#trope: spies

[missholloween]

Came back wrong as something you choose. Being so traumatized by the coldness of death. The pain of the wounds. The loneliness of the tomb. Taking your fear and weaponizing it against those who were with you, those who should've laid at the ground with you. Swearing to destroy everything so that they'll feel the emptiness you felt at the grave. Make them pay for leaving.

Coming back just to take someone else with you.

[bruciemilf]

My toxic but fun trait is i WILL take every gruff, tough, stoic, nonchalant, traumatized, God ate him up and shit him out man I see and give him a sunshine of a woman that’s so fucking stupid and chaotic

[queerquaintrelle]

Battle of the blonde dandies...

In the left corner, Major Benjamin Tallmadge: smarter than you (probably), Protestantism, won't freeze if you dunk him the Delaware river (TURN), won't die if you shoot him (TURN), never been severely injured in war (history - citation his memoir), spying, politics, Yale, can and will yell at Thomas Jefferson (history - citation his memoir), good aim - doesn't like duelling.

In the right corner, Monsieur the newly made vampire Lestat de Lioncourt (1780 - books): mind reading, the sun won't kill him (he tried), can set small fires with his mind, speed, agility, can pick up information twice as fast as a vampire, as a young country lord he was made to go out in the snow and kill wolves that were attacking his village. Bisexual-biromantic (to the point where it causes problems <- affectionate) an atheist (also Ricean vampires will laugh at you if you try the crucifix thing).

Common things: blonde, hot (don't lie), smart (depending who you ask), anti-heroism, aspiring for goodness, really really want to do the right thing despite nature/spy. 18th century men who look good in blue(?)

Context: I wrote this in my fic anti-hero, neither won, cause the plot requires they both live, yes, they can beat one another without killing each other (Audrey - oc, would prefer that tbh) but who wins (whatever 'winning' is) in this situation, now vote.

Note: vote based on the information provided, not impulse.

[joslincox]

The Alpha Bitch Trope in Cartoon

Tricia Holmes from 6teen is well known by the gang as the most popular girl at their school and is the snooty archnemesis of Caitlin Cooke, who used to be a member of her Girl Posse.

Subverted on American Dad! where the "hottest girl in school" and head cheerleader Lisa Silver appears willing to go out with the nerdy Steve and is surprisingly understanding when the show's antics keep messing up the planned dates. In another episode, it looks like she and her Girl Posse did something terrible to Steve's unpopular girlfriend... but it turns out it is actually Steve's friends who are responsible, once again subverting what you'd expect from Alpha Bitch behavior.

Amphibia has Sasha Waybright, Anne's snobby and manipulative Toxic Friend who has a strong desire to rule over and control others; she even says herself that she ruled her school back on Earth. Anne starts the show off as her unwitting minion, being encouraged to engage in delinquent behavior and the like. As the series progresses, Sasha ultimately drives Anne away from her, especially after the latter realizes how bad of a friend she really is. By the third season, however, Sasha comes to realize how horrible she was and grows out of this behavior to become a better person.

Nanette Manoir from Angela Anaconda, also a Fauxreigner French Jerk and something of a teacher's pet. Angela has had many an Imagine Spot where she gets thoroughly humiliated and/or maimed.

Priscilla and Penelope Pinkpaws from Angelina Ballerina.

Cora, the daughter of the CEO Nora Rita Norita, in the Animaniacs (2020) short "My Super Sour 16" is an arrogant, spoiled Rich Bitch who wants her Sweet 16 to be absolutely perfect.

Muffy from Arthur used to be this and occasionally still has shades of it, particularly in the episode where Arthur starts acting like her. However, she has a Hidden Heart of Gold.

As Told by Ginger:

Miranda Kilgallen is the second-in-command and the Girl Posse leader to Courtney Gripling. She also defrosts a little. She never exactly becomes friendly, but she's a lot worse at the start than she is at the end.

Courtney Gripling is an inversion — Lovable Alpha Bitch. She's the queen bee; pretty, rich, popular, and more than a little narcissistic, a (self-proclaimed) snob, but she's a genuinely sweet person who doesn't seem to harbor any malice towards anyone — unlike her friend Miranda. While her sidekick Miranda is quick to insult the unpopular girls, Courtney is friendly with them.

Penelope Lang in Atomic Betty. Her two lackeys are a pair of sycophantic nerds, and she is infamous for referring to people as "losers" often.

Barbie:

Raquelle from Barbie: A Fairy Secret, although once the plot gets into motion, it's mostly pushed by the wayside.

Violet Nylund and Ashlynn Torescu from Barbie Presents Thumbelina.

Formerly Sloane, Hallie, and Dua for Camp Pop and Olivia and her friends for Camp Royalty from Barbie In Rock N Royals.

Tammy Bounceaway from Barbie Dreamhouse Adventures.

Tanya Butaire from LEGO Friends.

Batman Beyond has Blade and Chelsea. Blade is actually fairly apathetic, but has the look down pat, and is more than content to do things such as throw most of a school assignment on Terry, or manipulate a classmate to make another guy jealous. Chelsea, is usually a lot more sympathetic; she's actually a rather nice person, as seen in "The Last Resort," and except for being dismissive of Howard Groote, doesn't really do anything bad. Though she sometimes tries to get Dana to see other guys, it's because she thinks Terry isn't good for Dana, due to him always brushing her off.

Claire Brewster in Beetlejuice who is still the "stuck-up, shallow yet very pretty girl" type.

The Benedict Express

Madison, while technically a protagonist, is essentially the Beta Bitch to Alpha Bitch Erica Green and has often participated in her schemes against less attractive girls. Her status as the daughter of a professor allows her to get away with anything. Of course, their rival Sarah who is rarely shown is an even bigger Alpha Bitch.

Ciara Toler, when she was in high school and before she was brutally raped as a consequence of her bitchiness. While she showed strong Alpha Bitchy traits partly because of her status as "Barbee Creek Barbie" and "the princess of the projects" - the most attractive girl in her 'hood - her snobbishness is portrayed somewhat sympathetically as arising from her impatience with living in a community filled with people who preferred to wallow in poverty and being the only person (even in her own family) with a drive to improve herself. In fact, she often tried to act more like a Cute Sports Club Manager and uplift the spirit of her friends and neighbors before becoming exhausted with the fact they were only interested in drug dealing and violence.

Tammy Larson from Bob's Burgers is something of a subversion in that she thinks she's an Alpha Bitch and assumes she's super popular. The thing is, she doesn't have anywhere near as many friends or followers as you think she would if she were that popular. The only person who hangs around her on a regular basis and actually seems to like her is her Beta Bitch Jocelyn, and even she doesn't seem to like Tammy that much. The only other people who could possibly be considered her friends are Jimmy Jr., Zeke, and the Belcher siblings, and that should tell you something about her popularity level since they don't seem to actually even like her.

Boy Girl Dog Cat Mouse Cheese: Girl has a nemesis called Lila, who mockingly calls her "the queen of nerds" and threatens to shut down Girl's after-school cosplay club if elected school president, just to be mean.

Nina Harper from Braceface. Interesting, though, in that she and the protagonist, Sharon Spitz, were actually best friends when they were little. But a mishap with one of Nina's dolls that got its head popped off ended their friendship when she accused Sharon of being the culprit (even though she had no proof that Sharon did it). So her bullying Sharon is more or less out of spite. They do somewhat reconcile as the series goes on. Especially by season 3 when it's revealed that Sharon was indeed innocent of the doll incident; Nina's cousin was the cause of that.

Suzi from Camp Lakebottom is McGee's vain and bossy sister, a former pageant queen, and a huge Attention Whore.

Cleo from Clone High. She is a very selfish, snobby, cynical, vain, manipulative, pretentious, and materialistic stereotypical school diva who cares only about her social image, beauty, and popularity. Like in many a high school story, protagonist Abe has a hopeless crush on her despite the fact she's clearly more interested in Jerk Jock JFK.

Come the revival series set in 2023, Cleo expects she'll still be the most popular girl in school and is utterly horrified to learn she's been replaced by Frida Kahlo, an artsy skateboarder with a slight mustache and a giant unibrow. In fact, Frida and Harriet Tubman think Joan of Arc is cooler than Cleo.

Elisabeth "Sissi" Delmas in Code Lyoko is a strange version of this. In the first season, this is played straight, with the exception of a few scenes in only a few episodes. However, her assistance to the heroes in later seasons, particularly the second and fourth, is often offered without a second thought or a specific request for a reward, though this can happen quite a bit in a life-or-death situation. It seems that her personality alternates between seasons, from a straight Alpha Bitch with several Pet the Dog moments in Seasons 1 and 3 to a more Jerk with a Heart of Gold Lovable Alpha Bitch in Seasons 2 and 4.

