Yeah keep fuckin’ going.” Katsuki almost whines, lacing strong fingers into Kirishima’s hair and forcefully pushing him to get back to sucking.

Eijiro’s eyes glaze over a bit at the harsh gesture, indicating to Katsuki that he likes to be pushed around in bed. This isn’t surprising, given how much of a people pleaser Kirishima tends to be. Kirishima resumes the blowjob, sloppily licking and sucking his way down Katsuki’s penis. Experimentally, Katsuki gives his friends’ hair a little tug. Eijiro moans in response, the vibrations from his mouth rippling up and down Katsuki’s cock like a vibrator.

“Ya like hair pulling, then?” Katsuki doesn’t wait for an answer before yanking a fistful of Eijiro’s hair a bit harder. The resulting moan from his friend’s throat is all the answer he needs. “I didn’t realize you’d like it so rough. Just wait until I fuck ya, shitty hair.”

Eijiro feels his cock twitch almost painfully at that comment. He can’t even imagine how amazing it would feel to be fucked hard by his best friend.

After only a few minutes, Katsuki is barely hanging on. As it turns out, Kirishima is excellent at giving head. Eijiro is absolutely filthy in his blowjob execution – he’s hollowing out his cheeks and making sloppy slurping noises every chance he gets. Katsuki is so caught up in the whole thing that he almost forgets to breathe.

Eijiro pulls his mouth off of Katsuki’s cock with a wet pop! A small thread of drool clings to his lips as he lifts his pretty face up to look Katsuki dead in the eyes.

“Breathe, Kats. You’re wayyy too tense right now.” He smooths a hand comfortingly across Katsuki’s fuzzy thigh. Katsuki obeys and takes a deep breath, bringing himself back to Earth a bit.

“I just got lost in it for a sec.” He says, his eyes blown wide with desire. “I can’t fuckin’ get over you. You’ve never done this before and you’re already so fucking good at this.”

Eijiro smiles at the compliment, using the moment to sloooooowly stroke Katsuki’s dick as the explosion hero continues to catch his breath.

“Ahhh.” Katsuki doesn’t even try to hide his moan as Eijiro pumps his cock. They’ve made it this far – there’s nothing either of them has to hide anymore.

“I’m gonna finish you off now, babe.” Eijiro says nonchalantly before licking a stripe up Katsuki’s shaft. Katsuki’s dick noticeably pulses at the pet name. “Would you like that?”

“Whatever.” Katsuki pretends to mean mug and put on his usual gruff persona, but it’s impossible to hold onto his tough guy act when Kirishima is looking up at him so openly with those fiery crimson eyes. Katsuki cracks a smile at his friend. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Kirishima stops his ministrations and breaks into a grin. “I know, right?”

And suddenly, they’re both laughing. Deep belly laughs that carry through the apartment. Eijiro is climbing up Katsuki’s body and kissing him so, so sweetly. Their lips meet again and again and again until they’re grinning stupidly into each others mouths.

Then Kirishima’s pulling his friend off the bed and to his feet. He shoves Katsuki lightly, his palms hitting the explosion hero’s toned chest soundly as he pushes him against the wall.

“I want you to concentrate on me, babe.” Kirishima whispers as he drops to his knees and starts sucking Katsuki off again. He slurps greedily before smacking his lips together. “I want your eyes on me the whole time.” All Katsuki can do is nod “yes” as he winds his fingers through his friend’s hair and gives a light pull. Kirishima groans and takes Katsuki’s dick in his mouth again, resuming his haphazard blowjob. Katsuki tries his best to keep his eyes trained on his friend, but the pleasure is far too much. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a light “thud” as he moans with abandon.

“That’s it, Kats. Give it to me.” Eijiro is licking and sucking and reveling in the way he’s making Katsuki come undone. The blonde’s legs are shaking and he struggles to hold himself up as Eijiro eagerly pleasures him – bobbing up and down on Katsuki’s cock with frenetic energy. It’s so fucking good that Katsuki cries out when his pleasure hits its peak.

“Eij! Eij…I’m g-gonna…I’m gonna cum!” Katsuki waves his arms in an awkward,  helpless motion before trying to push Eijiro off of his dick. He’s not sure what to do. Would it be weird to cum in his best friend’s mouth!? He hasn’t thought this through enough and now he’s trying to back away to pull himself free from Eijiro’s hot, wet mouth – only to realize his back is literally against a wall. Now Katsuki is squirming around awkwardly and Eijiro’s mouth drops in surprise. Right on queue, because as his dick flies out of Eijiro’s mouth, Katsuki cums vigorously - spattering the sturdy hero’s chest and chin with sticky liquid.

“Fuck!” Katsuki reaches down and strokes himself through his orgasm until his dick becomes too sensitive. Eijiro watches in awe as he notices the foreign feeling of hot cum rolling down his chest.

For a moment, the two stare at each other in disbelief of what they’ve just done. Both are absolutely stark naked and sweaty – Eijiro’s hair is sticking up in odd places from where Katsuki has pulled at it, and Katuski’s legs quiver with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Thick ropes of hot cum are sliding down Kirishima’s face and chest.

Breaking the tension, Kirishima grins and uses the back of his hand to wipe his face.

“Fuck, Kats.” He is all he can say as his friend struggles to catch his breath.

Katsuki is red in the face and dripping with sweat. Eijiro gets to his feet and grabs a towel out of one of his dresser drawers. He slowly wipes the hot planes of Katsuki’s muscles clean as the blonde looks on sheepishly.

“That was so fucking hot.” Eijiro says a moment later as he finishes cleaning Katsuki off. He tosses the towel at the hamper on the other side of the room and it disappears inside, nothing but net.

“I’m sorry man.” Is all Katsuki can manage to say, his face burning as he moves to cover his naked body.

“Sorry?” Eijiro frowns and joins him back on the bed. “How come?”

“I…I fuckin’ came all over you. I hope it wasn’t a gross feeling or anything…” Katsuki trails off, his fiery eyes filled with something akin to shame as he runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Listen, Katsuki…this is our first time doing something like this so it’s bound to feel weird. But what we just did – what just happened between us? That felt so natural. And honestly – I can’t wait to make you cum like that again. Next time you can even cum in my mouth.” He grins, revealing a row of sharp sharky teeth to his friend.

Katsuki’s eyes rake across his features, double-checking that he’s sincere. He takes a deep breath and lets his face relax into a sleepy smile. “Well thank God, because that was awesome.”

“Fuck yeah it was.” Eijiro nods enthusiastically, leaning in to kiss the side of Katsuki’s face sloppily. The explosion hero laughs at the contact and reaches out to hold the side of Eijiro’s face.

“You got any tips for me?” He asks cheekily as he sits up on the bed.

“Tips…?”

“For giving head.” Katsuki reaches out to wipe his hands again on the square of special cloth that can absorb his quirk. “Obviously I’m going to return the favor.”

Now its Eijiro’s turn to blush – he feels patches of red bloom across his cheeks.

“O-oh, I mean, ugh – you don’t have to!” His words come up in a jumbled rush, which makes Katsuki’s grin widen.

“Shut up, idiot.” Katsuki says affectionately as he pushes Eijiro onto his back. Eijiro doesn’t put up a flight. He lets himself fall easily into the sheets and sink into the plush mattress. Katsuki gently passes him a pillow and he gratefully accepts, using it to prop up his head and shoulders as Katsuki moves between his legs.

The explosion hero places a hand on each of Eijiro’s knees and moves upward so that he is slowly caressing his friend’s toned thighs. Eijiro looks up at his friend’s face, transfixed as he melts beneath the Pro Hero’s calloused touch.

So here’s the thing about Katsuki – he’s given a lot of head. Up until this moment, he had only gone down on women, but he’s hoping that some of the same basic moves apply to all. He gently traces a fingertip up the inside of Eijiro’s right thigh and around his crotch, teasing. He does this a few more times, focusing on the delicate skin of Kirishima’s inner thigh. He tries to identify potential weak points on his friend’s impossibly fit body. Spots that will make him come undone.

After a few gentle caresses, he finds one such area – Eijiro’s hips are sensitive. Katsuki feels a glow of satisfaction settle in his stomach as he traces a light fingertip across Eijiro’s right hip and watches his friend shiver. He leans down to kiss the area – applying soft lips to the thick cords of muscle he finds there. He experimentally sinks his teeth lightly into the flesh, eliciting a gasp from Eijiro. The red head watches as his best friend continues to bite and suck at the area until he leaves a sizeable trail of hickies across Eijiro’s fair skin.

