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hazelfoureyes · 3 months

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Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Female Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Male Reader - Someone nice, somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

.<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Female!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when you said you’d never actually orgasmed before, everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall.

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Nerves can make holes dry like nothin’ else. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally came into contact between your legs. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and a down your pussy.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with sleeping with women, it was just usually for money or a shoot. Not his preferred flavor, but he could still get it up. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights. Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed passed your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight entrance of your cunt and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your self grip his finger, nervousness slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your clit. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your lap warm with the rush of blood.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “Not everyone needs it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.”

“Three fingers means I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers, sticky with lube. His long digits were fast and practiced as he rubbed your clit. “Sex math. Dont need your virgin pussy locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his fingers made your body spasm, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering walls made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Yeah, it’s starting to feel good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your clit. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive bud of nerves.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“Like that? Watch this,” He cupped his mouth over your clit and began strumming it with his tongue. Fat and flat, then thin and sharp. His fingers slowed, now just bending to hit your soft g-spot again and again.

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Feelin’ good?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I want to feel more, Angel.” It came out as more of a whine than you meant.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your entrance, fingers dipping in then out.

“You comfortable with getting on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position.

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto pussy, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, the tight coil of pleasure his mouth summoned now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your folds, swiping past your entrance. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper.

You were so soft around him, yet gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into your walls. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, a rush of pleasure electrifying your clit.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up.

“Right there,” you whimpered, “please don’t stop, right there Angel.” You dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel a pressure building in your lower stomach.

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to press at your clit, finger frantically moving. You felt something building, you were desperate to reach its climax.

Angel’s hand came down and pushed yours aside, his fingers strong and not shaking with your impending orgasm.

“Almost- Angel pleeeease! Don’t stop- keep—” You squeezed his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowing only slightly.

"You can do it, baby. Come on. Almost there~" His words fell apart in his mouth, his own moans getting louder, your cunt tightening in spasms as your first orgasm tore through you. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation, barely ever chosen as the one doing the fucking, let alone fucking a woman. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, orgasm still rolling from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move. His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, “More than anything.” He side eyed you, “Well, not anything.”

“Right answer, toots,” One of his hands came down and settled on your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

༻Masterlist༺

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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bigfatbimbo · 2 months

Note

Please do continue about girldick Charlie! I want to see your thoughts!

girldick charlie x reader general headcanons —

summary — Vague, horny and self indulgent rambles about girldick Charlie… obviously

a/n — I love her so much. My problem is that no one ever requests her! Anyways, i’m eating this prompt up.

warning — smut, charlie is a switch and so is the reader in this scenario, girldick, oral, degradation and praise, NOT ENTIRELY PROOFREAD!!!

***QUICK BACKUP INFO IF YOU DIDN’T SEE THE POST!!! Basically, we see that Lucifer has the ability to shapeshift, and since i’ve already written boycunt Lucifer… and Charlie is his daughter… maybe that ability would be… passed on. No because like you would just ask her like, “Dick tonight, baby?” and she’d be like “Of course, sweetie. Anything for you!” as if it’s not a wild as fuck request. Like you’re literally asking ‘Hey, can you casually just switch up your body parts for a sec? I feel like getting fucked outta my mind.’ And Charlie is just down immediately. Anything to make you happy and feeling taken care of is okay with her. Stressful day? Feeling bad about yourself? Just horny as fuck? Your problems will be solved with Charlie’s dick and the best goddamn aftercare of your life. Because when Charlie leads, she’s absolutely a soft dom/service top. Everything she says and does is to make you have a good experience because to her, sex is not about how she feels! She is ensuring you’re having a great time at any cost. So maybe you had a super stressful day, you’re anxious about work you didn’t do or didn’t compete well enough, and it’s bugging you. She’s coaxing you into taking a break, telling you she’d take care of you. Her comforting words while rubbing your shoulder quickly turns into her on top of you, gently fucking into you with praising words. She’s rutting into you at a steady, but not rough pace, with her hands pining your wrists above the bed. And she’s going on and on, semi-coherently might I add because she’s very sensitive, about how proud of you she is, and how hard you worked, and how you’ve done everything to deserve this. And even though she’s not used to having a dick so she’s super touchy and hypersensitive, she would literally never cum until you have. Your pleasure comes first, always. But…. mean Charlie does something to me. Because she’s not easily upset, doesn’t have a temper, and is very nice. However, her demon form?? That ‘fuck you’ to Susan?? When she’s mad it’s a whole other story. Imagine the rare situation pissing her. Poking her and fucking with her, giving her kids of shit and attitude all day, and then finally she snaps. And she uncharacteristically aggressive. Her horns come out and she fuck you actually rough, with little to no mercy. But after one round she’d go back to her normal praising self, making up for her degrading words with loads of praise while she recedes into her normal gentle pace. Anyways, let’s talk about subby girldick Charlie, thank you very much. There are two roads you could take; very praising, or needlessly mean. Charlie and praise stick out to me so much. She’s always doing everything in other peoples favor. She solves other people’s problems, not her own. A little hypocritical, don’t you think. So she’s in her office overworking herself as usual, but you can’t stand that. Obviously, you go to put a stop to it. Giving her a long kiss, before whispering, “Dick today, please.” and she’d hesitate and be like “Honey… I have a lots of work to do and—“ but you’d emphasize your first point with a harsher, but not mean, strict tone, “Now, baby.” She’d reluctantly oblige, watching as you sink to your knees and pull her pants down, reading her hardening cock. “Oh, you think now is really the best time too— nngh!” she’d try to protest, being cut off with a moan as you drag your tongue across the length of your dick. After muttering about how ‘beautiful’ she is, you fully sink your mouth down onto her, taking her in. Your pace starts slow, getting used to her dick in your mouth, pulling out whimpers from Charlie as she leans back in her chair, and softly petting her thighs to comfort her. But then you speed up, and Charlie’s whimpers become loud and needy whines. She can’t help how fast she cums in your mouth. “I’m so sorry— I— Are you okay? Was that too much?” But then you fucking swallow and go back down for more. The only times you pull away are to tell her how pretty she is, how amazing she’s doing, and how beautiful she sounds

And let me tell you, she is reeling under all the praise. She’s squirming in her seat while you suck her cock dry, all while saying such nice things. She can barely contain herself, even when her eyes go red and her horns come out.

But, imagine being mean to her about it. Like practically demanding her dick, but this time, in a mean way. Shoving her down on the mattress and riding her dick so fast and rough she can barely take it.

And when her eyes full with tears because of the overstimulation, degrading her for being such a crybaby. “Oh please, Charlie. You can’t even handle this? Is the poor princess crying over how good her dicks being rode? Pathetic.”

And she cries even harder because she didn’t even do anything to warrant that!! But she finds it harder and harder to be upset when you’re humping her rougher after every orgasm.