Paulina from Danny Phantom. The most popular girl in school and loves to rub it in people's faces.

The show also had Valerie Grey, who early in the show ends up losing her wealth and becoming a Fallen Princess. She still retained some bitchiness before completely mellowing out and becomes a villain towards Danny’s ghost half.

Played with on Daria. You'd think the title character would have one as an arch-nemesis, but no, girls like Brittany are generally nice (if condescending) to her. Daria's sister Quinn, however, is part of the Fashion Club, the popular Girl Posse of their grade...and is in constant competition with its leader Sandi for dominance. Essentially, the two never have time to torture less popular girls because they're torturing each other instead. Quinn is generally the more sympathetic of the two, if only because she doesn't abuse poor Stacy, the group's least popular member.

The longer the show went on, the more it seemed like Sandi was a Deconstruction of the Alpha Bitch. While the boys of Lawndale all see Sandi as hot, there was nothing to indicate Sandi truly was as popular as she believes she is. Since she spends far more time battling Quinn for supremacy in the Fashion Club, Sandi's supposed popularity only ever was apparent within the confines of the club. Furthermore, when she decides to quit in "Fat Like Me" only Quinn appears sorry that Sandi's leaving while Tiffany and Stacy seemed overjoyed at the thought of Sandi no longer breathing down their necks. Considering Sandi is repeatedly shown to be an egotistical and manipulative Attention Whore, it's no wonder she's desperate to maintain what little foothold of popularity she has in a space she has total control over.

Andrea Davenport from The Ghost and Molly McGee is a snooty tween "influencer" who tries to make Molly a pariah on her first day at school just because she kept mispronouncing Andrea's name (which she insists is pronounced "AHN-dree-ah" and not "ANN-dree-ah").

Pacifica Northwest from Gravity Falls, which is later deconstructed in season 2 when it's suggested she's only this way because her rich parents are even worse and raised her to be stuck up. She begins to defrost as of "The Golf War", then "Northwest Mansion Mystery" reveals that she wasn't raised to be a bitch, she was mentally abused into being one. To put things in perspective, Pacifica was nothing more than a bully and a brat, but she isn't a sociopath. Dipper convinced her that there is still redemption for her.

"The Golf War" had Mabel lampshade this by calling her a "walking one-dimensional bleach blonde Valley Girl stereotype".

Mindy from The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy is a much younger Alpha Bitch, as well as an incredibly obsessive one. For example, she loses her head cheerleader position to Mandy (who just shouts the game plans to the team) and, after consulting the "patron saint of cheerleading" (a trophy she thinks is talking), decides the best solution is to incapacitate her in some way in the middle of a match, or, failing that, blow her up. If she sees Mandy with anyone aside from Billy or Irwin or the like, she walks up to them, puts on an obscenely perky face, and says "You're my best friend!"

Trina Riffin from Grojband acts this way, even though she only has one dedicated underling, her much put-upon childhood friend Mina. Nonetheless, her official bio states her to be the most popular girl at her school (although since we rarely ever see the characters at school, this never pops up in the series).

Paige Logan from Grossology. She is a popular but very snobbish girl.

Harvey Street Kids:

Frufru, the local rich girl. She's depicted as being haughty, self-absorbed, and into fashion, but lacks a Girl Posse, indicated to be simply because she's so distant from the other kids.

Zoe, Audrey's abusive older sister, is a more obvious example, being a head cheerleader and the leader of a trio composed of her and her two friends.

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd comes between this and Rich Bitch in some episodes of Hey Arnold! However, she actually is shown to have a friendly side, since her best friend Nadine actually is implied to be a middle-class girl (and with almost completely different interests than Rhonda—Nadine loves arthropods, Rhonda loves fashion). Her romantic interest in Harold, who actually is fat and less popular, is another redeeming feature.

Miraculous Ladybug:

Chloé Bourgeois. Her father is the Mayor of Paris and spoils his 'little angel' rotten. She hits all the marks for personality, but she is not very popular at all, with only one friend, Sabrina, who she treats more like a servant and also doesn't understand what friendship might actually be. She thinks everyone adores her (they don't), and can rarely accept she made a mistake. Among her most heinous acts is locking an emotionally insecure girl in the bathroom so she could be next to Adrien, who Chloé has a crush on (and said insecure girl does not) in a class photo. She is responsible for most cases of people becoming sad or angry and getting brainwashed into supervillains, to the point that Hawk Moth once created an akuma with no specific victim in mind and had it follow her around since he figured she was bound to piss someone off eventually. Unfortunately, he caught her on the day she was specifically trying to be nicer to people, so it took a little while, but she eventually delivered.

Lila Rossi. She convinces the rest of the class, who adores her, to do whatever she wants and manipulates people to try and turn them against Marinette (the only person who doesn't like her). She also torments people for petty reasons, such as sending a picture of herself kissing Adrien to Kagami, or the aforementioned turning people against Marinette because Marinette refuses to believe her Blatant Lies. She also acts spiteful and horribly rude, insulting people behind their backs.

Audrey Bougeois is one of these all grown up — she's a snobby, rude, and narcissistic fashion critic who belittles and threatens to fire anyone that doesn't meet her impossibly high standards. Her own family isn't exempt from this; her treatment of her husband is flat-out Domestic Abuse, she alternates between belittling her daughter while misremembering her name and encouraging her to follow her example (said daughter being Chloé), and while she treats Zoé slightly better, she doesn't really pay attention to her unless she puts up a Jerkass Façade.

Monster Buster Club gives us a subversion of the Always Female rule. Resident Alpha Brat Mark is a male Spoiled Blond Rich Kid who delights in insulting and generally being less than pleasant with the four kid heroes, apparently for no reason.

Cleo from Monster High is popular, vain, and frequently tries to manipulate situations to be about her. However, she does love her boyfriend and her friends, and occasionally displays redeeming qualities, becoming more of a Lovable Alpha Bitch as time goes on. Deconstructed in that her popularity is the result of her need for positive attention, which comes from her father and older sister treating her coldly and telling her about the importance of power, both of which went to Cleo's head.

Cleo: "I'm Cleo De Nile, and I've got to give the people what they want."

Tiff and Brit, the Crust cousins from My Life as a Teenage Robot, who continually plot to keep Jenny/XJ-9 unpopular.

Diamond Tiara from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, with Silver Spoon as the Beta Bitch, are a pair of spoiled brats who tease Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle about not developing cutie marks yet, and taunt Scootaloo about the fact that she can't fly. The episode "Crusaders of the Lost Mark" reveals Diamond was raised to be mean by her mother Spoiled Rich, who's far worse than she is, prompting her to stand up to her near the end and become nice.

Neo Yokio: Arcangelo is a male example. He leads the "east side gentlemen" who look down on Kaz for being Nouveau Riche.

Mayor Paul Spryman from Ozzy and Drix. He is a 14-year-old brain cell who has absolutely no business being in charge of the city and bullies Ozzy for being an Emo Teen and Drix for being a Nerd.

In Pixel Pinkie, Suzi is the school's alpha bitch who immediately marks Nina as a target for her strange clothes and Amazingly Embarrassing Parents.

Amity Blight in The Owl House, although she is technically more of the academic variety and grows into a lovable one fairly quickly. Her friend Boscha, while a Beta Bitch in status, is a more straight example in regard to attitude. Following Amity taking a level in kindness midway through Season 1, Boscha becomes the new Alpha Bitch in her place.

Princess Morbucks on The Powerpuff Girls (1998). She's a rich, spoiled Prima Donna that thinks she's better than the girls. Nobody at her school likes her. She even wants to become a member of the girls, which they turn down because she lacks any qualities of the team. Taken up notches in the 2016 reboot; she no longer wants to be the fourth Powerpuff Girl, she wants to be the only Powerpuff Girl.

Princess Natasha: Greg's girlfriend Kelly is this, at least as far as Natasha is concerned. She is totally self=absorbed and her 'crimes' include wearing too much makeup and cheating off her fellow students.

The Ashleys in Recess. Despite having some moments where they aren't a bunch of Rich Bitches, they spend the majority of the series wanting to screw with everyone for the sake of being mean.

Vana Glama from Sidekick is a classic case, a popular and self-centered primadonna who gets the best grades at the Sidekick Academy, has all the boys (especially Eric) drooling over her, and is served by the beleaguered nerd Kitty Ko.

In The Simpsons episode "Eight Misbehavin'", the family describe what happened to them during a nine-month mid-episode Time Skip. Lisa reveals that she became the most popular girl in school, "but then blew it by being conceited". Whilst the details of this are never revealed, it is probable that she became an Alpha Bitch during that period.

Gemini Stone from Sabrina: The Animated Series, a stand-in for the original Libby on the live-action series.

Also Portia from the friends forever movie.