“Kats…” Eijiro moans as Katsuki’s fingers trace across his chest, find their way down, down down….wrapping themselves slowly around his thick cock and giving a gentle tug. Eijiro moans loudly at the contact, a reedy sound that matches up exactly with Katsuki’s fantasies.

Katsuki comes back to Eijiro’s thighs and begins to trail light kisses up and down the area as he strokes his friend’s dick steadily. Eijiro is absolutely melting at the touch – he’s loving the feel of Katsuki’s battle-callused fist and the harsh way his friend is handling his manhood. When Katsuki’s tongue darts out and across the head of his dick, Eijiro hisses in surprise. Katsuki looks up at him with a searing gaze, his mouth set in a serious line. His eyes are clouded over with a lust that’s so deep and dark that it makes Eijiro’s heart splutter and spark. The visual of Katsuki kneeling over him is so incredibly hot that Eijiro almost cums on the spot.

Katsuki continues to pump at Eijiro’s cock, running his tongue along the tip as he does so. “I’m gonna take such good care of you Eijiro.” Katsuki breathes out, his voice the most tender Eijiro’s ever heard it. “I’m going to make you all mine.”

Eijiro’s heart backflips in his chest, his stomach is all butterflies. Every time he’s imagined being fucked by Katsuki, he’s pictured it rough and mean, hot and heavy. He has never imagined, never hoped that they could share a sensual moment as gentle as this. It reinforces all of the sweet words Katsuki has shared earlier – he wants Eijiro, has always wanted Eijiro. This isn’t just some passing hookup; this is a deep-rooted connection. Eijiro wants to just drown in all of his mushy, fluttering feelings. He’s feeling so comfortable, so loved up, that he does. He lets himself sink into a blissed-out state. He gives Katsuki his trust, complete control. And Katsuki happily accepts.

Katsuki moves so that he can kiss along Eijiro’s stomach. Each caress is deliberate, delicate. When Katsuki finally takes Eijiro in his mouth, it’s smooth and sweet. He slides his lips around Eijiro’s girth slowly, giving his friend time to adjust to the sensation inch by inch. Eijiro closes his eyes and lets Katsuki get to work.

The explosion hero experimentally swirls his tongue around Eijiro’s cock as he continues to take it in his mouth. After a few moments he bottoms out – careful to breathe through his nose as his friend’s length twitches in his mouth and throat. He takes things slowly so that he can minimize his chances of gagging. He tries to relax the muscles in his throat and use his hand at Eijiro’s base to compensate as he begins to bob up and down.

Eijiro is in absolute heaven and can barely last as Katsuki gets a good rhythm going. Of course Katsuki is going to be the fucking best at anything he tries. Eijiro feels his orgasm come on suddenly and roll through him. Shit! He frantically attempts to push Katsuki’s mouth off of his dick, but in classic Katsuki fashion, the explosion hero has to go the extra mile. He holds firmly onto Eijiro’s hips and continues to suck at an even pace.

Eijiro can’t help but let out a soft moan of satisfaction as he cums cleanly into Katsuki’s mouth. His hips roll and stutter as he rides out his high, Katsuki continuing to use his mouth to pull the orgasm out of him all the while.

 Katsuki’s never given a blowjob, but he’s been on the receiving end of enough to know that it’s so goddamn fucking hot when the someone swallows. The foreign feeling of hot cum running down his throat causes him to gag for a moment of uncertainty – but remember Katsuki has been working his entire life to master and train his body. He’s able to quickly adjust to the new sensation and is soon swallowing greedily as Eijiro comes undone.

When Eijiro’s finally finished, Katsuki takes a moment to lick up Eijiro’s overly sensitive cock. The sturdy hero winces at the feeling of being over stimulated, and Katsuki grins wickedly. He uses his finger to tease lightly around Eijiro’s thick head, causing the red head to whimper.

Eijiro’s cheeks are flushed and burning hot. He desperately needs a drink of cool water – but in this moment all he can do is watch as his best friend continues to play with him. Katsuki tortures the hero for a few minutes more, waiting until Eijiro finally reaches out to move the explosion hero’s hand away. Katsuki gives in easily, pulling himself up so that he’s eye level with Eijiro.

“Hey.” He whispers, giving his friend a moment to catch his breath. Eijiro reaches out and wipes a drop of sticky fluid away from the corner of Katsuki’s mouth.

“Kats, that was…” Eijiro can’t come up with a word to describe the ecstasy of receiving head from Katsuki Bakugo.

“Yeah, I know.” Katsuki says smugly. He reaches out his arms and Eijiro folds into them easily, as if they’ve been doing this for years. For a moment, no words need to be shared. They bask in the feel of each other, each reveling in the fact that they finally pushed their relationship out of the goddamn “friend zone.”

They lay there for a while, tangled up in each other and staring at the ceiling. Eijiro looks absolutely blissed out, his red hair splayed out beneath his head like a fiery halo. Katsuki, however, is chewing on his lip nervously. Eijiro raises an eyebrow at Katsuki, openly questioning his lover’s anxious expression.

“So…what do we do now?” Katsuki asks his friend, turning so that their noses almost touch.

“Now – we shower.” Eijiro wrinkles his nose at the explosion hero. “You smell like sex, Kats.”

Katsuki pushes at Eijiro’s shoulder playfully. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Eijiro turns over onto his back again, pulling Katsuki bodily towards him. They’re a sweaty, sticky mess all jumbled up together.

“I don’t really know what comes next.” Eijiro says to the ceiling, staring up as if his ceiling fan will be able to provide some guidance. “I can tell you that when I was younger I always fantasized about us going public together – being one of those Pro Hero couples on the magazines and in the news.” He smiles quietly to himself.

“It always seemed so lovely and glamorous the way that Pro couples take on the world together. But now that I’ve been a Pro for a while and I’ve seen how difficult it is to date in the spotlight…I would actually prefer us to stay out of the media. I know how you feel about gossip magazines and news outlets. And besides - I want for this to be ours, and ours alone.” He reaches out and blindly grabs Katsuki’s hand. “I think maybe we just keep things on the down low for a while, feel things out between us. Go on a few dates, maybe tell our friends. See what feels natural. And if someone leaks our relationship to the press – well we’d cross that bridge if we ever come to it.”

Katsuki takes this in for a moment, his brain sluggish and sleepy. “I’m gonna be honest…I think it’s gonna be fuckin’ hard not to show the whole world that you’re all mine.”

Eijiro smiles so widely at this statement that he feels his cheeks ache. His jaw throbs a bit as his muscles recover from giving Katsuki such an intense blow job. “I think you’ll manage.”

“You know I have a legendary short fuse.” Katsuki reaches up to wipe a bead of sweat off of his brow. “We go to so many press events and I always see girls hanging all over you – asking for your number, fawning over your muscles.” Katsuki shifts so he can look at his friend’s toned body appreciatively. “It’s been driving me nuts for years. But now that we’re actually together – if someone was all over you I think I’d punch their lights out.”

“Well you’re going to need to exercise some self control then.” Eijiro says flatly, moving towards Katsuki so he can boop his nose. “And besides, I’ve seen the way your sidekick is always making doe eyes at you. If we want to maintain some illusion of privacy, we’re both going to need to put up with some crap.”

Katsuki grumbles something unintelligible.

“Sorry – I didn’t hear that, man.” Eijiro teases. Katsuki lets out a small huff.

“I said…I’ll do anything to make this work. To make us work.”

“Same here.”

And after the wild night the pair have had together, that’s all that needs to be said.

They’re both exhausted and stinky and dehydrated. Eventually, Eijiro gets to his feat and reaches down to pull up Katsuki behind him. The explosion hero lets out a loud yawn and reaches over to check his phone. He squints as he scrolls through a wall of missed texts.

“Shit, Izuku is blowing up my phone. He said they are all going to Mina’s to continue the party.”

Eijiro peers over his shoulder and lets out a low laugh. “It’s already 1 AM!? Jeez, based on the spelling in these messages, Midoriya is drunkkkk.”

Katsuki reads aloud one of the text messages with a smirk as the pair makes their way into the kitchen. Eijiro puts on a pot of tea.

“Kacchannnnn r u feelin btr? Com prty @ Mnaaaaa.” Katsuki reads aloud with a smirk.

“You know, it’s funny.” Eijiro muses, running a hand through his bright hair. “I always thought you and Izuku had, like, a thing going on between the two of you.”