It’s fogging up her brain so bad, she can’t even ask you to stop being mean anymore, she just whines and arches off the mattress as you slam your pussy against her achey, used up dick. Now, would she call you mommy while you ride her dick in oblivion? Well with the absence of her own… no yeah. The answer is yeah. Oh, and imagine making her have a dick JUST to peg her and not give any stimulation or attention to it at all. Hearing her whine as her hands go to jerk herself off, but batting them away, telling her she needs to be patient.

a/n — Boy oh boy, do I love being mean to nice people, or what, folks? Anyways, send more Charlie requests. We as a society need more of her.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #inbox open #charlie morningstar #charlie morningstar x reader #charlie morningstar x you #charlie morningstar smut #charlie hazbin hotel

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revenantghost · 1 year

Text

It is so wild to me that the Trigun manga was just on the fringe of the fandom before Tristamp, with ‘98 being the main focus.

I can see how it happened--when the anime was airing, anime was way more niche than it is now, and not everyone would have had easy access to buying it. And if you wanted to read it online... good luck, as someone who was in those forum/Livejournal/Yahoo Groups trenches. Someone on translating your favorite manga was so much work, and it was incredibly uncommon for people to scan officially released manga back then. And from what I hear, the first scanlation was awful, willfully mistranslating things and painting the story and characters in a terrible light. By the time the full manga was released, many of the original fans probably moved on. It’s very different from the first anime, and for the younger audience that likely saw it, maybe a bit too much!

But now that Tristamp has thrust us all into Trimax hell, I deeply understand why Trimax Vash is one of the most common Vashes I see popping up in fanart and such. I love and am feral for ‘98 and Tristamp, you’ll find no slander for those here, but the manga stripped me down on an molecular level and rewired my entire brain and all my emotions. That story and those characters haunt me. Sometimes I’ll see a panel from the manga, not even one of the most impactful ones, and I need to take a moment to recover. I think about it daily. Though I just think about Trigun all day at this point who am I kidding. It’s so good. It’s too good. WHO GAVE IT THE RIGHT TO BE THIS GOOD.

Anyway, if you haven’t read the Trigun manga yet, go check out @trigun-manga-overhaul because you’re missing out on one of the best stories ever written.

#Trigun #Trigun Maximum #Trimax #Trigun Stampede #Tristamp #I did not mean to end up gushing #But I am not surprised #And will use every opportunity to recruit more readers #I just wanted to point out how WILD it is that Trimax got left in the dust of '98 #And is so popular now #It deserves it SO MUCH

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ast4tarion · 7 months

Note

hi!! hope you’re having a good day:)

i was wondering if you can write a smut where mike is a nerd in college and the popular girl needs to bring her grade up so he tutors her. she would always flirt with him and make him get all nervous. she repays him by giving him a blowjob and you can add anything else to the story if you want!! thank youu

ooooo i havent written anything like this, thank you for a new idea :D ty for the kind words too i hope everyone reading this day is a good one too <3 (god this is way longer then i meant for it to be)

cws; sub!mike, slight dom!reader, virginity taking, blowjob, gender neutral reader, a little messy

“Have you ever had sex with a girl before?”

The question you ask Mike is completely genuine but he stops writing in his tracks, his face visibly flushing red.

The two of you are studying for midterms (actually, more like Mike guiding you through the subjects) together in his dorm, books and papers strewn everywhere at his table.

“I—what?” He really wasn’t expecting you to ask that and he looks almost nervous.

“Have you?” you ask it like it’s the most casual question in the world, flipping your pencil around in your hand.

“Uh….no,” he looks very embarrassed, it’s cute on him. “I haven’t gotten close to anyone like that before, and no one was particularly interested in the guy hiding behind his engineering book.”

You were quite surprised to learn this, in your opinion he was quite the attractive guy.

“Would you be up for an offer then?” His eyes widened, and he let his pencil slide out of his grip completely.

“What kind of offer….?” He said it, but the implication after the topic of conversation was understood between the two of you, but he clearly didn’t believe it.

“Well I’d really like to do something nice for you in return for tutoring me, we’ve already talked about this but I really wish I could pay you but everything’s going to food and tuition right now and I couldn’t ever ask my parents so I was wondering if you’d let me make you feel good instead?” You said.

His entire face was visibly red now with blush, and his gaze dropped and avoided yours as he processed what you were saying. He seemed in total disbelief, his hands tapping the table which you knew was a nervous habit of his.

“I-um, but I-I’ve never done that with anyone? I wouldn’t wanna, um, somehow do it wrong.” He was incredibly sincere and it was quite endearing.

You leaned back in your seat, trying to catch his nervous eyes.

“I’m cool with that, I could even teach you if that would make you feel less nervous? Think of it as…….a tutoring session. Only if you want too though.” His hands found themselves, wringing and thumbing his palm. He was clearly deep in thought and given permission you wanted to wipe that stress from his face. It would be an honour to teach him, after all the exams and quizzes he’d helped you pass.

“Alright…I think I’d, uh, like that. When?” You smiled at his confirmation of consent, excitement and arousal already beginning to build up inside you. You stood up, walking around the desk and sitting on one of his thighs.

“We’ve been studying for a while now, I think this would be a good opportunity to take a break and learn something new.” You put your hands on his chest, your voice dropping in a suggestive way that earned a shiver out of him.

“O-Okay,” he gulped, finally gathering the courage to look at you in front of him. “What’s the first step?”

You leaned in to kiss his neck and he gasped loudly. “First the ground rules. One, if you decide it’s too much we can always stop, alright? Two, tell me if you’re going to cum. Three, listen to your body, Mikey, tell me what feels good.” You purred into his ear, trying to take things slow so he could adjust to them. He quickly nodded, and you starting leaving light kisses down his chest.

As much as you wanted to grind down on his thigh you had an objective: make him cum. You moved off his lap and he watched you the entire time with a mix of nervousness and curiosity in his eyes. You slid to the floor in between his legs as he was seated at his desk.

Your first step was massaging his thighs, getting closer and closer to his dick. Your hand settled over the fly of his jeans, palming the denim and smirking when you felt the bulge it held.

You began unzipping it, speaking as you worked. “First step is to relax, this parts all about you baby boy.” He felt the urge to whimper and aggressively bit it back.

Just the tiny amounts of friction and sultry words you provided had began to work him up. You pulled down his boxers enough for his cock to be freed, hardening at every touch.

He was fairly big, your fingertips just barely met around it when you gave it a couple experimental jerks. He made a little noise at this, and you smiled.

You spit in your hand, spreading the wetness across his length to make it easier. It was clear he was unuse to his own boner, his mouth agape and his hips beginning to shift in the chair.

You started by giving the tip a tiny kiss, followed by short little licks to the head. You flattened your tongue and swirled it all around the head, running your tongue over his sensitive slit.

This gained an immediate reaction, another little noise escaping his mouth followed by his hands gripping his own thighs. You were barely touching him and he was already panting at the sweet sensation.

You took it a little further, pumping the base and farther into your mouth. You were licking the underside of his dick, dragging hot wet stripes further and further down each time. You were halfway down his length, finally taking it all into your mouth and pushing it in until your lips reached your loose fist.

His pants were evolving into full blown moans, his hand white-knuckles gripping his desk. He spread his legs further, hoping to give you more access. Every moan is music to your ears, coming out in little “hnngs…” and “mmmfng…..”