The Spectacular Spider-Man

Liz was introduced as one, mocking Peter as much as everyone else, until a boost of Character Development after seeing him in different light turned her into his love interest.

Sally Avril is the most abusive girl of the group, even mercilessly mocking fellow clique-member Flash Thompson when his hero, Spider-Man, appears to be committing robberies. Slightly subverted when Peter's aunt has a heart attack as Flash mentions that even Sally feels sorry for him, although she is not as forthcoming with her sympathies as his friends are. Both she and Flash have gone through a bit of Character Development. When she thinks that Peter's been killed, Sally is horrified. She does say it's because she'll have to tell Liz and Liz "looks awful in black", but when she sees that Peter's okay, she performs a textbook Anger Born of Worry. A bit later, she tells him that no, she doesn't care, but she doesn't want him to be blown to bits, she's not a monster. In the last episode, she's glad Liz broke up with Peternote .

Gretel from Staines Down Drains is the arch-enemy of Mary-Jane. She is a spoilt girl who usually bullies the Staines with her friends, the Lupe brothers.

Brittney Wong from Star vs. the Forces of Evil hits all the typical beats: she's a bratty, selfish Rich Bitch who became captain of the cheer-leading squad at Echo Creek Academy "on her own, and not because her dad made a generous donation to the school." Naturally, Brittney hates Star for being one of the few kids she can't intimidate and for stealing attention away from herself

Strawberry Shortcake: Angel Cake has moments of such in the 2003 series, especially in the final season, to the point of playing the villain in "Sleeping Beauty".

Peppermint Fizz was this in her early appearances but outgrows such behavior following her redesign.

Raspberry Tart/Torte becomes one in the 2021 series, with the addition of Adaptational Villainy. She drops this after Season 1, when she warms up to Strawberry and becomes one of her closest friends.

Melody from Teenage Fairytale Dropouts is a mean girl in that she's constantly looking down on Fury for the latter being a fairy who still hasn't grown her wings yet.

Total Drama: From the first generation, Heather and Courtney. Heather is a classic queen bee whereas Courtney revealed herself to be a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing with her bossy and overly competitive personality as the series progressed. Both were the Alpha Bitch on their respective teams in the first two seasons with Heather serving as the show's main Alpha Bitch in Island and Courtney in Action. However, in World Tour, both girls clash for the position.

From the third generation, Amy and Sugar. Amy treats her twin sister Samey with absolutely no respect, and pretty much acts like a Jerkass towards her other teammates as well, particularly Jasmine. Sugar is a pageant brat who asserts herself as the dominant female, especially over Ella and Sky.

From the fourth generation, Julia. She starts as a fake Granola Girl social media influencer, but Beneath the Mask, she's as self-absorbed as one can get. MK eventually exposes Julia's real personality to the world, but Julia's popularity doesn't suffer for long— she gets thousands of new followers who enjoy her real personality, and she's relieved that she no longer has to act nice to be popular.

Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race:

Taylor treats her mom Kelly like shit, and she is often rude to the other contestants.

Josee is a rare adult version, given how she regularly bullies her partner Jacques and belittles other teams, primarily the Cadets and the Sisters.

Mandy from Totally Spies! is a textbook case of this trope. Extra points for being shallow. Her cousin Mindy is also shown to be this, but it takes five seasons for her to show up.

It's spin-off show The Amazing Spiez! also has this with Tami.

Coral from Trollz is the head cheerleader, perpetually stuck-up, and is mean to the BFFL. She gets a case of Break the Haughty when Simon temporarily takes over and makes her his servant, and when Amethyst helps her she thanks the cast before returning to her usual ways.

Winx Club

A girl from Bloom's old hometown named Mitzi definitely fit the bill, despite appearing only a few times. In the Halloween episode, she invited Bloom and her friends to a party—which turned out to be an elaborate scheme to humiliate the girls. She bought and rigged a house, made up an elaborate legend, hired actors to pose as party guests (complete with scripts), and set up elaborate special effects around the house, just to pull a prank on someone she had barely seen in two years, along with four girls she had never met. Mitzi gets a more prominent role in some episodes of the fourth season: she lays her eyes on Brandon and wants to take him from Stella. Later, the Wizards of the Black Circle temporarily turn her and two friends into evil fairies. After that, she's practically Put on a Bus. She appears again in Season 5, and whatever time she's not playing fangirl to the Trix involves her being a bitch to her little sister.

The Trix themselves qualify. They bully others in school and generally boss others around before getting expelled. After episode nine, they get much, much worse, what with the multiple attempted homicides, turning The Cutie into a pumpkin for ruining one of their plans, removing the heroine's powers in a needlessly sadistic way after threatening her parents and revealing her backstory, and attempting to take over the universe. They're like Regina George, only with magical powers.

Christie Wilson from The Weekenders. She's a snooty jerk.

[thisbluespirit]

Matty (Suzanna Hamilton) and Colin (Jeremy Northam) about to be caught by German soldiers in the middle of a radio transmission to London in Wish Me Luck (1.6, LWT 1988).

[dnfao3tags]

spy/secret agent fic?

new tag alert !

spy / secret agent dnf

— Drifting in the Hudson by OBLVN (expl. | comp. | 4k)

All Dream wants is to put George, the drug lord of the East Coast, behind bars, lock him away for life for the pain he has inflicted and the lives he has ruined. After months of undercover work inside the organization, working his way up, he receives an invitation to George's home, where he is confronted with what George suspects about him. He seeks a way to trust, to finish his mission, but with that, he allows for George to play his own game with him.

— Till There's Nothing Left to See by backtopluto (NR | comp. | 60k | graphic depictions of violence)

George’s jaw stiffens, he knows what Dream means by it, and it’s more personal than merely attacking the King, a faceless man across the sea. In this town, anyone with a red coat has privileges the colonists couldn’t even dream of. A long, long moment passes. The darkness outside settles. Slowly George says, “You want me gone.”

Part 1 of mcyt american revolution au

— The Valentine Affair by leafylore (teen | comp. | 27k)

Dream and George fall in love across 4 cities, 3 shared meals, 2 shitty Starbucks mugs, 1 attempted bombing, and countless near-death experiences.

Part 1 of The Spy Who Loves Me

— contingency by Anonymous (teen | comp. | 14k)

Dream works on staying alive as a secret agent, meets a pretty boy working for an opposing nation, and tries not to fuck everything up.

— Drifting in the Hudson by OBLVN (expl. | comp. | 4k)

All Dream wants is to put George, the drug lord of the East Coast, behind bars, lock him away for life for the pain he has inflicted and the lives he has ruined. After months of undercover work inside the organization, working his way up, he receives an invitation to George's home, where he is confronted with what George suspects about him. He seeks a way to trust, to finish his mission, but with that, he allows for George to play his own game with him.

— cortisol by angelbeachcat (teen | comp. | 34k)

Dream and George, best friends and partners at a private national security organization try to keep their work life separated from their friendship. They’re a remarkable team; George is a quick thinker and good on his feet, and Dream is the strongest and fastest person the world has to offer. The problem is that Dream has no regard for his own safety, and George is madly in love with him.

Part 1 of struck by lightning

[silvershewolf247]

My toxic trait is that I am almost always rooting for a mind control story to happen when it's brought up.

[quadruple-a]

I’m writing a spy/sci-fi novel about three reluctant spies suddenly tasked with saving the world! Of course, every spy team needs a secret hide out! I know where I’m putting mine (🔎 maybe some of you can spot it!🔍), but I’m curious, where would you set up your ‘home base’?

[melpomeneprose]

PICK FIVE TROPES.

Anti hero.

There are just as many variations on Anti-Heroes as there are normal heroes. Some common attributes are: rarely speaking, being a loner, either extreme celibacy or extreme promiscuity, parental issues, occasional Past Experience Nightmares and flashbacks relating to a Dark and Troubled Past that can take many forms depending on the Anti-Hero in question; and being able to tell the story of their life through any Nick Cave song. Some won't Save the Villain, but they will Shoot the Dog, and they will not hesitate to kill anyone who threatens them.

Self proclaimed liar.

Whether the story they tell is a complete whopper or a bending of the truth, your average liar usually has one goal in mind: Tell the lie undetected. Their attempts to deceive you are rooted in the fact that they don't want you to know they're lying. A Self-Proclaimed Liar, however, is the complete opposite: They will openly proclaim that they are lying to your face as they tell you whatever tale they're deciding to weave that day.

Pretty boy.

The Pretty Boy also isn't necessarily effeminate or weak. He may well be as strong or physically powerful as the other, more muscular guys, and as macho as the more ruggedly handsome ones. Expect one of his more rugged counterparts to sneeringly call him "pretty boy" at least once. Increasingly common for even his detractors to comment on just how much they appreciate his looks.

War is hell.