Katsuki looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, as if making a quick decision. He chooses his next words carefully. “I think that there was a time in our first year of where maybe I…ugh…wanted there to be something with Izuku. But I was so twisted up and full of resentment and fear and hormones. I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling and it made me so angry. Izuku and I never had a chance – we’re just friends now. And that feels right.”

Eijiro nods, knowing the two as well as he does, this explanation makes complete sense. The kettle starts to sing and he pours them each a steaming cup of tea.

“My weird fucked up relationship with Izuku is actually what made me realize that I’m attracted to guys.” Katsuki says thoughtfully, accepting a cup of tea with callused fingers. “You know I started to get a crush on you around our third year at UA.”

Eijiro marvels at how chatty an orgasm makes his friend-turned-lover. He notes this for the future.

The red headed Pro hero blows on his tea to cool it. He takes a snapshot of the scene in his minds eye for future dissection - they’re both stark naked in his tiny kitchen, discussing their intertwined fates. Katsuki’s bare ass is pressed up against the snack cupboard. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki grabs a clean Red Riot merch glass off the counter and fills it with tap water before chugging it back. “I caught a glimpse of your ass in the locker room and my whole body felt like it was on fire.”

Eijiro splutters into his tea laughing. “Really!? It was my ass that caught your eye?”

“Yeah your towel slipped and there it was. A perfect fuckin’ peach.” Katsuki barks out a laugh as well. “And obviously the fact that you were my first real friend played a role, too. You’ve always known me better than anybody.”

Eijiro is touched by these words. He wishes he could articulate just how much the blonde’s friendship has always meant to him. He recalls the moment that marked thr shift in his own feelings for Katsuki.

“I caught feelings for you wayyy back in our first year – remember how we saved you in Kamino Ward?” He takes a sip of his tea and sighs in contentment. “When you took my hand as we were flying through the air over All Might and those villain bastards…my heart just about exploded.”

“Huh.” Katsuki smirks. “How about that?”

They sip at their drinks for a while, enjoying each other’s company in silence.

“So should we go meet up with all the rest of them?” Eijiro asks. “I’m exhausted but I’m kind of riding a weird adrenaline high from everything that’s happened tonight.”

“Same here.” Katsuki holds up a hand and Eijiro notices with a start that he’s shaking.

The sturdy hero closes the distance between them so he can grab Katsuki’s hand. He massages lightly at the wrist where he knows Katsuki aches from his quirk. After a moment of light touches, he brings the back of Katsuki’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

“If we go, we’ll probably end up crashing at Mina’s place when we come down from the high. Plus, it’s so late.” Eijiro continues to massage up Katsuki’s arm, reaching all the muscles that bear the brunt of Katsuki’s explosive quirk.

“I think, maybe…” Katsuki sighs as Eijiro works at his overused muscles with sure fingers. “We stay in. Go shower, do some deep breathing and try to wind down. Keep tonight just for us.”

“That sounds perfect.” Eijiro flashes his signature sharp-toothed grin at his friend. “I’ll text Izuku back from your phone.” He releases Katsuki’s arm and reaches for the abandoned device. He channels his inner Katsuki as he replies with two simple words “Fuck off.” This makes Katsuki laugh and laugh. Izuku replies with a string of crying face emojis - which just seems to add to the hilarity.

They continue giggling as they share a shower – hot steam on sore muscles, shampooed fingers running through thick hair. When Katsuki switches off the faucet signaling the end of the shower, Eijiro pulls the blonde into his arms and rests his face in the hollow of Katsuki’s neck. His brain can only muster a few simple words, but they reverberate over and over in his head: mine, all mine.

They towel each other off and change into a few of Eijiro’s oversized band t-shirts. Eijiro forces another glass of water down Katsuki’s throat before they end up back in bed, wrapped up in each other. It feels so natural, so safe. Katsuki’s phone continues to buzz in the background, alight with messages from their friends.

They both ignore it.

Katsuki yawns and whispers in a gravely voice: “I’m glad you wore that goddamn outfit tonight.”

Eijiro tucks himself into Katsuki’s arms and sighs in contentment. He gazes around the room where he had painstakingly chosen his new look mere hours earlier. Said outfit is currently lying in a heap on the floor alongside Katsuki’s discarded clothing.

He feels himself starting to drift off to sleep as he says “Yeah, man. Me too.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Ahhh I can't believe it's finally finished!! Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this fluffy spicy mlm fic!!

Check out my Master List for more fun, flirty & dirty fics!

XOXO,

RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

[livwritesstuff]

Something Eddie had learned during his and Steve’s past few years living in mid-western Massachusetts was that nobody parties harder than middle-aged suburbanites with their young children in the next room.

Sure, it’s a different kind of partying than what Eddie had participated in when he was younger, but still just as impressive, or so he's thinking as he stands in the crowded kitchen of a ridiculous McMansion decorated to the holiday nines, fancy IPA in hand (in a matte can and everything), four days before Christmas.

He's mingling.

Well, he’s kind of mingling. He’s had one eye on Steve, who is on the other side of the kitchen, pretty much the entire time, because Hazel, their youngest daughter, is sacked out and Steve is holding her in one arm as if she’s a newborn still and not a couple months past her first birthday like she really is (it’s providing Eddie with yet another reason he needs that kid to stop growing up, already, because he’ll never get tired of watching that man hold a baby).

Moe and Robbie are…honestly, Eddie doesn’t really know what all the kids get up to at these things. They are loud – and with an unending consistency that makes any silence deafening (and a telltale sign that some type of shit went down that they should probably check in on) – and occasionally one or two of them will barrel through the kitchen on some imaginary mission.

Eddie isn’t really even drinking. Steve is certainly doing enough for the both of them, and his way of getting himself into trouble with the other parents once he’s got a couple beers in him is entertaining enough for Eddie to not need alcohol to get through the night.

“Dude, fuckin’ Dan is making drinks,” Steve tells him early in the evening, “If he offers you a dirty Girl Scout, say no. He’s a father.”

“What the fuck is in that?”

“Vodka, creme de menthe, and chocolate whiskey.”

“Shit, that…actually sounds kind of good.”

“I know, but we’re declining in protest.”

Some time after that, Eddie ends up with Hazel. She’s awake and curiously mouthing at a peppermint cookie when Steve makes his way back to him.

“Lisa is mad at me I think,” he says as he sidles up behind Eddie, pressing himself against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Watch it, handsy,” Eddie warns him, “There’s children present. What did you do to Lisa?”

“All I said was that maybe the start of a recession isn’t the best time to buy a timeshare and suddenly I have a tone.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

Not even twenty five minutes later, Steve returns.

“Evan’s parents probably aren’t gonna invite us to their New Year’s party,” Steve tells him, with the tiniest slur to his voice that might have worried Eddie if he wasn’t also holding a very large bottle of water.

“Why?”

“I dunno, man. All I said was that the fourth Christmas tree might be compensating for something and it was like I said the Armageddon was coming.”

“Alright, I think it’s time for us to head out.”

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

adam designated driver

intoxicated!readerxcaretaker!adam

a/n: adam driver is maybe like the love of my life I hope he reads well. this is also an older fic but maybe 2020-ish?

wc: 2.3k

18+ MDNI | no smut but sexual themes

summary: Y/N went out and had a few too many, when trying to call a taxi driver, she taps her friend adam's contact instead.

"Can I get a whiskey sour?!"You managed to shout over the pulsating bass.

The bartender nodded, turning around to grab the bottles he needed. 

He was in his mid-twenties, sporting a thick beard and jewelry: trendy black stretchers, multiple rings on his fingers, and bead bracelets that swung from his wrists as he shook the shaker vigorously.

You observed his rings up close as slid your fifth drink of the night in front of you.  You shouted a 'thank you' and passed him the money. The chilled glass froze your palm as you grabbed it. You winced hissed.

You were already intoxicated, which resulted in you feeling warmer than usual. You began to drink your cocktail, wincing from the prominent bourbon taste hitting your tongue. 

Turning to the dance floor on your bar stool, you observed your friends dancing provocatively in front of the men.

They would grind on each other and kiss for the sake of attention as if their clothing alone wouldn't draw attention, and it would work every time. Men who were complete strangers would buy you and your friends multiple rounds throughout the night hoping to get lucky.

Tonight, you all wore matching tight-fitted black mini skirts and tops that barely covered your chest. Your outfit in question was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was like wearing a costume. When you'd dress like that, it was as if you were a new person, for one night. You immediately gained a newfound confidence and your adventurous side would come out to play.