The tip almost reached the back of your throat and there was spit dripping down your chin, mixing with whatever slick he was leaking. You moved forward and back, your tongue sliding wetly and stimulating him. You repeated this, grinding into the floor for any ounce of your own friction.

His cock was a wet mess, and the sounds coming from your mouth became more and more vulgar. Slick-filled wet slaps of skin on skin as your fist pumped faster and faster and your tongue swirled around his girth.

He was getting closer and you could tell because he was absolutely loosing control of himself. He’d been reduced to drawn-out moans and whimpering at how fast you were going; his hips had also started bucking forward, pushing more and more of it into your mouth until you were almost completely swallowing him.

Your own desperation made it even more wet and messy, you drew back and a long string of precum dripped from his tip to your tongue thinly connected. Your gaze was driving him crazy, the combination of your eyes locked on his and the slurping wet kiss you licked up his shaft again.

When your mouth dove back on it you could tell he was getting incredibly close to finishing. His thrusts were becoming sloppy and so pathetic that it was hitting the walls of your cheek and the very back of your throat.

It was ultimately your groan that sent him over the edge, the vibrations sent through your mouth felt all over his cock and it felt so good, so wet, so overwhelming that he barely had time to whimper “fuck, I-I’m going too—!”

His cock throbbed and pulsed as you licked his slit once more, taking it out of your mouth absolutely cockdrunk. It barely took a single pump for him to explode, thick white ropes bursting from his tip and all over your chest.

His head was thrown back and he was panting hard, his cock head was flushed a pretty pink like his blush and it kept twitching, smaller streams erupting until it came to a slow stop.

Your face was a mess of his hot cum and your underwear absolutely soaked through. His eyes were closed and he was still gasping, sighing as he slowly loosened his grip on the desk as he rode out the end of his orgasm.

“Fuck, holy shit, thank you.” He mumbled, still coming down from the adrenaline of finishing. When he did look down he swore he could’ve came a second time, the way your face was lit up by a smile and absolutely drenched in his sticky white seed.

“Of course, if I wanted to teach you about sex I had to make sure you’d at least get to cum before you made someone else do it,” You stood up, standing close to him and running your hand through his pretty brown hair.

“Tomorrow after we finish calculus, I’ll show you how to eat someone out~”

#requests open #fnaf x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt ns/fw #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #x reader #fnaf movie x reader #fnaf nsft #fnaf smut #mike schmidt x you smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader smut #gn nsft #nsft concept #fnaf ns/fw #fnaf x reader smut

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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months

Text

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

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

→ warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.8k+

→ a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.

i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.

if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.

thank you. i love you.

without further ado...

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

EPILOGUE: A BET

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Why are there so many fuckin’ options?”

Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts.

“There’s not that many,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, “Besides, isn’t having options a good thing?”

He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, “Sure, options are great. But there’s at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.”

The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. You’re both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasn’t the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.

And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.

“Well, better pick one fast,” your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking all day.”

It was Argyle’s birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasn’t for another week, but he’d be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the group’s favorite bars.

Which — fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.

But your friends didn’t know.

Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy.

At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and you’d worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out he’d kept this relationship from her. They’d support you two — that wasn’t a worry. They’d proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.

“So,” Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steve’s couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as you’d snuck him out of your dorm), “You two really aren’t together?”

“Why is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?” you jeered.

Eddie didn’t help the cause when he was quick to take your side, “Exactly! The bet’s over. We lasted twenty four hours. We’re friends now — isn’t that what you guys wanted?”

“I actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,” Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, “So I’m gonna side with Birdie on this one.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even — innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough.

“It’ll happen eventually,” Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, “Just give them time.”

What they hadn’t realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable.

Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.

“What about the red one?” Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.

“Of course you’re choosing the red one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature.

You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, “You’re just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.”

He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.

“Hi folks! Can I help you with anything today?”

Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the man’s overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.

Despite Eddie’s previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if they’d change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.

You two hadn’t really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether you’d ride with Eddie there, how you’d navigate Eddie’s natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends.

The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyle’s night — you didn’t want to snatch the attention from him for even a second.

But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out.

It had been two months, and you still hadn’t said those three little words back to Eddie.

He didn’t pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasn’t constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didn’t mean you didn’t feel it. You’d felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time he’d worship your body. It was there — in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines you’d worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.

And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie.

You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. He’s given you time, he’d filled the months you’d awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldn’t give him this. And you’re starting to believe maybe that’s why you couldn’t imagine telling your friends yet.

You sort of hated yourself for it.

You’re pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddie’s choice of phone. You don’t even have to ask; you know he got the red one.

“Hey,” Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddie’s affection has yet to lose novelty, “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?” you twist your face, “I was here the entire tim-“

“Not where’d you physically go,” he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, “Mentally. Where’d your mind just go?”

You hadn’t thought he’d notice your drifting.

“Nowhere,” you shrug off.

“Nowhere? So you’re really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?”

He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you don’t doubt you’d been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.

“Oh, absolutely. You know me so well.”

All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued — or perhaps bantered was a better word for it — but you didn’t fight. You both still grated on one another’s nerves and managed to slither beneath the other’s skin, but not in an unwelcome way.

It was a nice change.

It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words.

Eddie seemingly reads your mind, “Are you nervous for tonight?”

“I-“ you consider lying to him and saying it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, “We just haven’t… discussed it.”

“What’s there to discuss?”

You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.

His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, “Oh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?”

No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.

“Is Argyle’s birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?”

You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddie’s own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddie’s side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room.

It’s not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene — you just didn’t want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldn’t have to, if you’d just tell him how you felt.

“Probably not,” Eddie murmurs, “I mean, it’s his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.”

The issue is that’s what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time.

You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddie’s purchase in his grip, “Yeah. Next time.”

You can’t even be mad at next time. It’s the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth you’d discovered yet to Eddie.

You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you don’t think anything of it.

—

STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight?

You don’t see the text. You’re a bit busy with something when it comes through.

Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant.

STEVE-O: ???

The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesn’t phase either of you. Eddie’s tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.

“Fuck,” you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, “Oh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.”

The way you’re moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.

He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment he’d shut the front door behind the two of you until he’d thrown you down on his bed.

“That’s right, baby,” his voice vibrates against your clit, “Say my name. Tell everyone who’s making you feel this goo-“

STEVE-O: helllooooo????

“Okay, who the fuck keeps texting you?” Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes you’re slipping out of that bubble he’d created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, “Let me guess, it’s your other boyfriend?”

Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure he’d been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee you’re even more irked.

“I don’t have another boyfriend,” you blandly reply, not taking his bait.

It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone.

“You sure?”

You squint at the notifications, but don’t properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steve’s the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddie’s valiant teasing.

You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, “I am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you don’t get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-“

He doesn’t need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots he’s come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.

You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.

“You were saying?” he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.

He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering.

With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When he’s looking at you with a hunger you almost can’t place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how you’ve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy.

STEVE-O: seriously. if you don’t respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.

At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddie’s hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more.

“Baby,” he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, “Maybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-“

Eddie’s interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.