War Is Hell works often show the cumulative long-term effect of exposure to pain, deprivation, violence, and military culture: the horror goes on and on, dehumanizing everybody a little more each night. Heroes in these stories will typically struggle to Prevent the War, or end it as bloodlessly and quickly as possible. If not, then merely surviving physically, and with most of their humanity and sanity intact.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Not every hero can handle this, and if it happens often enough or particularly badly enough, a hero may very well fall. If they stick it through even to the end, knowing what's coming to them, it shows who they are in the dark.

Tagged by: myself.

Tagging: @curseconsumed (Jacob), @adcthamilton, @fromnevis, @historiavn (George Washington), @smiletimeisrunningout, @keptflame, @annastrxng & @cabbxges-and-kings.

[musewrangler]

It was over in less than a minute and both of them moved forward once more, picking their way through the bodies and racing down the first set of stairs. Shots ricocheted above them and Veers paused to return fire up the stairwell before they dashed on.

“North or east?” Max asked in low tones and Piett recalled that there were interrogation cells in both locations.

“We’ll have to split up,” he told his friend, hating the necessity of the move.

Veers nodded as they reached the junction where the hall split between the two wings. “All right. Meet back here if we can. If not, meet up with Solo back in the courtyard.”

More gunfire sounded faintly above them. No doubt Solo was causing problems—-long may that last.

“Max—” Piett paused. No time . There was no time to say all he wanted to say to this loyal brother of his.

Veers held out a hand. “I know, Firmus. I know. Good hunting.”

Piett gripped his hand firmly, looking into steady grey eyes. “Good hunting, Max.”

And then he sprinted down the north corridor.

[queerquaintrelle]

Today I offer you, bastard (affectionate) ~ usually bi/bi coded ~ blonde men who lie -- and tomorrow? -- most likely the same.

5000 posts!

Thanks for sticking with me everyone.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fun AU Combos Part IV

I took my list of AUs and used a random number generator to create 10 AU combos, which may or may not seem crazy. Let’s see if they spark some ideas!

Assassins AU x Flower Shop AU

Historical AU x Soulmates AU

High School AU x Professional Rivals AU

Tattoo Shop AU x Friends with benefits AU

Bookstore AU x Spies AU

Firefighter AU x Cop AU

Ghost AU x Prison AU

Professional Rivals AU x Hogwarts AU

Arranged Marriage AU x Mermaid AU

Neighbors AU x Werewolf AU

Are both of the partners in the arranged marriage merpeople? Or just one of them?

More: AU & Trope Combos

[fanaroff]

DP X DC Watchtower Blurbo

*feel free to add on to it or use it

It's pretty well understood now that Danny can be a little shit and cause trouble just by existing. There's no way he wouldn't eventually fuck with the Justice League over time if they existed in the same universe. He probably came across the Watchtower accidentally at first and stayed invisible the whole time, scared out of his mind that they'd somehow detect him. They don't, so he gets braver about visiting over time. Danny would probably start haunting them in his off time and slowly ramp up what he does over time. A glimpse here and there, the room being colder than it should be. The only reason Batman may not have called in Constantine or Zatanna immediately upon noticing is probably because he doesn't think it's caused by something supernatural. In a building full of heroes with multiple powers and a proclivity to pranking, why wouldn't you think it was one of them rather than a ghost (that you may not believe in) that may have found your super-secret hero base?

One of the heroes may get the main brunt of Danny's haunting, whoever it is can be you choice. They'd be the first to point anything out, the first to ask "hey anyone feel that?' or otherwise. Batman may think they're the prank instigator.

This goes on and off for a few weeks before Danny makes himself fully visible in different places all over the Watchtower and suddenly every hero is aware that there is a child haunting the place. They don't know who he's attached to, but they are immensely sad that there is a child that couldn't be save and is now tethered to this world by their failures. This isn't the actual case, obviously, but I love the trope. He doesn't show up all the time, they can go weeks without seeing him.

Things change when Danny is immensely exhausted from whatever daily going ons are going on for him. Anywhere from lack of sleep, to multiple days of battle, Ghost Zone business, escaping the GIW, one or multiple of them. Point is, he's tired, exhausted, and most likely injured. So, rather than keep up with the haunting, he spies a nice comfy couch in an office of one of the heroes and naps.

Now he's fully visible, vulnerable, and in one spot for a long amount of time. A hero is going to see him inevitably. This could also be about the time Batman actually brings in Constantine or Zatanna to come take a look at the wayward soul haunting the place and see if they can't give the kid (and the others in the Watchtower) peace of mind. The three come in only to find a small crowd (or similar) of heroes standing around a couch. This is perplexing enough as it is until they see what's on the couch. To Batman, it's the kid that's been haunting the place. To Zatanna and Constantine, this is a demon of the Infinite Realms that is extremely dangerous, extremely powerful, and why the fuck hasn't this creature destroyed the Watchtower yet??! Edit because @thestarsofpines made a great point of Danny being a BABY demon of the Infinite Realms that I wanted it on the main post too.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congratulations on 700 followers Mo 😖💗....I really LOVE reading your fanfics☺️

I was kindly requesting Navy hummingbird and sloth please

Eeeek thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this one! (Honestly? I kind of wrote this with the thought of it being Burning Hearts, my Law series, adjacent.) Needy Law is so cuuuuute!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac x Somnophilia 

WC: 1900

Warnings: oral, sex pollen affects, somnophilia without discussion but let’s assume they have (don’t worry we’re cool!) unprotected sex, p in v sex, prone bone, creampies and breeding baby!

Happy Anniversary, Baby (18+)

— — 

Law was a composed man. Over time, you had managed to worm your way through his hardened exterior to reach his nerdy, compassionate, caring center. Even as he opened up to you, he was still methodical about most things, including sex. He had the motions to make you orgasm down to a science at this point, making sure you were pleased far more than worrying about his own release. He always pulled out. He was the doctor who prescribed your birth control for god’s sake but he insisted on being careful anyway. Even if you begged him to finish inside, he was stubborn. You would never complain about your relationship with Law, he was just the way you liked him. 

Law was up early one morning going over paperwork at his desk. He couldn’t sleep any longer and didn’t want to wake you from your peaceful slumber by tossing and turning, so he decided to get some work done. 

After an hour or so of being engrossed in his work, Law glances at the calendar hanging on his office wall. Todays date had little pink hearts drawn around it in gel pen, by your hand of course. 

“Oh shit.” 

Law had forgotten about your anniversary. 

He had to think of something fast, preferably before you woke up. You were always telling him he worked too much so he couldn’t imagine the ass-chewing he would receive if you found out he forgot your anniversary. 

“Flowers…” He mumbles as he rises from his desk and leaves his office. He headed down the hall to the large closet you had converted into a makeshift greenhouse for your beloved hydroponic garden. 

He rips open the metal door and is hit in the face with moist air and the refreshing smell of greenery. The walls and center of the room were completely covered in carefully curated small plants, vegetables, flowers, and ferns. Law steps in and closes the door behind him. 

“She likes yellow…” Law mutters to himself as he finds himself overwhelmed by all the flowers around him. He was a doctor, not a botanist, he had no idea what any of these plants were so he just decided to choose something in your favorite color. 

He walked up to a large bush on the left side of the room that had unique-looking yellow flowers blossoming all over it. He thought this would be as good as any so he reached out his hand to pluck at the stem of one of the blooms. 

Just as he wrapped his tattooed fingers around the plant, the flower released a puff of yellow pollen right in his face. Law jerks backwards. The particles fly up into his sinuses and causes an uncomfortable tickle. 

“Ah- ACHOO!” Law sneezes violently which triggers the rest of the flowers on the bush to release their own supply of pollen into the air, clouding his vision and irritating his nose further. 

Law covers his face and rubs his eyes, trying to brush any remaining flower pollen off of him. 

“Must be some kind of natural defense mechanism… fuck that.” Law gripes as he wipes the last remnants of the pollen from his tired face. 

Law catches his breath and chooses to abandon this particular, aggravating plant. He spies a rosebush in the corner of the room. He knows what those are for sure, and as long as he doesn’t prick himself on the thorns, it should be less of a challenge to harvest them. 

Law walks over to the rosebush and begins snipping off the beautiful yellow blossoms, keeping the stems just long enough to put in a vase. Once he had around a dozen roses, he left the greenhouse room to find suitable container for the flowers in the kitchen. 

Rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, Law struggles to find anything nice enough for an anniversary bouquet. 

He wipes sweat from his brow and realizes that he’s been having to do it every few moments… why was he so sweaty? Was the boiler on the fritz again? He made a mental note to check the furnace on the ship after he gave you your gift. Law ignores the heat creeping up through him and continues searching the cabinets. 

He is pushing coffee mugs aside just as he notices the warm feeling become even more intense. Sweat was beading at his temples. 