You grinned against your glass, chuckling to yourself.

How you loved being a woman.

You scootch off the seat, stumbling, trying to find your footing. Your sense of balance was terrible when you were drunk and your heels did not help with that at the moment. 

Eventually, you made your way to your friends on the dance floor, joining the small circle to include yourself again.

"Y/N! There you are, I missed you!" Your little blonde friend threw herself on you. You caught her in your arms, laughing. 

The six of you danced to the beat. Hips swaying, arms in the air, hair flying everywhere. You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, and sweat forming on your forehead, but you didn't care you were having so much fun.

our arms were raised in a state of intoxicated freedom as you tried to keep up with your friends, whose energy seemed endless.

Your fingertips tingled as you waved your hands to the rhythm, and your feet grew numb from the constant stomping.

Your head felt heavy on your neck, and your eyelids became harder to keep open. You were running out of breath.

Your movements turned sloppy as your body began to fatigue, even though your mind insisted you had more energy than you actually did. Your chest heaved, struggling to breathe in the tight top.

A couple hours went by and the club slowly began to empty out as people left in small crowds. The night was approaching its end. 

You were seated in a booth with fewer friends, all of you trying to call your drives home.

Your vision was blurry as you fiddled with your phone, trying to hold it properly.

The aggressive blue light blinded you. You squinted, opening your contacts app.

A few scrolls down and you found your usual Taxi Driver's phone number.

You pressed it, bringing your phone close to your ear. The ringing echoed loudly in your ears as you drunkenly awaited a response. He finally answered. 

"Ugh-mkay, uh I'm at thuh Sound Night Club.... on Las Palmas, can you cohme get me? I'm fuckhing drunhk." You slurred into the phone mic.

After a few exchanges, you hung up. "Welp ladies, my taxi issa comin soon so I gotta wait outside." You stood, steadying yourself on the table. You draped your jacket over your shoulders, clinging your wallet and phone to your chest. You gave them each a kiss on the cheek and said your goodbyes. 

Your heels padded on the tacky red carpet as you slowly made your way to the entrance. Before leaving you wished the bouncer a good night. "It's not my birthday, but thank you." He replied. You just smiled, confused. 

You pushed the heavy doors open, only to be greeted with a freezing gust of air. Your exposed legs were now covered in chills. The street lights illuminated your flushed cheeks; how nice. You leaned your back against the club's brick wall and waited for your Taxi. 

A shiny black Camaro pulled up to the curb, flashing its lights and honking its horn. You stayed put, wondering whose ride it was. It then honked again.

You just observed silently. 

The driver's door opened and a tall dark man rose from the car. "Y/N?" He shouted. You jumped slightly. This wasn't your taxi driver: You wondered who the man was, and how he knew your name.

Fucking trouble, that's who.

The unknown man was shouting your name. You looked around to see if anyone else was outside that you could ask for help; not one.

Fuck it, you thought.

You took a run for it, your cheap heels clicking on the cement sidewalks, and you gripped all of your belongings as if your life depended on it, and at that moment it did. 

The streets of Los Angeles were dangerous at this time of night, and you were the desired victim; a drunk, helpless, pretty girl in slutty clothing.

So much for being a woman!

The cold air breezed through your product-filled hair as you ran down an alley, only to be cornered by the car again.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked. Your heart pounded in your ears and your mouth was now dryer than a desert. You couldn't find your voice to yell for help.

The man got out again and started running after you, leaving his door open. The car lights blinded you, you could only see his tall shadow approaching you, quickly.

You once again tried to make a run for it but your heel fell through a manhole cover. You rolled your ankle and fell to your knees, your full weight hitting the solid pavement. You groaned in pain. The man rushed to your sides, as you cried on your hands and knees.

This was the end.

"Y/N! What were you thinking? You could've gotten seriously hurt! You could've gotten hit by a fucking car!!" The familiar voice gritted with rage. You lifted your head trying to identify this strange individual's face, only to reveal the face of your friend, Adam. 

"Adam? Why the fuhhck are yohu trying to kidhnap me for?" You slurred, trying to push away from his grip. "Kidnap? What? -Y/N, you called me from the club asking me to pick you up." He raised an angry eyebrow. 

You just broke down in tears, feeling lost and confused.

"You're too drunk." He grumbled, shaking his head.

"nO, I called, Denis. My usual taxi." You squinted, pulling out your phone to show him. Adam plucked the phone from your grasp and examined the phone.

"Y/N, it says Driver. Driver, Adam." He sighed impatiently.

"Oh, well, i swearr thaht I actually talked to hi-WOah!" Adam had cut you off by picking you up bridal style from the ground.

"Let me down!" You attempted to squirm but your lack of energy or control didn't allow you to do so.

"No, Y/N. You hurt your ankle. Now stop whining and let me take care of you. It's late- It's 4 in the fucking morning and you're acting like a child." He knelt down to grab your jacket that was at his feet and proceeded to place you on the passenger side of his car.

He then resumed his place at the wheel and sped off to his apartment. His car hummed loudly down the silent streets.

During the drive, you were quiet, your scraped knees were pulled to your chest and you faced your window, observing the lights that flashed by as Adam sped through the neighbourhood. 

You began to feel your soberness again because all the adrenaline was gone and the pain was now settling in.

Adam pulled into the parking garage and stopped the car in his usual spot. He turned off his vehicle and picked you up once more, this time with less anger. You toyed with the collar of his shirt as he carried you to his door. He had so many birthmarks on his neck.

Arriving at 11B, he managed to unlock and kick his door open. He used his elbows to switch on the lights and laid you on the grey sofa. 

"Do you need anything? Some pants, another shirt? Socks?" He spoke on top of you, trying to keep you awake.

"This outfit is too tight, Adamhm, can I borrow some long socks and one of your T-shirts?" You breathed out, with your eyes closed. Your head felt heavy against the firm couch pillow, it's like you were sinking in quicksand.

"I'll be right back." He said. 

You peeked an eye open to observe his apartment decor. It was minimalistic, with tones of light greys, topes and whites. Indie artists covered his walls, and colourful woven rugs were sprawled across the floor. He had lots of books on his shelf in the corner, you propped yourself up and dragged your feet to the library dizzily.

Poetry.

 Adam had lots of notorious poets in his collection.

He returned shortly.

"Here you go. Are you sure you don't want some shorts or sweatpants? They have drawstrings, so you can tighten it as much as you want." He placed the clothing on the oak coffee table that you were now making your way to. 

"I'm sure... thank you, Adam." You smiled unzipping your painfully tight top, exposing your red push-up bra. Adam's eyes diverted to the floor, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"If you need anything else, I'll be upstairs in my bedroom. It's the first door on your left." He turned to leave. 

"Wait, Adam!" You let the top fall to your feet.

"Yes?" He turned around, making only eye contact, trying to not observe your figure.

"You have poetry books in your library." You said, sliding your skirt off, leaving you in only your matching lace undergarments. 

Adam controlled his breathing. 

"I do, I do, uh, do you read lots of... poetry?" He asked leaning against his living room door frame.

"I actually used to write some and read them at open mic nights." You smiled, unclipping your bra swiftly, allowing your breasts to bounce out of your bra.

"Much better," You muttered.

"I-I uh, I didn't know that." He bit the inside of his cheek, face remaining unreadable. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and fixed his posture. You could hear his foot tapping the floor, and you could sense uneasiness in him.

Oh?

Casually, you let the bra fall, like your top, and slid on his grey Star Wars t-shirt that he probably had received from a fan.

Adam was not one to watch let alone buy merchandise from his own projects. The Kylo graphic tee looked cute on you, it ended mid-thigh and wasn't too wide.

"I still write sometimes, but not as much as I'd like to, you know? What about you, do you write?" You sat on the low coffee table, knowing well, that Adam was struggling to keep his composure and slid on his long black socks that went up to your knees. 

"I do, but I don't think that it's good." He chuckled, trying to seem less awkward. You simply smiled at the statement and found your place on the couch. 

"um- you need some water and aspirin, I'll go get that for you." He said and walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps thumped on the creaky wooden floors. 

In one hand he had a big glass of iced water, and in the other, he had two tiny pills. "Thank you," you mumbled tiredly, washing down the medicine with water. "Need anything else?" He asked glancing at the time: 4:52 AM.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you, Adam. For everything. It's really appreciated. Also, I'm sorry for earlier, I thought you were trying to hurt me, it was dumb." You looked down at the glass that you held in your lap, in embarrassment. 