You were going to kill Steve Harrington.

“On second thought, let me answer it,” Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, “Give the fucker a piece of my mind.”

“Shut up,” you hiss as you realize it’s Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.

“Hello?” you snap after swiping to answer.

“Finally! My God, Steve’s been texting you-“

“I didn’t see the texts.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Nope.”

You’ve never been so short with your friends.

But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. It’s enough to piss anyone off.

“Are you sure?” Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “It’s kind of a far walk-“

“I’m running late,” you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding — it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you weren’t available, always feigning reasons as to why you didn’t reply to texts as timely as you used to. “With getting ready. I could- I don’t know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isn’t my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?”

At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. You’re nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.

“You want Eddie to pick you up?” you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.

Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. It’s so damn cute to Eddie that he can’t help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues.

So much more than like.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on speaker.”

“Why do you want Munson to pick you up?” Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, “He drives a motorcycle, you know. That’s dangerous.”

Eddie must be able to catch some of Steve’s shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you don’t hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker.

“Motorcycles are not that dangerous,” you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, “He has a helmet, right?”

“Isn’t your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?” Robin questions, “I mean, I’m all for you asking lover boy if he’ll give you a ride but-”

Steve interrupts her flatly, “It’s making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.”

You don’t know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldn’t be further from the truth, or Robin’s new nickname for Eddie.

Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. He’s still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face.

“Steve,” you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddie’s lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember you’re on the phone, “No offense, but Eddie hasn’t been on time to a single get together the entire time I’ve known him.”

Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping.

Don’t bite me, you mouth at him.

Don’t be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever.

“Technically we’re all already late,” Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, “Nancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyle’s on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didn’t get any response,” there’s a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, “Have… you heard from him recently?”

“Why are you saying it like that?” you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddie’s space.

You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, you’d had a panic attack at the revelation.

You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once he’d wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.

Practically living together, and you still hadn’t said those words back to him.

“I’m not saying it like anything!” Steve defends himself, “I’m just asking an innocent question!” Eddie’s snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, “Shut up. It’s a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?”

Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends.

“Trust me,” you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, “I remember.”

He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment.

“Babe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,” Robin’s voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, “Unless you’re just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-”

“I’m not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.”

Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think.

“You just sound like you are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie.

He hardly has time to react before you’re tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on.

As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, “Denial isn’t a good look on you.”

Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants.

When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra?

You shake your head. You don’t know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and you’re not in the mood to frantically search for it. You’ve gone without a bra before – you can survive one night out without one.

Eddie’s entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute.

“Now you guys are just being assholes,” you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, “I’m texting Eddie. If he has already left, I’ll just walk. Fuck you guys.”

“Tell lover boy I said hi,” Robin teases.

“Even if he’s already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know he’d jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,” Steve’s voice grumbles over the line.

It almost makes you smile. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Not jealous, just annoyed,” Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, “When are you two going to get your shit together?”

“What do you mean?” you play dumb.

You’ve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what you’d been keeping from them for months now.

“Don’t you have a 4.0 GPA?” Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, “You can’t possibly be this stupid.”

Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile he’d left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you.

“First of all, no. I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,” you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, you’ll also probably break. And you aren’t in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, “Second of all, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to call Eddie. At least he won’t be such a dick to me.”

“Oh, you must see the irony there-”

You cut Steve off, “Bye! See you in… like, ten minutes.”

Once you’ve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but it’s a lost cause at this point. Fuck it.

Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, “Oh, you’re going to call me now, sweetheart?”

You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, “And what if I don’t want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean – insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.”

Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.

Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily.

“I’m teasing you?” you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeans’ zipper, “You didn’t even make me cum.”

“Seems like we’ll both be spending the night frustrated, then,” he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, “Besides, that was technically Harrington’s fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue – without interruptions, of course.”

He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror. The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand.

And Eddie knows this. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you, and it’s deliberate.

Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, “I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?”

Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as he’s walking away from me right now.

You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.

You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point.

After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, you’re darting out of Eddie’s apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where he’s waiting. He’s already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You don’t fight him on who’s going to wear it – that’s a battle, you’ve learned, you will always lose.

We really need to just buy a second helmet.

The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. He’d probably make a joke about your head being big. He’d probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. You’d probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it.

Domesticity. The image of it doesn’t ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isn’t something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. It’s something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all you’d have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly.

Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. He’d gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words.

“M’lady,” he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, “Your chariot awaits.”

You don’t have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers aren’t just desire for him – there’s a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found.

You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, “Oh, and babe?”

Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, “What?”

“That’s my shirt.”

“What?”

He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, “That fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.”

You look down, and he’s right. It’s too late to go back inside to change, and you know he’s aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you.

Bastard.

“I-” you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s fine. I doubt they’ll even notice.”

—

You were wrong. They do notice.

Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night you’d been introduced to the group. There’s only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You don’t miss that mischievous look of success on Robin’s face as she looks overly proud of herself.

They’d set it up so we’d sit next to each other.

You’re grateful for your friends’ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.

“Is that Eddie’s shirt?”

Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely.

“What?” you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric.

Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good.

“That is Eddie’s shirt,” Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly.

“What?” you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, “No, it’s not.”

“He has one just like it,” Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, “He literally wore it - what? Two days ago?”

In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, “People can own the same shirt. He’s not the gatekeeper of-” you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. “Deftones.”

Ah, fuck.

It’s not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie – it’s the memories that flood back. You, on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddie’s neck.

Fuck.

You really wish Steve and Robin hadn’t interrupted earlier.

“It’s not like I got it at a show,” Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if he’s lying, “They’ve gotten more popular lately. I’ve seen their shit in Target.”

“Exactly!” you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, “Exactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.”

You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyone’s attention to return to the focus of the night – everyone’s attention but Nancy’s.

You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are – which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. – but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. You’re probably just being paranoid. You’re definitely just being paranoid.

You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. It’s nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your group’s noise, it’s homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead.

And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away.

He’s looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one – he only has eyes for you.

“So!” Argyle announces, “I think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so… excitedly suggested,” and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, “We should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.”

Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how they’re driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, he’d only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey.

Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance.

When he’d taken off his jacket, you’d silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before he’d caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as he’d flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. He’d even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.

And Nancy had noticed.

“That’s only three shots per person!” Argyle defends, “Four for me, since you know – birthday boy.”

While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you aren’t. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself.

Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.

“I’m down,” you shrug, “Hell, I’ll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses won’t.”

“Is that a good idea?”

You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancy’s face told you she was officially catching on.

He hadn’t said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. He’d said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots.

You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly.

You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, “What, are you my keeper now?”

Despite your best efforts, the statement doesn’t come across as friendly banter. It’s not quite fighting either. It’s a dare, you dangling something in Eddie’s face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when he’d deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When he’d deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames.

You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight.

His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, “I don’t know, am I?”

Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say she’ll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie.

“I don’t think you are, Munson.”

Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is.

Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and it’s clear to any outsider this wasn’t a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough.

She’s playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything.

“So, Eddie,” she begins, drawing the entire group’s attention to her best friend, “Do anything fun today?”