“Fuck…” Law grunts and abandons his quest briefly so he can pour himself a glass of water. He chugs the entire cup in a few gulps and slams it back onto the kitchen counter. His jeans felt tight now. He looks down. His dick was fully hard, straining against the thick fabric of his pants. 

“What the hell…” Law had no idea what was happening to him. He was normally so in control of his faculties, but he now found himself painfully erect for no reason at all. He felt more droplets of sweat trickle down from his scalp to his neck. He grips the countertop and hangs his head, breathing heavily. 

It had to be that plant. He had no other logical explanation for the ache in his crotch and the uneasiness he was feeling in his head. The water didn’t help. He needed your help. You knew everything about the plants in there and would know exactly what to do to make the effects stop. 

Great, Law thought. Not only did he blow off your anniversary, he might have severely injured himself in the process… once again he wins the “Shittiest Boyfriend in the Grand Line” award. You were going to kill him, and at this point Law was so uncomfortable that he would probably let you. He abandons the flowers strewn across the kitchen counter and heads to your shared bedroom, desperate to find a cure to his ailment but also apprehensive of your reaction to his idiocy. 

He pushes open the bedroom door and quietly slips in, so he wouldn’t startle you if you were still sleeping. Before he has a chance to even form the words he wanted to use to explain himself to you, he was stopped in his tracks by your sleeping form. 

You had tossed all the covers off your body since Law had left, and you were laying on your back snoozing peacefully. Arms stretched over your head, Law’s bright yellow t-shirt emblazoned with his Jolly Roger was the only article of clothing you had on. You looked so serene, lost in your dreams, little snores escaping your parted dry lips… but Law could only focus on one thing. His t-shirt had ridden up and your thighs were spread, perfectly exposing your naked sex to him. 

Law felt his entire heartbeat in his cock now. Your plump, outer pussy lips looked so delicious, so kissable, and all Law could think about now was burying his tongue in you as you slept. Without thinking, Law unzips his pants and steps out of them when they fall to the floor, hissing as his dick finally has more room to breathe. He was no longer in control of himself, he could almost smell you from across the bedroom. He needed to have you now. 

He shouldn’t! The last of his sanity was pulling at his brain, begging him to just wake you up and ask you how to diffuse the effects of the flower’s pollen… but your naked cunt before him was just too much to resist any longer. 

Still feeling hot, Law strips himself completely, hat included. His hands tremble with need and tension as he tries to delicately settle himself on the bed between your legs, not wanting to wake you up. He would have a small taste and then let you rest… just one little lick…

He couldn’t help it. He immediately latched his whole mouth around your sex and laves his tongue up from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit. 

“Hnnnhhh…” You whimper and shift in your sleep. 

“Mmmm…” Law groans into your pussy as your sweet taste helps alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling in his body. He can’t help but hump his hard cock into the mattress below the two of you, no doubt leaking pre and staining the sheets. 

Law notices you begin to stir and squirm underneath his touch, so he gently places his hands on your thighs to keep you still while he lapped at your pussy as if he was desperately parched and your body was an oasis. Becoming increasingly aroused, more of your slick leaked out of your hole into Law’s mouth which he greedily slurped up. The familiar flavor of you made his eyes roll back. He needed more. 

Law pushes himself up and positions himself on his knees between your legs. He grabs his cock and strokes it a few times harshly before lining himself up with your weeping hole. 

“I’m sorry baby…” Law whispers as he pushes himself into you. 

“Oh…” You sigh and your eyelids start to flutter. 

Without giving you time to wake up, Law sets a punishing pace with his hips and hammers into your wet cunt. Your breasts bounce freely underneath Law’s t-shirt and you rub your eyes involuntarily. 

“L-Law?” You sleepily say as you gain consciousness and realize he’s on top of you and balls deep inside of you. You thought you were just having a sex dream but you were shocked to find your partner waking you up with his cock. 

“Needed you now… Had to take you… You looked so fucking good and I just couldn’t stop…” Law grunts out as he thrusts into you with everything he has. 

“Fuck… feels so good…” You whimper out, sleep still heavy in your mind. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-“ Law huffs out before you feel him press hard into you. You then get the unfamiliar feeling of him shooting a heavy load inside of your walls. 

“D-did you r-really just-“ You stutter. You feel his member still twitching and hard inside of you. 

“Fuck why won’t it go down?” Law grits his teeth. 

“W-what?” Before you had time to question him further, Law picks you up by your waist and man handles you onto your stomach, spreading your legs again to make room for him. He pulls your hips up and presses his dick inside you again, your tender hole seeping white liquid out and coating him. 

“Shit! Law!” You moan as you feel him hit your favorite spot from behind. He picks up a brutal pace as he fucks you. “S-slow down, babe!” You try to push a hand back on his abs to quell his fervor. “I’m gonna-“

“C-can’t… I can’t! Fuck!” Law huffs as he grips your hips impossibly tight, surely leaving marks. You had never seen this animalistic side of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help how much it turned you on. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of orgasm embarrassingly quickly for someone who had just woken up. 

“AH!” You yelp into the pillow below you as you cum, hard. 

“Yes baby, this pussy is so fucking good, squeezing me so tight…” 

You were a babbling mess as Law’s heavy thrusts send you into overstimulation. 

“Gotta fucking fill you again, want you to drip for days…”

You whimper in response. 

“Yeah you’re mine baby, all mine… gonna stuff you so fucking good… FUCK-“ Law almost shouts as you feel more hot liquid filling your insides, surely leaking out around his member. 

Law rides out his second orgasm with a few more deep thrusts before he collapses over you and nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades. 

Finally feeling relieved, Law pulls out of you tenderly before flopping on his back next to you on the bed, out of breath. You turn to your side and snuggle into him as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Happy Anniversary?” Law says tentatively.

“Happy Anniversary indeed. Was that my present?” You giggle. 

“I cut you some flowers, left them in the kitchen, though.” Law says as he strokes your hair. 

“Wait… what flowers?!” You raise your voice as your head shoots up off his chest. 

xx

Mo

[ienjoywritingfilth]

The Ring

hi: you know i write filth. you can't be surprised by the depravity of this but even i'm a little embnarassed abouit this one. My plan is to write an infidelity fic for each of the PPCU characters.

pairing: Dave York xf!babysitter (university age)

trope: Dave York x thef!babysitter

summary: Carol York sees more than she bargained for when she spies on her babysitter she thinks is a thief.

warnings: infidelity, age gap, absolutely disgusting talk, babysitter kink, light bondage, pinv, pina, degredationn, other shit but I've probs forgotten.

word count: 5k

rating 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

Carol York giggles to herself, adjusting the dark straps on the navy lingerie set she wears. She looks herself over in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She and Dave are celebrating their eleventh wedding anniversary today and she wants to look extra special. He's been working so hard lately, with such long hours. 

He thinks she's still at work and is coming home early to grab the girls from school to drop them off at Carol's mother's for the evening. What he doesn't know is that Carol is going to be here, waiting for him when he gets back. She's taking him out to his favorite restaurant and then she's going to bring him to a fancy hotel and fuck his brains out all night, just like when they first met. 

She pulls on her dress for the evening, fluffing her hair when she hears you walking through the house, live-in nanny extraordinaire. The only one who can get her kids to eat vegetables and go to sleep on time. The Nanny who cleans when the kids are at school and prepares healthy snacks. But there's something about you Carol doesn't trust. Something that haunts her when you're around. She thinks its maybe the way your eyes don't quite hers when you speak to her. And then one day it hits her as she searches in her jewellery case: you're a thief. Carol realizes it the week she can't find the emerald ring she used to wear every so often.

She's convinced you stole it during your "tidying" of their room last month. She's pretty sure she caught you that day, your face flushed, stammering about how the room needed dusting. You may fool everyone else, but you don't fool her. Even Dave seems taken in by your performance, citing that the house seems to be working like a well oiled machine with you around. 

But now she has a chance to catch you in the act. You don't know she's still at home. She’ll hide in her walk-in closet, get footage of you stealing and then show it to Dave. Then they can both fire you. She grabs her phone, setting it to silent and with a thrilled little giggle Carol goes to the walk-in closet, pulling the doors closed behind her. The slats are tilted, giving her a narrow view of the bedroom a bit blurred at the edges. 

She kneels at the closed door, waiting for you to enter. Her hip bumps into the locked safe Dave insisted on keeping their valuables and gun in. With two young girls he's paranoid and she can't help but agree. She's getting settled into a kneeling position when you walk in shortly after, a laundry basket tucked under your arm. You're humming to yourself and Carol watches as you begin to put away the laundry in the dresser drawers. 

You're wearing a skirt and short blouse, looking effortlessly cool. Carol watches like a hawk as you put away her husband's undershirts in the dresser, bunching the socks, smiling gently to yourself. You’re a pretty thing, she’ll give you that. Even if you are a thief.