"You are...welcomed." He gave you a small close-mouthed smile before shutting off the lights and going upstairs to his own bed.

You tossed and turned on that shitty sofa. It was small compared to your bed at home and the throw blanket was too thin for your liking, you really wished you would've taken up that offer on the sweatpants. 

"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, now fully sober and exhausted. 

You quietly got up and proceeded to make your way upstairs to the first bedroom on the left. You turned the doorknob slowly and pushed it even slower to avoid making any noise. You saw that his bedside light was on, and you could make out faint clicking noises. When you fully opened the door, you were happy to be greeted by Adam sitting shirtless in bed, typing on his computer. 

"Hi." You quietly spoke. 

He lifted his chin and met your eyes with his brown ones. "Hi." He gave you a toothy smile. 

"Can't sleep either?" You asked, padding towards his gigantic bed. "No, not really." He chuckled closing his laptop and placing it on his bedside table.

You sat on the foot of his bed, observing his thick chest and shoulders. He was a very attractive man, very large, he looked soft. You bit your lip at the thought.

"Come." He lifted the covers from the unoccupied side of the bed and tapped the mattress like when prompting a dog or cat to come sit next to you.

You obeyed and got under the covers next to him, already feeling his warmth.

You hummed in delight as he turned off the lamp. Adam laid on his side, facing you. You did the same, trying to focus your eyes on his face through the new darkness. 

He let out a tired sigh and without warning, he pulled your whole body forward. Your head was buried in his chest, his bicep supported your neck, and his other arm rubbed your back.

"Sleep, or you'll get sick tomorrow morning. "

You smiled and inhaled the scented body wash he used. You absent-mindedly pressed a kiss to his chest, making him hum lovingly.

A moment of thinking passed and he then tipped your head back, to place a long tender kiss on your lips. You returned the kiss, feeling his plump lips against yours in delight, sending butterflies in your stomach.

After, you returned to his chest and he placed another kiss on your forehead, drifting you slowly to sleep. 

oh adam, i'd die for you

[thebottomfromhell]

wait: you the moment Muzan was asking that person if they looked sickly? before he killed them I mean what if, that happened again with someone else(reader, perhaps?) but they end up being blind (and he didn't know until reader subtly points it out)? like he asks and reader says 'I'm not sure what you're asking, but you sound pretty healthy.' all genuine smiles and all

I would change the scene a bit for it to make sense, but Muzan encountering blind reader is a lovely idea.

So, also I did this one before others I still owe cuz I'm literally sick, and I always become lazy when sick, and it was the one I needed to think the least. I should feel better by Monday, but I wanted to keep the promise of 2 post per week.

Muzan encounters GN Blind Reader in the scene of the alley

Warnings: Mentioned non-character human death, Implied life-threat to reader and Open ending.

You were born blind. Your mother more often than not said you cried a lot, both as a baby and as a toddler, scared, because you couldn't see anything. The second you didn't have someone touching you you feared you got lost or abandoned, so you cried. You stopped crying when you started to grow up, thankfully your parents were quite wealthy, so you never had problems with being sustained, even if with your current condition living a normal life, like getting a job and starting a family, is harder than normal.

You never let that bother you, though. Also, your other senses do help you around a lot. You can hear, smell and touch your way through most places, so as long as you have your loyal can, you are more than fine. This night, you can sense due the lack of sun rays in your skin, is a busy one. You don't even know what took you so long, since you were only buying some sweets in a shop you go a lot. Since the woman that makes the sweets knows about your condition, sometimes she sneaks some more samples, thinking you don't realize the rations are bigger than normal. Still, it's an endearing gesture.

But the crowd tonight is making it harder to go home, it's too loud and full tonight, so using the temperature of the walls you guide yourself to an alley, there the stones are colder since they didn't get the sun's heat during the day. Then... there is a scent of blood. You know how it smells, since you were little you were able to recognize your mother's periods to the smell in the kitchen when the cooks are cutting the meat. But in those times the smell was diluted, but now it's strong, pungent. Is someone bleeding out? Should you call for help?

No, if it's so bad, it's probably a murder in the alley, if you draw the attention to yourself you might be the next victim, so you make the best to calm yourself. You are blind, so as long as you pretend to be oblivious to what is going on, you might have a chance to flee. You have done this before, not with MURDER, but you have had your fair share of stories of finding people having sex in alleys, and pretending to not know.

"What are you doing standing there like a freak? Can't you see what is going on?" Says a voice, it's rather sweet and soft, clearly manly, you would dare to bet it's a healthy man from his twenties to his mid thirties. In any other situation, you might have even been smitten by the voice. But now.... "No sir, as you might have realized... I can't see. Did I interrupt on something?" You ask, trying your best to keep your nerves under control. You hear steps, shoes with platforms from the west? Is the murder someone wealthy? They are comming towards you. And you know it's not the victim. The victim would beg, run, shove you to scape... not walk calmly towards you.

You move your staff on the ground, making little hits from side to side, hoping it will make this person keep it's lenght as distance. He stops when you hear the edge hit his leg. You stop the movement. "Scaping the crowd, huh? Seems we are not so different from one another. I'm sorry for my tone earlier, I needed some time alone, the city can be upseting at times." Before he sounded as if he was containing his anger, but now... it's gentle, even nice. You can feel hands, not so big or thick, but very strong, in your shoulders, as he guides you to turn around back to the streets. "This alley is infested by pests, let me help you in the way out. Let's go sit somewehre else." You let him, because you are afraid of what he will do if you don't.

You do relax in the crowd for once, though, since is improbable he will do anything to you in front of other but... no one is reacting. Shouldn't he be covered in blood? Then again, he doesn't feel wet, even id the faint smell is still there. Also, he moves you gently, making sure you don't trip or bump into anyone or anything, constantly telling your the name of the streets you are going and describing them for you to know where you are, more or less. He is precise, you know exactly how to go home from here. Part of you wonders if you should tell the authorities, but... would they believe you?

"Here. Here we should be able to rest." You both sit on a bench, there is something off about this man, but you don't know what. "So, what is your name? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." You nerviously grip tight the bag where you have your sweets, not knowing how to react. "Y/N...." you answer, if only to be polite. "Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you. Do you live nearby? Have anyone who is supposed to pick you up?" You don't give the exact location, but you asnwer "I live near by. With your descriptions I should be able to get home from here by my own."

"Is it really? Then, I have other matters to answer to, so I will stop keeping you. We might see each other again." He says and... gone... you use you staff after some seconds of silence to check and he is really gone. Or farther than the staff's full lenght's reach. How? You didn't hear any steps or sense any movement. He is just gone. What? How?

You stay in the bench for a while, could it be that you have gone mad? Is this a dream? Was it part from your imagination? Was the man a ghost? You stay a while trapped in your thoughts before going home. Some days pass, weeks, more than a month, and you get to almost forget about the experience. It probably wasn't what you thought, and you will never se that man again, so why worry.

Then, one night your father tells you to go to the main room to meet his new business partner adopted son's. He is a lot younger than you, around half your age, but it seems it will be your job to entertain the child while your parents make business. The kid is very quiet while everyone else is here, it makes you wonder if he is even there. Then, you hear it again. "I told you we would meet again, Y/N." You freeze, it isn't coming from the child, is it? "How would you react if I told you I can give you sight?" You are blind under the situation, no pun intended... Just who the hell is this guy?

"My name is Kibutsuji Muzan, never repeat it."

[crybaby-bkg]

touched for the very first time

Toji x f!reader Warnings: smut, hotel smut, virgin reader, reader is mentioned to be wearing dress/panties, nicknames are pretty thing and sweetheart, dry humping, finger sucking & choking, oral (f! receiving), hand jobs, reader gets embarrassed many times, one mention of baby trapping, full nelson to mating press positions, first time kisses, squirting, marking, a mention of blood being drawn from scratching, hair pulling (m! receiving) andddd I think that's it. lol please let me know if I missed anything and please enjoy!! Word count: 5.7k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!Also available on Ao3!

As you walk into the busy hotel, your heartbeat is a loud thud against yours ears. It’s deafening, makes your head feel too cloudy, your hands wringing together in anxiety, your upper lip sweaty. You could always back out of this, even though you wouldn’t get your money back, and you wonder if this was all some stupid idea in the first place. 