He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. “I- Um-”

“You just didn’t answer any of my texts today,” she continues on, “Must have been busy, yeah?”

Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah – no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. You’d already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. He’d only laughed and shut you up with a kiss.

His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, “I just had to go to the mall and-”

“Is that a new phone?” Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, “Oh, holy shit, my dude! That’s a new phone! That is an iPhone if I’ve ever seen one!”

Everyone – Robin, Steve, Jonathan – are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they can’t believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly.

“It is,” Steve laughs in disbelief, “Never thought I’d see the day, Munson.”

Robin scrunches her face, “Does this mean we have to add him to the group chat?”

You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look.

“Yes, yes. I’ve finally joined the dark side,” he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddie’s spectacle, thanking her kindly, “Feast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-”

“Holy shit.”

Nancy’s sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, “What? What happen-”

Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.

Oh no.

“Eddie,” Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly.

“What?” Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.

Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, “What exactly is your lockscreen?”

Eddie goes pale. You’re confused, looking at the phone he’s currently cradling with the screen against his palm.

Did he even change it? Wouldn’t it just be one of the default ones?

“Guys,” you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, “It’s probably just some default screen, don’t tease him.”

“That was not a default screen,” Nancy laughs out.

Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if he’s been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. “Uh…. Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

“Show the class your lock screen, Eds.”

“Fuck off, Nancy.”

“Oh my God,” Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, who’s dipping his face down, “He’s blushing!”

“Guys, leave him alone,” Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue what’s going on.

You have no clue what his lockscreen is.

“Edward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or I’m Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,” Robin continues to threaten.

You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone else’s, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble.

“Eddie,” you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, “What the fuck is your lockscreen?”

He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.

It’s a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasn’t helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds.

It’s a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddie’s chest.

For a moment, everyone else at the table doesn’t exist. You hadn’t been insane that night – he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him.

“I was going to make it the one of you at Betty’s,” he whispers, “But, I just- I really liked this photo.”

He’s still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him.

You’re the farthest thing from upset at him.

“You made me your lockscreen?” you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips.

You’re not upset at him. As a matter of fact, you’re in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street – you are in love with Eddie Munson.

And you have been for a while. You just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.

“Yeah,” he loosens up a little when he realizes you’re happy, enamored with the fact, “Yeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favorite…. Enemy?”

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancy’s teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good.

“As birthday boy,” Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, “I am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.”

Eddie doesn’t make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval.

Well, so much for next time.

You give him a little nod.

Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.

This, as a matter of fact, changes everything.

No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.

The reactions all vary.

Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, “Oh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!”

Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, “Son of a bitch.”

Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, “I should have fucking known.”

“Hold on,” you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, “Wait, did you guys fucking bet on this?”

“We did,” Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, “What do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, we’ve gotta ask the most important question,” she shoves a palm against Steve’s chest so that he’s out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, “When did this happen?”

You don’t have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly you’re back to two months ago. You’re outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and you’re home.

You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air.

You liked him, you liked him, you liked him.

And the feeling was mutual.

You’d already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real.

“I don’t wanna start over,” the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, “I- I don’t need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right – it wasn’t all bad, and… and I don’t want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, “So very not stupid.”

“I don’t care if you were a dick,” you continued on, carefully, “I was, too. We were both… shitty. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.”

“Make it up to you?” he grinned playfully, “And just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?”

“Ask me out,” his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didn’t care, “To dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours – I don’t care. Just… Just please, Munson, ask me out.”

And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. You’d gone to dinner, you’d gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more.

“The night of the bet,” Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier.

Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had.

You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize she’s the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, “I’m assuming you guessed correctly?”

“I did,” she nods, looking proud of herself.

“How’d you know?”

Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddie’s direction, “That idiot has always been down bad for you-”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie stops her, “I’ve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.”

“No need to embarrass you?” Nancy asks in disbelief, “Good God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no – I have earned this, Munson.”

You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, “You only told me about the first time.”

“I only remembered the first time,” he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, “I was usually dru-”

“Don’t lie,” Nancy stops him, “There were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.”

Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.

“Aw, babe,” you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, “You had a crush on me? That’s cute.”

His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, it’s just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment.

His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, “So did you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Not mistaken,” you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat.

Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You don’t think you’ll ever stop having a crush on him, even as he’s surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now.

Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but it’s all white noise when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re everything to him, like he’s just returned home after a long week.

You’d really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but there’ll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time.

The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that you’ve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real.

“Hey, Munson,” you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, “I-” and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just won’t come out. You want to scream – you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, “I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me,” a pathetic excuse at a coverup, “And… I’m really glad they made that first bet.”

He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months.

You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him.

“I’m really glad I didn’t hate you, too,” he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, “Actually, I’m glad you don’t hate me. Not anymore, at least.”

“I never really did.”

“You definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?”

You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind.

Eddie can’t help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you.

That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

So why can’t you just tell him that?

“Aw!” Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, “Aren’t they just adorable?”

“Yes, yes,” Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, “Absolutely adorable. It’s nauseating. Also, I’d like to go on record �� I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Playing the Devil’s advocate?” Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, “I dig it. Even though you’re totally lying right now.”

“You’re so lucky it’s your birthday, dude,” Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult.

Eddie’s arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots.

These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot.

“Also-” Steve turns to you and Eddie, “I knew that was Munson’s shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.”

Eddie’s hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, “Sure you did, Stevie.”

“Target has some nice things,” Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass.

The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie.

“To Argyle,” you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, “The most lovable twenty three year old I know.”

Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, “Nah, fuck that. It’s not even my birthday yet – I demand a new toast.”

He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do.

And yeah, you did know what to do.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddie’s arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what you’re about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, “To bets.”

A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyones’ tongues.

Eddie hardly waits before you’ve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. You’re surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really don’t care as you kiss your boy back.

Next time. You have to tell him next time.

—

The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly.

Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. It’s all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind.

You don’t even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her.

Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his car’s interior not getting covered in puke.

It’s a domino effect from there.

Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddie’s arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless.

Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged – that’s not the part that gets to you – with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And it’s fine – you laugh along and it’s all good. You let them get in all their I told you so’s and know it’s all in good fun.

It’s all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddie’s bike across the lot from everyone else’s cars.

The moment you two are alone, you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if it’s the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.

I love you.

It’s not because your friends have found out. You know it’s not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, you’d had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. You’d had a breakdown because you hadn’t grown tired of him yet, hadn’t satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadn’t gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadn’t gotten used to the way he’d kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasn’t novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.

You had a breakdown because you love Eddie.

You love him, ardently so, and you still can’t find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know – the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.

It’s all you can think about as his hand finds yours and he’s walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves.

“So, I was thinking,” he carries on conversation so casually, “You want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you don’t have any class-“

Now. Not later, not next time. Now.

“Hey, Eddie?” you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike.

His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, “What’s up, babe?”

Here goes nothing – be brave.

“I-”

Why is this so hard?

It shouldn’t be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy.

It’s easy when he’s looking at you like this, like he always does. It’s easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. It’s easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows you’ve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. It’s easy when he tries to distract you from homework when you’ve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. It’s easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right.