"You're still here."

Carol nearly gasps at the sound of Dave's voice. She'd been so focused on you that she didn't even notice him enter the bedroom. He's still dressed from work, black trousers and his grey dress shirt with tie. He loosens the tie, letting it fall onto the dresser.

You glance up from the laundry basket to shine a smile his way. You haven’t even glanced at the jewelry case and now that Dave’s here there’s no way you’ll try.  Carol feels stupid about her plan now because he can't exactly emerge from the closet at this point. She has to wait until you both leave the room. 

"Just finishing up the laundry then I'll be out of your hair," you chirp pleasantly to Dave. 

"No need to rush," Dave says walking further into the room. 

"Where are the girls?"

"In-laws."

"Ahhhhh so that's why Mrs. York told me I had the night off." 

Dave nods. He watches you folding and putting away the laundry for a few moments. He presses his hip against the dresser, his head tilted to the side. Carol feels her heart race at the sight of her husband, so handsome and strong. She’s so lucky to have a husband like him; hard working, a good father, a provider.  

"Where is Mrs. York?" You ask politely, folding the shirt and placing it in the drawer.

"She says she's going to be home late," Dave sighs looking at his cellphone. "At least another hour."

Carol smirks glad he doesn't suspect her plan. She just wishes she wasn't cramped in this closet though. The second you leave she's jumping out and tackling Dave to the bed. Dinner can wait.

Carol knits her brows when Dave darts a smirk in your direction. She watches as you continue to face away from him, folding laundry and placing it in the lower drawers. You bend over at the waist, the curve of your ass just showing.

What a slut, Carol thinks. Dressing like that for work?

She's confused when Dave crosses the room, coming to stand behind you. Her eyes bug out of her head when her husband's large hands go to your body to slide along your hips. She expects you to pull back from him, disgusted. But instead you twirl around to face him with a smile on your face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. York," you say with a breathless giggle. "You must be disappointed."

His hands come to the top of your blouse, starting to undo the buttons. You and Carol both watch with a shaky inhale as he pops the last button and rolls it off your shoulders. You shrug it off, letting it fall onto the floor beside the laundry basket.

Dave pushes you up and out of your bra, your dusky nipples hard. He pinches them, making you whimper while he smiles. He’s wearing a smile Carol has never seen before and she doesn’t like it. He unhooks your bra at the back, sliding the straps down your arms and getting you to stand there with your chest exposed.

“Maybe you could cheer me up," he says lowly, cupping your breasts. He bends over to lick each one, holding you by the waist as you arch into him. Carol feels her eyes widening and her heart sinking with every passing moment.

“You’re the boss, Mr. York,” you breathe with your eyes sparkling. “Just tell me what you need.”

Dave stands up straight, smirking at you as his heavy palm goes to your shoulder.  He barely presses you down before you're falling to your knees in front of him. Carol's stomach drops as you grin up at him.

She watches as Dave runs his finger through your hair, gathering it into a ponytail in his fist while you fumble with his trouser zipper, pulling it down and reaching inside. 

This can't be happening, Carol thinks. She feels rooted to the spot, forced to watch what's happening.  Her husband of eleven years is cheating on her in her house they’ve shared. In her bedroom.

You're pulling his stiff cock out of his pants and Carol can see how hard it is already. You shift, making your breasts bounce as you gaze up at him. You’ve adopted a wide-eyed, playful look.  Dave grips his cock at the base, tapping the head on your wet bottom lip.  

"You want me to cheer you up, Mr. York?”

Dave nods, guiding his cock towards your pouty mouth. You lean forward and lick the tip, earning a pleased groan from Dave. Carol can only watch as you grin up at him before taking him into your mouth all in one go. 

“That’s it,” Dave groans, his head tilting back. “You know just how I like it.”

He continues to hold your hair in a loose ponytail with his right fist, watching you work your mouth on him. The room is full of wet sucking noises and the odd whimper. Your eyes are closed, your face relaxed as if this is normal behavior. As if being on your knees, swallowing her husband's cock while he throws his head back and moans is part of your job description. 

He pulls your mouth back and forth, tugging your hair in his grip. You just moan around his fat dick. He smiles down at you, something dark and lusty. His hips move forward faster, his sliding further and further.

"That's my good little babysitter," Dave groans above you, his hips jutting into your mouth. "Take it all, just like we practiced, sweetheart." 

Carol feels her stomach clenching painfully, like she's got period cramps. This isn't the first time you've done something like this together. This is practiced. Your hands are going to his balls, kneading gently. You break from sucking his cock to suck on one, earning a guttural groan from Dave.

“Look up when you do it,” he orders. When you do he taps his cock on your cheek, letting it rest on your face as you continue to drool around his balls. He watches this, nodding and tugging your hair so you pull off of him.

“Swallow it now,” he says, his grip in your hair tightening. Your mouth moves back to his cock, taking down your throat. He feeds it to you quickly and you don’t gag, you don’t hesitate you just tilt your head back and let him use you.

“This is what you’re made for,” he grunts down at you, watching your tits bounce as he fucks into your mouth.

You moan around his thick cock, eyes opening to stare up at him while you nod. You look completely subservient to him kneeling there with your hands in your lap. Your nose is smashed into the hair at the base of his cock and you inhale deeply moaning in delight. 

Carol is disgusted to see drool starting to escape the corner of your mouth as his fat cock continues to feed itself down your throat. But if anything Dave seems excited by the sight. He tilts back, forcing your mouth to move faster. 

"Cock-drunk already," he says with a grin. "Missed it didn't you? Missed swallowing my cum?"

Your eyes are half open, but you nod emphatically up at him. Dave watches you suck a moment longer before he removes himself from your mouth. Carol can see his cock is shiny with your spit. You look disappointed but Dave comes to grip your chin with his long fingers. 

"On second thought. It's my anniversary. I think I deserve something a little better than your mouth, don't you?" 

You nod briskly and he helps you to a stand before spinning you away from him, the front of your legs pressed against the side of his bed. Carol watches as he tugs off his trousers, then his briefs. All go in a pile next to the laundry basket.  

His fingers slide up your skirt, tugging your pink lace thong down. From where she still kneels in the closet, Carol can see they're damp with your arousal. Why the fuck are you wearing a thong to work? But then just as quickly as the question comes to her the answer does as well. Because she's been fucking your husband. 

Your body bends to accommodate the way the fabric stretches over the round of your pert ass. He tugs the thong off completely, his hand coming to graze the curve of your ass.

"We said we weren't doing this anymore," you sigh dreamily,

"It's my anniversary," Dave says as if that answers everything, his fingers coming to slide between your legs. “And I gave you a nice present last time, didn’t I?”

He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He stands naked behind you, big and muscular. Carol had always thought Dave was incredibly sexy and even now she can't help but think it.  

Dave’s hand goes to press between your shoulder blades, urging you down onto your belly on the mattress. He lifts up your skirt, taking his time to enjoy the view of your naked ass and slit. Carol jumps a bit when Dave's hand comes to swat your ass. You moan and Carol sees from her seated position that you're covered in your own slick. Dave notices as well. 

"This all for me?"

"Uh huh." 

Dave takes both your ass cheeks and spreads them wide before letting them fall, clapping together. He groans, stroking his cock a moment. Carol feels her face draining of color as her husband kneels beside the bed, his face level with your ass. He darts forward, gripping another handful of your ass. His mouth goes to your other cheek, kissing and then nipping the smooth flesh there. Your arms are folded under your cheek. Carol can see the smile there as he touches you. 

"Like a ripe little peach," he groans as you giggle. Dave's eyes go to your glistening cunt before adding, "and a juicy little peach too." 

Carol can barely watch as her husband kisses his way down your sex. You're folded over the bed and you arch your belly against the mattress, making your cunt more appealing. He begins to give it sloppy kisses, groaning as he eats you out from behind. Carol watches mesmerized by his actions. He's never done this with her. Only ever does missionary, cowgirl, doggy. Oral sex by either partner is brief. 

His fingers come to circle your clit as his mouth and tongue works your hole. 

"Dave --- it's so --- mmph," you lose track of what you were going to say. Your hips are rolling against the bed. Your hands are tangled in the sheets you folded earlier this morning and you writhe over them as he devours your cunt. 

"So fucking juicy," Dave growls between licks.

Your face is bliss, mouth trembling as you grin at his words. "Whose pussy tastes better?"

"Yours," Dave replies with a slur, he doesn't even hesitate. He's holding your legs further apart so he can taste more of you, cunt drunk. "This fucking pussy drives me wild. Best I've ever had." 

"Yeah?" You keen, smiling victoriously. "You like my pussy best?" 

"Yeah. Especially when she comes all over my face."  