The moment you start to will yourself to turn around cause this was a terrible fuckin’ idea, you catch the eye of the man you wanted to meet. Your breath instantly catches in your chest, your eyes widening, and even from a distance, the man seems able to catch your exasperated expression at just the sight of him. He smirks, and you can already see the glint in his eye that promises nothing but ruin for you. 

“You weren’t thinking about leaving, were you?” The man asks you the moment he strides up to you, his head tilted to the side, his eyes darkened by his bangs. He’s much bigger in person, his frame damn near making him an impenetrable wall that many people swerve out of the way to avoid bumping into. He’s clad in a black shirt and sweatpants, worn sneakers adorning his feet, and he doesn’t really seem to mind the way you take him in so unabashedly. If anything, the man seems to grow even bigger, the scar crossing his lips seemingly pulling even tighter. 

“No?” Your answer is as unsure as you are, your hands fiddling in front of you in worry. The man, whose name you remember from your friend as Toji, only smiles wider at you, sniffs the air in front of him, like a shark smelling blood in the water. 

“Ya sure about that?” He asks you, smile lessening as the seconds tick on, your eyes still a little fleeting when they linger on the outline of his pecs a few beats too long. “Look, if you don’t wanna do this, I’m not gonna pressure you. I am keeping your deposit, though.”

“No,” that makes you speak up quickly, taking a step forward into his proximity, your shoes bumping his. “I wanna get this over with already.” 

Toji only cocks an eyebrow at you in question, but doesn’t much verbalize it beyond a grunt before he’s turning on his heel. You scurry after him, his long legs making each step feel like you’re jumping over cliffs, his hands shoved in his pockets coolly. You stop short behind him when he makes his way to the front desk, rapping on it twice to get the attention of the older lady who smiles coyly when she sees him. 

You can’t make out too much of their conversation from the busyness of the hotel lobby, but you do catch her flirty smile, her glance of disdain in your direction, a push of her tits in his direction, before she’s sliding over a keycard to his waiting hands. When he turns, Toji’s demeanor seems as cool as ever, as if this is something he cons from the receptionist just about everyday—which, in reality, you’re pretty sure he actually does. 

But you don’t question Toji. Just scurry after him through the lobby with your chin tucked in your chest, your hands wrangling each other, eyes wide and unsure when you’re stuck in a crowded elevator together. 

Can they tell? The strangers on the elevator with you? The people in the lobby? The receptionist, the janitors? Can they tell what you’re about to do with a man that you’re sure is most likely ten plus years your senior? All for the sake of saying I’m in my mid-twenties and I finally lost my virginity! 

Before you know it, Toji has led you to the room you’ve paid the night for, although you don’t plan on staying past when the deed is done. He opens the door for you, eyes taking you in the entire time, some predator ready to pounce on the prey that’s too scared to look their consumption in the eye. (Will he consume you so? Will you like it? Will it be as good as the smut you read online? Better?) 

“So?” Toji suddenly says after he’s closed the door behind you, toeing his shoes off as you belatedly do the same. “Any conditions I should know about that we haven’t already discussed?” 

Oh, fuck. You forgot about those conditions you two had talked about when you reached out to him. You had heard…raving reviews about the man, and after a frustratingly lonely night, did you finally reached out to your friend for Toji’s information. You agreed on a time and place, paid your deposit, when he asked you if there were things you wanted to try with him. Sex, was the only thing you had said, something he had laughed at behind the screen of his phone. 

Obviously that. Kinks? Fetishes? Shit you wanted to try but was too afraid your boyfriend would think was weird or gross? 

You didn’t think it was necessary to tell him that you had never had a boyfriend before, but you list a few things you know you’ve liked from reading smut online. Easy things, things you were sure wouldn’t be entirely too much for your first time. He had only sent a thumbs up, and that was the last you heard from the man until today. 

“I’m a virgin.” You blurt out when he snaps his fingers in front of your face once, his eyebrow cocking in confusion. It bleeds into one of understanding when your words sink into him, a knowing look crossing his face as he shoves his hands in his pockets, head tilted to take all of you in. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, and that only makes the pit in your stomach grow, nerves eating away at you as you twist your fingers together again. You open your mouth to call the whole thing off, tell him to keep your money, when he speaks first. 

“Virgins are extra.” Toji states plainly, eyes traveling your form, the long, flowing yellow dress you wear, the frilly little ankle socks, your jean jacket, your rounded eyes that get even bigger in confusion. He can’t help but snort a little under his breath, which stirs you into action, as you reach into your little shoulder bag, plucking a few bills from your wallet with shaking hands. 

You feel…dirty, scandalous, to be trading off your virginity for money to a complete stranger just because your friend said sex with him was life changing. But you hand him the money either way, with clammy palms and fingers that linger a little too long against his rough palm. 

Toji thumbs through the money, notes that you gave him a bit more than what he usually charges for virgins, but he’s not gonna tell you about it. Instead, he pockets the money, burly arms crossed over his chest as he looks down his nose at you. You’re akin to a bunny, almost, all timid and shy and pretty. He could just eat you up—but only if you’d let him. 

“Ya sure about this whole thing?” He asks you once more. “‘Cause I’m not doing shit that ain’t consensual, unless its that whole consent-non-consent shit, but I doubt that, coming from a first timer.” He sizes you up as if he can tell what’s running through your mind, but you try to put on a determined face that only makes his cock twitch in its confinements. Cute. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” You say determinedly, chin suddenly tilted high, even though your balled up fists shake with slight nerves still. “I’m in my twenties, and still haven’t slept with anyone yet. I just want to know what it feels like already, so I won’t feel like I’m missing out anymore.” At the end, you start to lose your steam, as other revelations come to the forefront of your mind. Your chin tucks ever so slightly, the eye contact you worked so hard to keep with Toji slowly withering into nothing, your gaze on your socked toes sinking into the carpet beneath you. 

“I’ve also heard…great reviews about you.” You confess a little quieter. You damn near jump out of your skin when Toji barks out a laugh, look up to find his head thrown back, an arm slung over his belly in mirth. It makes your own nerves calm a little, as you crack the smallest smile, shaking your head at yourself at just how ridiculous you sounded. 

When his laughter dies down, he takes a step to you, suddenly tucking his middle finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. He’s smirking, eyes shining with mischief, his breath warm where it fans your face. Is it weird that you’re throbbing between your legs already?

“You’ve at least kissed someone before, right?” Toji asks, his voice teasing and playful, but it turns into one of shock when you confess, 

“No, I haven’t, actually.” You can see the gears turning in his mind, the genuine surprise that slowly melts into something you think you should be scared of. His light touch under your chin has full on gripped you now, his thick and rough fingers curling around your jaw, bringing you a step forward until your front presses snug against his own. You have to brace your hands on the swell of his pecs, and feel yourself swallowing down a moan at the firmness of them. Toji catches that look in your eye, and only smiles wider. 

“I’ve snagged myself an all around virgin, huh?” He asks, rhetorical, leaning down until his mouth hovers over yours cruelly. “How cute. You’re gonna be fun to break.” 

When Toji presses his lips to your own, you expect the kiss to be rough, to be all teeth and snarl and bite. But he’s everything you least expected—his kiss comes slow and gentle, a sweet press of his lips against your own to get you acclimated to the feeling of it. He presses one kiss, another, tilts your head to the other side. His kisses get firmer as the seconds go on, your hands curled into the front of his shirt, desperate to hold on, afraid you may float away if you let go. 

When he thinks you’ve gotten the hang of it finally, does his tongue come out to play. He steadies you when the pink muscle slides against the seam of your lips, feels how you sway on your feet from the contact. He can’t help the little laugh he lets out at your innocence, holding you tight around the waist, pulling you in even further, that you’re forced to wrap your arms around the thickness of his neck. 

“Let me in, sweetheart,” he encourages you, his warm breath fanning your cheeks as he nips at them gently. You shudder all over, lids entirely too heavy as you bring him in to your lips once more, mouth slightly agape as you welcome his tongue to taste yours. 

It slides against your bottom lip first, as if asking for entry, even though you’d give him access to every hole in your body at the moment. When his tongue touches yours, you can’t help the soft keening that emits from the back of your throat. Its a different kind of sensation, one you weren’t sure you’d like too much. But at this moment, nothing has ever felt more right. 

His tongue glides against yours the same time he rests his hand on your lower back, pushing you closer to him so that his knee is slotted between your own. You let out a gasp in surprise, the thin material of your dress and panties letting you feel every corded muscle of his thigh as he encourages you to hump against him. 