It’s easy. He loves you – you love him. It isn’t hard. You’re making this hard, when it never was.

“I love you,” you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily.

Loving Eddie is easy.

“I love you,” you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. It’s true – you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him.

His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.

You don’t wait for his response. You already have it – in the way he’s still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year.

“You love me?” he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life.

You nod without hesitation, “I love you, Eddie.”

Now that you’ve started saying it, you can’t stop it. And each time, it’s still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. It’s pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you.

He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours.

“Say it again,” he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, “God, please say it again, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-”

“You do not think my lockscreen is stupid,” he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, “I saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.”

You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he won’t let you, “I was not-”

“You were,” he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, “You were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyle’s spotlight.”

“We didn’t steal Argyle’s spotlight,” you try to defend yourself.

“We so did.”

You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, “We… Okay, we sort of did.”

He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, “We definitely did. And it’s fair, because they fucking bet on us.”

“They did,” you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, “They tend to do that a lot, don’t they?”

“They do.”

He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. It’s less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be.

You have an audience. You’re completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off.

“Hell yeah, my dudes!” Argyle’s voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo.

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.

Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyle’s continuing whooping, “Get a room!”

Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other.

Your eyes find Nancy. She’s looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddie’s as well, yet you can’t help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddie’s rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable.

Finally.

“Congrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!” she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking.

You see it now. Why they’re best friends. How all her best parts and Eddie’s best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly.

Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, “Now take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.”

Eddie’s laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that it’s simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, you’ll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you ‘hostage’ for twenty four hours straight – it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he is, home is. He’s your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and he’s your home.

When his laughter finally fades, and he’s looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, “Just in case you’ve forgotten – I’m very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.”

His lips meet yours for good measure.

It’s been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but you’re finally home.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

#twenty four hours #eddie munson #my writing #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #i cannot believe it's over holy shit #holy fucking shit #told y'all the photo would make a reappearance!#im resisting the urge to be so so sappy jesus christ

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wholoveseggs · 4 months

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Can you do a smut story about y/n teasing elijah at a party then later on it leads to elijah being dominant but also Sensual/passionate in bed

Whine

gif credit --- > @forbescaroline {this gif is so hotttt}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You make the mistake of testing Elijah's patience and he puts you in your place.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @ashloring & anon, I hope you don't mind that I combined the Ideas ♡♡

~I have so many requests {over 30!!!} so at this point I'm just going with whatever I fancy... thanks for understanding & don't hesitate to send me more {I love reading all of your ideas}~

5k words - Warnings: smut, soft? dom!elijah {the most dom i've written thus far}, tiny bit of choking, lilttlllee bit of squirting, mild bdsm, Elijah using his belt instead of his tie, jealousy, possessiveness, wasting wine...

Your boyfriend is a true gentleman, sweet and attentive, always putting your needs before his own, but as much as you tried, you couldn't get him to be rough with you in bed. You understood why, the trauma in his past made him afraid to hurt you. But you completely trusted him, so when he finally relented to your begging and he was only half as rough as you'd been wanting, still holding back, you knew you needed to do something.

There was a solution to this, one you had been considering for a long time.

Make. Him. Snap.

The first step was to be a total tease while making sure his brothers could see, flaunt your body in front of them, make him jealous, that would set the fire burning in his veins.

The second step was to touch him in all the places that you know he's sensitive and push his boundaries. Turn him on until you break his perfect sense of control.

Third was to make him chase you, you'd run away and see how far he'd go to get you, then you'd let him catch you.

And tonight you were putting the plan into action.

The dress you chose was strategic, it was skin tight and black, with a scoop neckline, it ended at mid thigh. The dress itself would have looked modest if it weren't for the fact you weren't wearing any underwear or bra. Your ample breasts being held up by the tightness of the dress, your nipples poking through ever so slightly. The heels you were wearing were stiletto and made your legs look long and lean. Your makeup dark and smokey around your eyes, with a bright red lipstick to draw attention to your mouth. Your hair styled in big loose curls.

All in all you looked sinful, and you were about to go to war.

Klaus is the first to notice your attire, he pulled you in for a hug, a wholly uncharacteristic move, he then took a step back and looked you up and down, a smirk playing on his lips.

"My my my, aren't you a vision." He said, his voice was a low growl, his gaze lingered on your low neckline.

You grinned, you knew how this game was played, you'd had the practice.

"Thank you Klaus, I was hoping you would think so." You say, flashing him a flirty smile.

"So glad you could make it to my little party," He says, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him, you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"Oh I don't think anything associated with you could be described as little," You tease, running a finger down his chest.

"Is that so?" He asks, his lips inches from your own, his voice is low and dangerous, but he still has a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Elijah was watching the entire exchange with pure rage, the way Klaus was touching you, the way you were touching him.

The worst part was that the two of you weren't even touching sexually, just small caresses to his chest and face and he was behaving as though he wanted to devour you whole.

He didn't know why you were acting this way, usually you were so polite, well mannered, respectful, but right now you weren’t behaving.

The fact that you were doing this in his family home was insulting, the fact that it was his brother whom you were behaving this way with was infuriating.

When you caught his eye and winked at him his stomach dropped, you were doing this on purpose.

Klaus saw the exchange between you and his brother and he grinned, he didn't mind being a pawn in your fantasy, the fact that you were willing to flirt so outrageously with him was an ego boost, not to mention the way it was making his brother furious.

So this is a game?

Well, Elijah never lost at a game, and he wasn't about to start now.

He turned his attention back to you and gave you a cheeky smile, "my brother doesn't crack easily, good luck, you're going to need it." He said, giving you a peck on the cheek.

You smiled back at him, "thank you, I'll remember that."

With that you turned on your heel and left Klaus' side, you walked right past Elijah, making sure your fingers trailed across his chest as you passed him.

He watched your ass as you walked away from him, then he noticed his brothers gaze lingering on the same area.

"Niklaus," He hissed.

"What?" Klaus asked, feigning innocence.

Elijah gave him a look that could melt the paint off the walls, which made Klaus laugh.

"Come on brother, can't you see she wants to play?" Klaus asked.

Elijah walked away before he was forced to resort to violence. As much as it infuriated him to see you behaving this way he had to admit that it was arousing, you looked so beautiful and he couldn't wait to show you exactly what he thought about that dress, but not yet.

Elijah had decided to play your game, he had been watching you all night, and every time you spoke or danced with another man, he felt his temper rising, the way other men touched you, looked at you, made his blood boil.

So he bided his time and waited, sitting down in the lounge with his siblings and observing you as you went from group to group, laughing and flirting, touching people and letting them touch you.

You took him by surprise when you approached him, sitting down next to him to talk to Rebekah.

Your proximity to him, and the way you casually rested your hand on his leg was very distracting, but he stayed calm, even though every time your hand would move an inch higher his heart rate would increase.

"Do you think Klaus would mind if I stole some wine from the cellar?" You asked Rebekah, eyeing Elijah in your periferie, a challenge in your voice.

"No, I'm sure he wouldn't," She answered, smiling.