Your eyes are shut and you moan his name as you release. Carol's face burns as she listens and watches.  Dave laps up your arousal while you whimper in the aftershocks. Dave grins down at you before standing. He taps your ass instructing you to get on the bed. 

"Take off your skirt."

You strip down hurriedly tossing your clothes onto the ground before resuming your climb to the center of the bed. 

Our marriage bed, Carol thinks feeling helpless. Part of her wants to cry, the other part is fascinated by this different version of her husband. It compels her to keep watching, even as her stomach acid churns. 

Dave looks at you, naked and gorgeous. His cock is thick in his hand, hard while he strokes it.

"Show me."

You fold your legs up on your chest, holding them there as Dave watches, looking smug. Carol watches as Dave crawls onto the bed. He straddles his knees on the bed on either side of your waist. Then he takes your wrists and pulls them above your head. You smile serenely up at him. 

"Are you gonna finish inside me this time?" You ask with your eyes glittering excitedly. 

This time, Carol thinks. You've done this before. 

"You know I can't do that," Dave says shaking his head. "Too risky."

"Thought about that," you say as Dave begins binding your wrists together with your wet panties. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, testing the strength of the panties and finding you can't get loose. "I thought of a way we could avoid any risk." 

Dave isn't really listening. He takes your bound wrists and connects them to one of the decorative iron leaves in the headboard. Something Carol bought because she thought it looked elegant. Now all she can see is how easy it hooks the fabric, keeping you in place with your arms above your head. 

Dave brings his hands to your breasts; enjoying how they look in this position you’re in. He brings each nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over them until they become straining points again. 

"We have to be fast," you groan as you watch this. "We don't have much time."

Dave grins at you before reaching down for his phone on the floor. He taps away on it before smiling at you. 

"Just bought us some time."

Carol looks down at her phone in the dark, seeing the silent notification pop up. She looks at Dave waiting for the reply and she picks up her phone. 

Hey baby. Mind picking us up a bottle of that from last summer? I wanna celebrate our anniversary the proper way.

Carol feels disgust rising in her throat as she reads the message. Both Dave and Carol know that specific vintage is only sold in specialized wine stores in midtown. Midtown is forty minutes away. 

She types quickly, a desperate desire to convince her husband not to keep going. She doesn't know why, but she thinks if he can stop right now there's a chance she can forgive him. 

Of course. Happy to make you happy.

"Perfect," Dave says aloud, about to drop the phone when your second message comes through. 

I Love you so much! I can't wait to see you when I get home!I can't wait to celebrate eleven years married to the love of my life!  

Carol sends off the message, anxious as Dave reads it. She watches as his posture changes and his face drops. He glances over at you, lying on the bed, arms raised and body willing. Dave blinks slowly, frowning back at the text. Carol recognizes the expression in his face: guilt. 

"You know what, this actually wasn't a great idea," Dave mutters. 

"Why not?"

Dave shrugs with the magic of the moment gone. Carol feels a pathetic hope twisting within her as Dave goes to unhook your wrists. 

"But we were having fun."

"I know." 

"Don't you want to hear my plan?" 

Dave shakes his head. You look disappointed, almost angry as he unbinds your wrists. When you’re loose you reach for his middle, stopping him from crawling off of you. 

"I wanted you to fuck my ass tonight." 

Dave stiffens, his movements slowing as he asks you to repeat yourself. You grin up at him, your hand reaching for his cock. 

"I know you heard me, Mr. York," you coo sweetly, starting to jerk his cock against your belly. "And I want you to do it bare. Want you to cum inside me tonight." 

All the air is sucked out of the room. Carol feels like she's going to be sick. She has to do something, has to make her presence known. 

"You can't say shit like that," Dave whispers. He's still straddling your waist, his wet cock rubbing against your belly. 

"Why not?"

"Because then I'll have to do it." 

"Good," you whisper back before giggling.

Carol hates the sound of your girlish giggle, all high pitched and annoying. Dave seems torn. She silently pleads with him to make the right decision. She can’t come back from watching him fuck the babysitter in their bed, she just can’t.

"I can't," Dave finally says in a husky murmur. He pulls his cock from your hand.

Carol's eyes flood with relieved tears. 

You seem irritated, but you're not giving up. Your hand returns to slide along his cock, still resting there on your belly. You part your legs as well, rolling them.

"You're telling me you've never fantasized about fucking me in this bed, Dave?" 

Your voice is low and warm and sultry. Dave groans, hips starting to roll.

"Of course I have, but---"

"Then do it," you urge, smiling seductively. "Cum in your slutty little babysitter." 

Dave's head drops between his shoulders, eyes slammed shut. His erection is rock hard and Carol can see the pre-cum that beads from the tip. 

"It'll be like our own secret anniversary," you tell him sweetly. "The first night you fucked my ass."

Carol is lightheaded with rage. This isn't something Dave even wants anymore! He brought it to with Carol once and when she turned him down he cited that it was no big, deal and that he was just curious. But Carol sees the way his eyes glitter and his cock begins to throb. 

"You know you want it," you coo while urging his cock between your legs. "And I want it too. Want you to fuck my ass with your big dick, Dave." 

The head of his cock is breaching your cunt, slick and waiting. Dave slowly moves overtop of you, his face going to your neck. Carol can see the hesitation in him. 

"Want to feel you fuck me full of your cum," you tell him, urging him inside. 

Dave groans against your shoulder, his hips lifting and flexing as he pumps himself between your legs. Carol watches as his cock disappears between the folds of your cunt. You groan as he stretches you, pressing himself to the hilt. You pant heavily, your mouth finding his ear. 

"My ass feels even tighter than my pussy, Mr. York."  

Dave gives a loud moan; his hips are driving into yours quickly. And now his fingers come to circle the pearl of your clit. He murmurs something muffled into your neck that Carol can't hear, but you grin, rolling your hips against his. 

"And then you'll finish in me?"

Dave nods. You grin, allowing him to rub your clit as he pumps himself into you.

“Harder,” you beg, your tits bouncing as he punches your whines out with each drive of his cock. Carol watches as your body jolts under his with each thrust, your face morphing into obscene pleasure. Your body tenses as Dave delivers another brutal thrust. 

"This is all I wanted," Dave grunts. "Making the slutty little babysitter beg for my cock."

How often do you fuck her husband? It's that why you were flushed that day in here? Do you secretly ride his cock when he's in the office working from home? Does he fuck you from behind on the couch he and Carol watch television on? Does he lick your pussy at the dining table the York's have their family dinners on? 

Carol comes back to herself to see Dave repositioning holding himself on his forearms, driving into you relentlessly.

"That's it, choke my cock," Dave urges you, looking down to see your breasts jiggling for him. "Show me why I keep you around."

Your brows knit together and your fingers curl around his biceps as he drops his fingers and just begins to fuck you in earnest. Carol watches as his balls slap against your ass, slick and loud in the quiet room. Finally you twitch around him, your eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

"Want your anniversary present now Mr York?"

“Yea.”

Dave urges your body to the right of the bed, Carol's side. He doesn't even look guilty anymore, he looks hungry. You make a noise of approval as he presses your legs up to your chest, folding you in half. Carol watches this all helplessly from where she kneels in the closet. 

Don't do it Dave. 

But he does do it. He leans himself against the back of your thighs, tilting you up. He gathers your copious release already trickling from your cunt down your to your ass cheeks and he covers his cock in it. Carol watches as Dave tilts his head forward. She’s confused at what’s happening until she sees a string of saliva dropping down the slit of your ass, lubricating it.

You’re breathing quickly, watching the best you can from your constricted position. He nudges the head of his cock against your puckered entrance and then with without ceremony he pushes himself into your tight hole. Dave hisses loudly as you welcome him, your body arching in his grip. Your hands are still on his biceps, your legs in the air. He plugs you, resting for a moment, enjoying how it feels. 

He balances on his hands on either side of you.  You moan helplessly under him when he begins to move again pushing himself in further, your hole gripping him snugly. From where Carol sits she has a front row seat to her husband cock disappearing into your ass. 

"This right here," Dave grunts, "is the best fucking gift I've ever gotten."

Wet noises fill the air as he pulls slightly out and then thrusts in deeper, both of you giving a low moan as he does. 

"Don't know if I can go back to fucking your pussy," Dave grunts, pressing himself to the hilt as you mewl underneath him. "Gonna have to fuck this sweet ass every time."

"Fuck me however you want, Mr. York," you whimper.

Carol watches your face smiling dreamily as Dave buries himself in your ass. You really like this you're not just doing it for his benefit. Carol watches as Dave pulls himself out, then urges you to flip over onto your tummy. You do so without question, burying your face in the pillows and presenting your ass to him. 