“Just like that, pretty thing,” Toji encourages you. You can almost hear the smile in his voice, feel it even better against your panting mouth when he dips his tongue to run across your teeth. He’s all consuming; his hand pushing your hips forward and back again, your clit catching on your panties, how quickly you’ve soaked the material, his tongue scraping against your molars, his other hand holding you still by the jaw to let him guide you. He could direct you straight to your own perish, and you’d go willingly, at this point. 

You whimper out his name pathetically, clinging to his shoulders, mouth agape, spit drooling from the corners as you let him do whatever he pleases with his tongue to you. He pulls back with a little huff of a laugh, embarrassing you. It makes you hide your face in his shirt, despite the fact that you still rock your hips against his thigh to chase that pleasure you’ve never felt with someone else before. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Toji husks in your ear, places both of his big and rough palms on the swell of your ass, encouraging you to grind against him even harder. Your legs feel too weak to keep standing, but you cling to him either way, gasping out a little choked moan as the pressure in your lower abdomen starts to build entirely too quickly. 

“Ready to move on to the next item on your bucket list?” He teases you, nipping at the shell of your ear. You nod your head quickly, burying your face even further into his chest when he doesn’t need to guide you anymore to fuck his thigh, your hips bringing you forward and back until the motion starts to border on erratic. 

“What’s next, then? Tell me,” Toji tells you, his voice dropping so low, feels like you’re the only one in the whole world right now. You squeeze your eyes shut, cling to him even tighter, but he’s pulling you away with a little tut. You pout up to him, eyes teary from the almost overwhelming pleasure that floods you in such a short amount of time. 

“I want,” you swallow, glancing away, embarrassed, even though you can’t stop humping at his leg like some dog in heat. “I wanna try, um,”

“C’mon, you can do it. Tell me what’s next, pretty thing; want me to lick your pussy? Swallow my cock? Finger you and stretch out that tight little hole?” His words are damn near dipped in pure sin, sex itself, dripping with such lust that you find yourself hitting your climax before you’ve even registered that you were close. Your eyes clench shut, your nails digging into the muscles of his shoulder through his shirt, mouth dropping into a little circle as your hips jerk while you ride out your orgasm on his thigh. 

When you come down, Toji peppers kisses up and down the sides of your face, pecking you sweetly, licking at the little beads of sweat that dribble down your temples. He nibbles the corner of your mouth, his smile wide and devilish as he hums, still expecting some kind of answer from you. 

“I want you to eat me out,” you whisper when you finally come down from your high, chest still tight from how much you held your breath at the peak of it. Toji pats your ass twice with a hum, pulling away from you as he pads over to the bed that sits in the middle of the room. 

You feel naked suddenly, vulnerable and alone as you stand there, wondering what you should do next. Should you take your dress off now? Socks too? Or should you sit on the bed and do it? Or wait for him to take your clothes off for you?

“Get outta yer head, and come lay down already.” Toji tells you, no bite in his tone but it spurs you into action either way. You scurry over to the bed, slipping out of your jacket on the way there, but you hesitate when it comes to your dress. 

He doesn’t seem to mind though; just guides you lay down against the pillows, snatches one that you don’t need to place it under your hips, pulls you down a little so that he can kneel on the floor while you stay on the bed. 

“Ready?” He asks you when you just lay there, stiff and unsure of what to do next, your hands curled into the blankets beneath you. You only nod at him like a deer in headlights before you lay your head back against the pillows, gaze focused on the ceiling above. Toji huffs another little laugh at your embarrassment, but doesn’t comment on it. 

Just flips the skirt of your dress up until it lays against your belly, which he kisses too, making you gasp a little in surprise. He noses his way down your panty line until he’s met with the wet patch on the front of your plain lilac colored panties, the spot dark and clinging to your lips. Its a sight that makes him salivate, and he can’t keep himself from sucking your slick straight from the fabric. 

Your hips buck on instinct, a moan caught in your throat as your knee jerks ever so slightly. Toji catches it before you can knee him in the face, placing both of your legs over his shoulder with practiced ease. 

“Easy there, pretty. Don’t need a black eye from another client.” He tells you, voice dull and husky, but you can’t help the little snicker that floats out of you. It makes Toji smile himself, glad that you’re not as tense in the moment, and proceeds to kiss you through your panties. 

You’re so sensitive—just him breathing a little heavy on you makes your clit twitch almost visibly through the soaked cotton, your hole making the prettiest little noises with every throb. You’re so embarrassed, your arm slung over your eyes to cover them, but he loves every little reaction all the same. 

Finally, does he tug your panties down your legs, damn near lifting you in ease to get them off and thrown across the room. He gets back into place and takes you in with a whistle under his breath. 

“Damn, you really are a pretty lil thing, huh?” Toji whispers huskily, grinning at the way your hips twitch and your hole throbs at his compliment. You don’t reply much of anything besides a pathetic little whine, thighs dropping open a little more in invitation, one he takes without further preamble. 

He lays the flat of his tongue on your dripping hole, drags it up until he’s at your clit. He swirls the pink muscle around the swollen little thing, sucking it into his mouth with a hum that makes you cry out an expletive. He likes the sound from your lips, does it again and again until you’ve wrangled your legs from his grip, your knees pressed into your chest. He licks at you and licks at you until you’re quite literally dripping in both saliva and your own slick, creating a little puddle beneath your ass. 

He ducks his head down for a bite of your rounded flesh, chuckling at your surprised squeak. He slaps your ass once before he’s back at your clit, kissing it the same way he kissed you earlier, but this time so, so much dirtier. Messier, with more spit and tongue and ever so slight nips of his teeth where you’re most sensitive. 

Toji holds the backs of your thighs down, pressing your knees even further into your chest, knocking the wind from your lungs. Your cute little frilly socks hanging in the air, toes twisting and curling with every suck of your clit into his warm, waiting mouth. He thinks his cock is about to burst in his sweats at the sight, the smell, at the taste of you. 

“What a sweet little thing you are,” he moans into you, having to fix his boner from where it tents his pants, but he doesn’t stray too far from your pussy. Lashes his tongue wherever you’re wettest, kisses you and kisses you until your hips buck and force him to kiss even deeper. He’s not surprised when you’re bursting over his tongue in only seconds, a high keening cry emitting from the back of your throat as you finally uncover your eyes to pull at his hair. It stings, your little claws digging into his scalp, but he revels in the burn, either way. 

You try pulling him away, speaking gibberish, but he hasn’t gotten his fill yet. He doesn’t much act like this when it comes to clients, but something about you—your noises, your taste, your hole clenching down on his tongue with every shaky gasp of stop—that makes him feel addicted. 

He pulls away only when you start to sob, despite the fact that you keep fucking your hips against his face, unable to control yourself. Toji pulls back with a deep inhale, still tasting you on his upper lip as he licks it, desperate to savory every drop from you. You sit up on your elbows, your hair a little disheveled, your chest heaving, eyes distant as you try to take him in. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I wanna touch your cock now,” you tell him, feel so crude with such a request, but Toji only grins at you. 

“With your hands or your mouth?” He asks a little breathless, his cock kicking at the thought of finally being touched by you. 

“My hands.” You answer him a little unsurely, eyes downcast before glancing up, face burning. “For now,” 

Toji climbs on top of you at that, little half smirk adorning his lips as he pulls his shirt from over his head. You follow suit with your dress, wiggling underneath him as you try to unclip your bra from the awkward angle, too. But Toji helps you, leaning down to undo it from underneath you, nipping at your neck during his proximity to you. When he pulls it off from your shoulders, he catches one of your nipples in his mouth, pawing at the other one greedily. 

It’s a different sensation, but something that makes you gasp in pleasure, holding his head close to you when he bites and pulls at the sensitive skin. Too quickly though, does he pull away to push his sweats to his knees, revealing the fact that he’s gone without underwear, which really doesn’t surprise you as much as you would think. 

But what does surprise you, is how pretty his cock is. Both thick and long with a slight curve to the left, his tip the softest shade of brown, precum dribbling from the head to connect with the dip of your bellybutton. Blue veins fork up and down the shaft of it, his pubes trimmed but thick and dark at the base, his balls low and round and so full, that you want him to just—

“Gimme your hand,” Toji’s husky voices snaps you out of your daydreaming, spurs you into action as you limply hold your hand up. He takes it in his own rough, warm grip, spits into your palm, before wrapping it around himself. 