"Wonderful, I'll be right back," You say, getting up and walking away, exaggerating the sway of your hips, knowing Elijah can't take his eyes off your ass.

He watched you disappear down the corridor, he knew exactly what you were doing. The stubborn part of him wanted to resist, but his body had other ideas.

He found you in the wine cellar, bending over, reaching for a bottle, the fabric of your dress stretched tight across your backside. He took a moment to admire the view, then he closed the door, the sound making you turn around.

"I was wondering how long it would take you." You said, smiling, placing the bottle of wine on the counter in the middle of the room.

He stalked towards you, his expression blank, his movements smooth, when he reached you he grabbed your chin and tilted your face up towards him.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He growled, his gaze raking over your body.

You widened your eyes, looking up at him and giving him the most innocent look you could manage, "I was just getting a bottle of wine," You say, the tone of your voice was soft, sweet, a stark contrast to the look in your eyes.

Elijah narrowed his eyes at you, a dark smirk on his face, he wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of falling for your game, not here anyway.

"Well then, I will leave you to it," He said, dropping his hand from your face, turning around and heading for the door.

"Elijah," You called after him, you hadn't expected him to turn you down, you had planned to have a lot more fun than this.

"Yes?" He replied, pausing in the doorway, looking at you expectantly.

You hopped up onto the counter, your dress riding up your thighs as you spread your legs. Exposing the most intimate part of yourself.

"Don't you want a taste?" You asked, the tone of your voice was low and suggestive, you bit your lip, a sly smile on your face.

"Of the wine?" He asked, the question was rhetorical, the answer was obvious, but he wasn't going to cave so easily.

You nodded.

"Why not, a glass would be lovely," He replied, walking back over to you and picking up the bottle of wine.

He uncorked it and poured two glasses, then he handed one to you, he stood between your legs, maintaining eye contact as he sipped the wine, giving you nothing but a cheeky grin.

You were shocked, and a little annoyed, this was not the reaction you were expecting. You put your glass down and touched his chest, looking at him with wide doe eyes.

"Are you not thirsty?" You ask, moving your hands lower, stopping when they reach his belt.

"Oh, I am," He replied, taking another sip.

You were determined to get a rise out of him, so you slowly slid your hands underneath his shirt, the muscles of his abdomen were hard, and the way he was looking at you made a fire ignite in your core.

"And are you not going to quench your thirst?" You asked, your tone was soft and sweet.

He sighed and set his glass down, taking hold of your wrists, pulling your hands away from him.

"That is enough." He growled.

He was still holding onto your wrists, the grip was firm, and the look in his eyes was hungry, a fire burning behind them.

You smirked at him, pleased with the reaction you were finally getting.

He stepped closer, his chest pressing against yours, his face was inches from your own.

"You think that you can beat me? You can't," He whispered.

His mouth was almost touching yours, the proximity of his body was driving you wild, his lips grazed your jaw, then he leaned in and licked the shell of your ear.

You were shaking with anticipation, the warmth of his breath on your skin was intoxicating, you were so turned on.

He took your legs and brought both feet up, planting them on the counter, spreading them apart.

Then he stepped back, his gaze lingered on your center.

"Look at you, so wet, so ready for me," He purred, running his hands up the inside of your thighs, stopping just short of where you wanted him to be.

You bit your lip, trying not to moan, his hands were warm and soft, and you couldn't wait for him to touch you.

You tried to bring your legs together but he held them open, his strength keeping you exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

He grinned, "oh no darling, you don't get to hide from me."

With one hand he reached up and pulled down your dress, revealing your breasts, they bounced slightly when he released them, his eyes darkened as he took them in.

"Stay just like this," He said, his voice low and dangerous, the look in his eyes was pure predatory lust, his pupils were dilated and his breathing was heavy.

You were frozen in place, your legs spread, your dress pulled down, your breasts on display. You watched him take a step back to get the full view, and he groaned at the sight.

He undid his belt, slowly pulling it through the loops, holding it in one hand as he stepped back in-between your legs.

You were starting to regret your plan, you had expected Elijah to react, but you didn't think he'd be so dominant, his control and self restraint were unshakeable, and the fact that he could hold himself back even now made you ache for him, desperate for his touch.

You didn't say anything, you couldn't, your mind was a fog of arousal, and you didn't trust yourself to speak. You just looked up at him, trying your best to not cave under his unrelenting eye contact.

He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over yours, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning your face.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, his tone was soft, but there was an edge to it.

You nodded, your breathing was labored, your heart was beating wildly in your chest.

"Say it," He commanded, his voice was harsh, and his gaze was piercing, boring into you.

"Elijah, please," You begged, the look on his face made you feel like you were losing control of the situation, and you couldn't help but comply.

"Please what?" He asked, his hand caressing your thigh.

"Please, fuck me," You breathed, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your whole body was aching for him, and you could feel how wet you were.

"So filthy," He tsked, "you have no idea what I'm going to do to that mouth."

The thought of Elijah fucking your mouth sent a jolt of arousal through you, the image of him using your throat while he looked down at you with those piercing eyes, made you whimper.

"Well? Get on your knees." He ordered, gesturing for you to move.

You did as he commanded, dropping to your knees and looking up at him expectantly, you could feel the wetness pooling in-between your thighs.

"What a good girl," He cooed, his hand stroking your cheek, the touch was soft, gentle.

"Take my cock out," He ordered, his voice calm and controlled.

You reached up and unzipped his trousers, he was wearing black boxers underneath, the bulge in them was prominent.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, his erection sprang free, and you took a moment to admire him before taking him in your hand, your thumb gliding over the head, smearing precum over the tip.

He closed his eyes, and you saw a shudder go through him, he let out a soft groan and his hands went to your hair.

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around him, his cock was warm and thick, and you couldn't help but moan as you started to bob your head.

You hollowed out your cheeks, using your tongue to swirl around the tip, you were taking him all the way down, your lips touching the base of his shaft.

"That's it," He groaned, his hand on the back of your head, holding you in place.

You sucked and swirled, licking the underside of his cock, the taste of him was intoxicating, and the feeling of him in your mouth was exhilarating, knowing that it was you who made him feel this way.

His breathing was ragged, his grip on your hair tightened, and his hips started thrusting, forcing his cock further down your throat, his balls slapping against your chin.

You let out a soft hum, the vibrations making him moan, his eyes squeezed shut. You knew he was close, his breathing was ragged, his thighs were trembling, and his moans were growing louder.

You pulled off of him with a pop, you had to tease him a little bit, he wasn't the only one who could be controlling.

He was panting, his cock throbbing, aching to be inside of you. He opened his eyes, they were full of hunger and lust.

And that's when you knew you won.

He grabbed your arm, pulling you up, his fingers digging into your skin, it was painful, but you liked it. He pushed you back against the counter, his mouth on yours, his hands all over your body.

You couldn't believe the effect you were having on him, his kisses were hot and passionate, his hands roaming over your body, his teeth biting your neck.

You were lost in the feeling of him, his touch, his kisses, the heat of his body pressed against yours. He roughly turned you around, wrapping his belt around your wrists, his breath tickling your neck.