Dave groans slapping your ass cheeks and watching them ripple. He's panting heavily, the veins in his broad body popping. Carol recognizes the signs of her husband turned on out of his mind. He eyes the discarded panties in the sheets and grabs your wrists, pinching them together behind your back. You say nothing as he wraps the lace around your wrists again. You're completely at his mercy, your body on display for him, your wrists tied at your back. Dave takes a moment to marvel at this, sliding his hand between your thighs to gather more of your slick. You whine at the contact, pushing your ass out. 

You're fucking shameless, Carol thinks as you gently rut your hips, making your ass pop for him. A fucking slut. 

Dave curls over you, guiding his cock to your back entrance once more. He pushes your spine, lowering you so that he can press firmly against you. He pushes himself in quicker this time, still hissing at the tightness as he pushes through. 

"So full," you groan into the pillows when he sheaths himself completely. Dave bares his teeth in delight, circling his wiry hairs against your ass, moving within you.

"You're so deep," your whine, turning your head to the side. "I can feel you so fucking deep." 

Dave looks pleased with himself. 

"Ever take a cock this big?"

"Uh uh," you whisper, shaking your head. "And never had it feel this good." 

Carol can only watch as Dave's cock saws in and out of your tight hole now, your body rippling as he rocks against you. He's on his knees behind you, hands on your waist to hold you in place. You're both sweating, writhing on the sheets that Carol herself bought last spring. Dave's hair is sweaty, stuck in parts of his forehead. 

“Such a tight little hole,” Dave grunts, going onto one knee and thrusting faster.

Carol almost laughs darkly seeing him in the same position he was when he proposed to her. But he wasn’t fucking her up the ass in the bed during that.

You're a drooling mess under him, bouncing on the mattress as Dave fucks himself deeper into your ass. The headboard is slamming against the wall, clacking in time with Dave's furious pounding. 

More squelching sounds fill the room, combining with Dave's guttural groans and your desperate whines. He grips the lace around your wrist, holding it as he tilts back; fucking you and watching his cock disappear. 

"Such a little slut," Dave growls, slapping your ass with his free hand. "Can't get enough of this married cock, can you?" 

He slaps your ass again and you buck under him like some slutty horse. Dave gasps lowly, his hips jerking. 

"Next week I'm working from home, you're gonna dress up in that little costume I bought you. Understand?" 

"Yes, yes," you breathe. 

Dave sits back on his heels, his big hands on your hips. He fucks slowly into you, taking his time to extend the sensation of being buried inside you. He maneuvers you back and forth along his turgid cock like you’re his own little cocksleeve.

"You're gonna come into my office and I'm gonna fuck your ass while you wear it. Gonna fuck your ass in every room in this house." 

You can’t even reply. Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth, your eyes rolled back. Carol feels sick, swallowing the rising bile when you suddenly cum. Your thighs are shaking and your cries are almost a shriek and cause Dave to smile widely. 

"Uh huh, you cum with this cock in your ass you slut," Dave instructs. He's got your hair in his grip again, he's tugging you, jerking your head back. "Gonna fuck you through it."

Your entire body is shaking now, your arousal sliding down your inner thighs as Dave continues. Your whining, your body still rolling, still urging Dave to keep going.

"I wanna fuck you when she's home," Dave rasps, his hips thrusting forward and back in a frenzy. "When she's in the shower I want you here on the bed. Gonna need to keep quiet while I pound your pussy. Wanna fill my slutty little babysitter so you have to finish the rest of your shift stuffed with my cum." 

He's rambling now; Carol recognizes the signs that her husband is close. All the things he's saying are just falling over her like a crumbling ceiling. 

"Anything you want," you shudder, still cumming as he continues. You're completely fucked-out, gooey and loose. You're not fighting anything, just laying there letting him pound himself deeper and deeper over and over. 

"You like having a married man's cock in your ass?"

"You like fucking the babysitter?" 

The two of you laugh out loud at this obscenity and for some reason that's what sets Carol off. Not that you're fucking each other in her bed, but that you're laughing together. Dave looks down at you fondly.

“You liked that ring, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The ring? The one Carol can’t find? The one she went crying to Dave about because it belonged to her grandmother? Carol feels her cheeks turning into angry red circles.

“You’re gonna get another one tonight,” he promises. “Because I’m about to ruin you, little girl. You won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

Dave pushes you down brutally, and now he takes his hands and spreads your cheeks. You croon desperately, muttering how you want him to fuck you hard and how you can take it. He pulls out slightly, watching your hole flutter, desperate to be filled. 

"All for me," he murmurs as he shoves his cock back into you.

You moan at the intrusion, your body falling into sync with his. With all his strength he fucks you into the mattress, grinning when you cry out in ecstasy. His hips are pounding into you from behind so hard that the slaps of your connecting flesh crack in the air. 

The bed is shaking with the force of your fucking; the two of you grunting back and forth until Dave's thrusting begins to taper. He's going to cum. 

"Happy anniversary to me," Dave shouts into the air, his body arched over yours like some kind of animal as he ruts deeply, about to release his creamy load in your ass.

“Happy anniversary to us,” you gasp under him. “Can’t wait to celebrate it again and again.”

The two of you are laughing before movement out of the corner of Dave’s eyes catches his attention. He turns just in time to see his wife Carol exit the closet a wild look in her eyes. Dave can see the safe in the closet is open, confusing him. He realizes what's happening just in time for Carol to pull the trigger. 

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINETEEN

in which everything changes.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.7k+

→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts

NANCE: Why do you say that?

DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line. 

BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?

DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.

NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them. 

ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude? 

BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy? 

DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY. 

DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.

BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly. 

NANCE: Was that all you heard?

DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?

ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.

BIRDIE: what he said.

JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals? 

HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM

It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return. 

You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew. 

Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch. 

Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again. 

Fuck him. 

At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead. 

Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.

Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part. 

It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch. 

No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours. 

You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out. 

You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you. 

He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year. 

“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.

You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.

And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?” 

Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right. 

“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?” 

Because I’m certainly not out here. 

“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!” 

By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands? 

You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint. 

“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue. 

Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?” 

No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that. 

“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”

You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub. 

And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable. 

Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-

The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.” 

Why were you both being so fucking awkward? 

“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before. 

Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower. 

“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?” 

Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog. 

“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes. 

A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly. 

There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length. 

It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”

Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?” 

“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.” 

A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it. 

You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”

“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?” 

“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.” 

“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.” 

“Same thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.” 

You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones. 

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him. 

Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear. 

It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead. 

“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?” 

“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”

More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities. 

Time. Time was not on your side. 

“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.” 

“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers. 

“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?” 

He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”

“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”

“You sound so excited.” 

He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.

So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied? 

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years. 

“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’” 

“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately. 

“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him. 

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes. 

This conversation is going surprisingly well. 

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?” 

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message. 

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies. 

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.” 

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder. 

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut. 

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours. 

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?” 

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.” 

His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle? 

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced. 

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent. 

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.” 

There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with. 

But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?” 

You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips. 

Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you. 

You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation. 

“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?” 

“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?” 

A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again? 

You laugh along with his joke instead. 

“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?” 

You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him. 

He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”

“Well, that’s just weird.” 

You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.

Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.

“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.” 

“Figured as much.”

“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.” 

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?” 

You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours. 

Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you. 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” 

You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.

“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.

His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.” 

Right. Stupid. 

Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.

“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.” 

So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous. 

“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.

“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.” 

Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”

His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was.”

“And were you successful?”

How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you. 

“I wasn’t.”

One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.

And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him. 

“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.

“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.

“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.

It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.

You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” 

You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear. 

“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.” 

You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.

And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?” 

Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.

When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.

He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted. 

“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you. 

His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely. 

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements. 

“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.” 

Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening. 

“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin. 

You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper. 

You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten. 

His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes. 

Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his. 

You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.” 

If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone. 

You just nod. 

With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you. 

If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing. 

Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own. 

This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.

“You.”

There’s no other way to put it. You just want him. 

He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet. 

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent. 

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt. 

For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was. 

His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing. 

“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”

“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it. 

It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs. 

You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced. 

When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall. 

The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.” 

Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close. 

Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation. 

Baby, princess, sweetheart. 

You’ll take whatever you can get from him. 

“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?” 

He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours. 

“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.” 

He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his. 

It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet. 

You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun. 

You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage. 

All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity. 

It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes. 

“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.” 

He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened. 

“Okay.” 

Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though. 

“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything. 

It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.” 

Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air. 

You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now. 

It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike. 

Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps. 

You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.

Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this. 

You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light. 

You have him. You know him. 

It’s enough. 

Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise. 

He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you. 

This changes everything. 

When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true. 

Everything, everything, changes. 

Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual. 

—

You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out. 

Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it. 

It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side. 

He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”

Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took? 

Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?

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