His cock is warm, the skin oddly soft with a firmness to it that you hadn’t much expected. You stroke him slowly, his own hand dwarfing yours, but he lets you take control for the time being. You squeeze the tip when you get to it, watching another bead of precum bleed from it prettily, your mouth watering at the sight. 

“Is your mouth feeling empty, pretty thing?” Toji grins at you, pushing you down by your chest to lay flat on the pillows again, one hand cupping your tits, the other peeling your mouth open. You let him, tongue flat and pliant as he pushes two fingers into your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation, trying to stay aware enough to keep stroking his cock, thumb the precum, spread it down, twist your wrist. 

You moan as Toji explores your mouth, pads of his fingers tracing every piece of your wet cavern—your gums, the roof, your molars—before he finds the back of your throat. You gag on his digits, grip tightening on his cock from the surprise of it, making him groan from above you. He looks so pretty hovering over you like this; the spackles of his chest hair dripping with sweat, his mouth slightly agape, his fringe covering his eyes, his stomach toned, his cock dripping for you so prettily. 

Toji fucks your mouth with his two fingers until they’re soaked enough, until your tears have dribbled from the corner of your eyes onto the pillows beneath you. He pulls them out with a dribble still connecting to your tongue, and you chase the feeling of his rough fingers pressing against your uvula. But he doesn’t make you wait long, as you find those same wet, now cooled digits pressing against your achingly empty hole. 

They go in with only a little resistance, makes you give pause as you gasp. Toji encourages you to keep going, keep stroking his cock like that, keep making those pretty noises and even prettier faces for him. He scissors his fingers inside of you when you start to relax, stretching you out for the thickness that lies between his legs, tilting your head back with his free hand to spit into your waiting mouth. 

He chases it with his tongue, his hips twitching when you pick up the pace while jerking him off, angling it down to where his fingers bully you open, a wordless signal to what you want now. And who is Toji if not one to always satisfy his customers? 

He pulls his fingers from your hole, licking them clean before swatting the wet digits on your nipples, grinning at the squeaky little hiccup you let out. You get the signal to release his cock, sitting up a little as he reaches into the table beside the bed, pulling out an extra large condom. You swallow at the thought of whats to come, nerves suddenly taking over you once more. 

“What position?” Toji grunts as he rolls the condom down his cock. You were so entranced watching his hand work, you hadn’t realized what he asked you. 

“Huh?” You ask, eyes guiltily jumping up to his gaze, one that you find to be extremely amused. He shakes his head at you, sitting back on his heels, cock hard and standing at attention, distracting. 

“I asked what position did you want me to put you in? Missionary, doggy, butter churner, cowgirl—”

“A full nelson.” You blurt out, eyes suddenly wide and unseeing as you can only imagine how you’ll look bent into position like that by Toji, who’s all muscle and brawn. He looks slightly surprised at your outburst, but grins wide and feral at you, promising a night of ruin if that’s what you want your first ever position to be. 

“You got it, sweetheart.” Toji doesn’t give you much time to think about your decision before he’s manhandling you into position with as much gentleness that he can muster. You two switch positions as he seats you in his lap, leaned all the way back on the bed, his body hot and sweaty against your back. You can’t fight the urge to look over your shoulder and consume him in a kiss, the first one you’ve initiated since you came into the room. 

Toji moans against you, hooking your knees under his arms, pulling away with a little hesitance to get you into proper position. He clasps his hands behind your head, forcing your head to tilt down ever so slightly so you can watch the bob and twitch of his cock as it lays against the length of your belly, nearing your navel. The thought makes you swallow thickly. 

“Sure you’re ready for this, pretty thing?” Toji husks in your ear, nipping at it when you only nod your head. “I need you to use your words.”

“Yes, I’m ready to be fucked, Toji,” you moan to him, arms hanging in the air from where he pulls you taut, both hands already holding onto his hair. Toji laughs at your formality, letting you go for just a second to angle his cock at your hole, before he puts you back into position. He looks over your head as he grinds his hips forward, his leaking tip pushing past the tight barrier of your hole. 

You let out a little cry at the feeling; foreign and different, but not all bad. Its a tight fit, and how tense you are doesn’t help, but Toji presses a little kiss to the top of your head before he starts feeding you his length, inch by inch. He doesn’t stop until he’s bottomed out, your eyes clenched shut from the mixture of pleasure and pain, but you force them open to see your pubes pressed firmly against his own. 

“Gods, this is so fucking hot.” You moan under your breath, clenching down tight around him when he gives you a little experimental thrust, making you rock against him. Toji bites at your earlobe with a low growl, words useless as he starts to do what he’s known best for—giving you an earth shattering orgasm that you’ll never get again from anyone else. 

He starts off with an almost brutal pace, his hips clapping against your own as he folds his hands against your nape, forcing you to watch how he ruthlessly fucks your hole open. It squelches with every thrust, loud and messy and embarrassing, but you’ve grown past the feeling of humiliation at this point. 

Now, instead, you beg for him—to ruin you, fuck you just like that, make you feel good, harder, deeper, just like fucking that. You spew so much filth to him he wonders where that nervous little virgin thing went, when you were replaced by some cock hungry incubus directing him how to angle his hips in order to touch your sweet spot. But he abides by your every request, grinning wide like a madman, forcing you to watch every inch of his fat cock split you open. 

After a while though, Toji doesn’t really find the position working for him. Quickly, he lets you go, rolls you from on top of him before he’s placing you on your back on the bed once more. He moves so fast, your head spins, the emptiness of your cunt suddenly making you whimper, as you reach for him in confusion. 

“Sorry, doll, I know ya wanted to lose it in a full nelson, but a mating press is just so much better.” He grins to you, throwing your legs up to your chest once more before he lays the entirety of his weight on top of you. The stretch of it all burns, and you can already feel the pain you’ll have in your legs for the next few days, but gods, it’ll all be so worth it. Every sting of your muscles a reminder of Toji, of his heavy cock carving its way inside of you, of every nip of his teeth, every pinch of his fingers against your clit—all of it. 

“Just make me cum already,” you whine to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, bringing him to you so that you can lick and bite at his neck. He had a ‘no marking’ rule, but he lets the sweet little virginal you do whatever you so pleased, as long as you let him fuck you into this bed within the next few seconds. 

Toji waits no time to slip his cock back inside of you, his hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, your ass, as he throws his weight into every thrust. In this position, he can reach down and touch your clit, his fingers thick and fast with every strum to your swollen bud. He nudges you away from his neck so that he can claim your mouth for his own, his tongue bullying yours, swallowing your gasps and cries and hiccups. 

You sound so sweet, it makes his balls tighten, makes him want to empty his entire load into you, knock you up on just the first try. He curses the condom that bars him from doing such depravities, and takes it out on your poor hole with every weighty thrust inside of you. 

You murmur something against his mouth, your breathing picking up as the seconds go by. You try to push him off of you, suddenly thrashing against the bed as the pleasure starts to overcome you. When he pulls back, your eyes are panicked but still so low and hazy, trying to regain focus but struggling at how he keeps swiping at your fat clit. 

“Gonna pee,” you cry to him, lip jutting out in embarrassment again. But Toji only laughs at you cruelly, throwing his head back and all before he swoops down to capture your lips once more. 

“Who woulda known a virgin could be a squirter?” Toji teases you, a look of realization passing over your face for only a brief second before it dissolves into one of pure ecstasy. Your hips buck almost wildly as you squirt on Toji’s cock, the wetness soaking his pubes and lower stomach and the sheets beneath you. You cry out almost hoarsely, eyes leaking with tears as you throw your head back, clawing at anything you can reach. Toji hisses when you draw up a bit of blood, but loves it all the same, unrelenting on your clit and soaked little hole until he’s reached his own climax. 

He cums with a low growl under his throat, thrusts sporadic and short and tight inside of you, eyes clenched shut as he grits his teeth. You’re still whining and whimpering beneath him, clawing at him and pulling him down until he kisses you, sweet and assuring. 

Finally, he collapses on the bed beside you, tugging the condom off with a sigh and tying it off as he drops it on the floor. You try to catch your breath beside him, as you stare up at the ceiling wondering if this all really just happened. 

“So,” Toji starts, mirroring your position, although he looks at you from the corner of his eye every odd second or so. “Wanna try anal next time?” 

And there goes that embarrassment again. 

thank you all so much for reading! kind comments/likes/reblogs are all so appreciated <3