He pulled the skirt of your dress up, exposing your ass, the cool air making you shiver, he was so close, and his hands were so warm, you couldn't help but moan as he caressed you, squeezing the cheeks, his nails digging into the flesh.

He then turned you back around, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze stopping at your breasts, his expression was one of desire, and something else, something darker, something dangerous.

He lifted you up, and sat you down on the counter, his fingers trailing over your collarbone, his thumb brushing over your exposed nipples.

"These have been teasing me all night," He growled, pinching one of them.

You gasped, arching your back, pressing your chest against him, wanting more.

He kissed you again, his tongue plunging into your mouth, exploring every inch of it, his hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip.

You were so caught up in the kiss that you didn't notice him reach behind you, grabbing a bottle of wine and uncorking it.

He pulled back and grinned at you, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Elijah, what are you doing?" You asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Oh darling, I'm just going to have some wine." He said innocently.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, "no, Elijah, don't."

But it was too late, he poured a little down your chest, the cold wine making you shiver, and the sight of it flowing over your breasts was incredibly erotic.

His mouth followed the trail of the wine, his tongue licking and sucking every inch of skin, the feeling of his tongue on you made you moan, his lips and teeth working their magic.

He then moved to your nipple, licking the wine off, his tongue swirling around the peak, his teeth gently nipping at it, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

You were a moaning mess, the sensation of him lapping up the wine and sucking on your nipple was so intense, your breathing was heavy, and you were squirming in strong hold.

He took the other breast in his hand, massaging it, rolling the nipple between his fingers, the stimulation was driving you crazy, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Elijah, please, I need you," You moaned, the pressure in your core was almost unbearable.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He asked, a smirk on his face.

You glared at him, he was enjoying this, making you beg, his ego getting bigger by the second.

"I said, I need you." You repeated, emphasizing the words, hoping he would take pity on you.

He chuckled, "and why should I give you what you want?"

"Because, if you don't, I'll go find someone else," You challenged, giving him the most serious look you could muster.

His hand went to your throat, his grip was gentle and his eyes twinkled in amusement. He knew you would never do such a thing, and you knew it too.

"Oh really? Who would that be? Niklaus? Rebekah? Kol perhaps?" He asked, his tone mocking, and his smile growing wider.

You bit your lip, knowing you were beaten, but you had to try, he was being such a bastard, and the last thing you wanted to do was cave.

"No, but maybe I'll just go back to the party and find someone else," You countered, your voice steady, but your resolve was starting to crumble.

His other hand crept up your thigh, his fingers slowly grazing your center, the light touch was maddening.

"Is that so?" He purred, his fingers brushing over your clit, making you gasp.

You didn't reply, your eyes closing, you could feel him leaning down, his breath hot on your ear, "do you want to know what I would do to you if I found you with someone else?" He growled, his voice low and seductive.

His fingers were now circling your entrance, and his teeth were scraping over your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Elijah, please," You whined, your breathing heavy, your hands pulling desperately on the restraints.

"Answer the question," He commanded, his hand squeezing your neck.

You gasped, the pressure from his fingers was just enough to be pleasurable, and you could feel your resolve crumbling.

"Yes, tell me," You breathed.

He hummed, his mouth sucking a spot on your neck, the pleasure from the contact was sending shockwaves through your body.

"I would rip out his heart and feed it to him," He whispered, his lips moving against the shell of your ear.

His words were sending a rush of excitement through you, his possessiveness was incredibly sexy, and the idea of him going so far as to kill for you was so fucking hot.

His fingers finally entered you, sliding into your dripping cunt, the stretch was delicious, and the fullness made you moan.

"Here is what's going to happen," He began, his tone serious, "if you aren't in my bed, naked, in three minutes, I'm going to assume that you decided to be a brat and find someone else to fuck. Is that understood?"

You nodded, his fingers curled inside of you, hitting a spot that made your vision go white.

"Say it," He ordered, his hand tightening around your neck, the pressure was almost enough to make you black out.

"I- I understand," You gasped, your body starting to tremble.

In one swift motion he pulled away and freed you from your restraints. You were still coming down from your high, breathing heavily, watching him fix his clothes.

"Well?" He asked, his voice full of authority, "you only have two minutes and thirty seconds left," he smirked.

You hopped off the counter, and smoothed down your dress, not caring about the fact that there were streaks of wine down your chest.

You made your way back towards the ballroom, not even glancing back at him. You were trying your best to act inconspicuous, but you had very little time and the compound was big.

You half ran, half walked towards the staircase, careful not to draw any attention. When you reached the top of the stairs you were panting, you knew you only had a minute left.

You hurried to his room, throwing open the door, and rushing inside, not even bothering to turn on the lights.

You quickly removed your dress and climbed on the bed, the cool sheets a welcome sensation. You laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling, the anticipation was killing you, and the thought of what he was going to do to you was making you ache with need. You weren't surprised that he bested you, he was a Mikaelson after all, and they never failed to live up to their reputation.

Your breath hitched when you heard the door open, you knew it was him, and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the silence.

"My my, look at you," He murmured, his voice smooth as silk.

He approached the bed, his eyes roaming over your body, "so beautiful, so perfect."

You bit your lip, his words were so sincere, and his tone was so tender, you couldn't help but melt a little.

He undressed himself, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. The moonlight was shining through the window, casting an ethereal glow on his skin, highlighting his muscles.

He was breathtaking, his body was perfect, lean and strong, every inch of him was pure masculinity, and the sight of him naked, standing at the foot of the bed, his cock erect and throbbing, was enough to make your mouth water.

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, his eyes boring into yours. You felt so small under his intense gaze, his pupils were blown, and his breathing was ragged.

His mouth descended on yours, his kiss was soft and gentle, his lips moving slowly, tasting and savoring. You pulled a bit on his hair, wanting more, and he complied, his kiss deepening, his tongue exploring your mouth.

His hand wandered between your legs, pushing two fingers inside you, his palm pressed against your clit. He moved his arm up and down, hitting your g-spot with each motion. Your legs began to shake, and your body arched into his, the feeling was amazing, you clung to his arm, nails digging into his skin. He increased his speed, wetness pooling around his fingers, the sounds of his hand inside of you were lewd and obscene.

"Eli- wait" you gasped, on the verge of exploding, your hips bucking wildly, your nails raking over his back, drawing blood.

"Are you going to cum for me?" He growled, his fingers moving faster, his hand pressing harder against your clit.

"Yes, fuck, Elijah, yes," You cried, his name a mantra on your lips.

"Good girl," He cooed, his lips pressed against your ear.

His words sent you over the edge, and your orgasm hit you hard, your vision going white, your body convulsing.

Your walls clenched around his fingers, the feeling was unbelievably intense, and his arm continued to pump inside of you as you gushed all over his hand. He chuckled as you coated his fingers and sheets, clearly pleased with himself.

You were trembling, breathing heavily, and your eyes were still squeezed shut.

"You made a mess of my bed," He said, his voice full of amusement.

"Fuck you," You breathed, your chest heaving, "I hate you so much right now."

He grabbed your hips and pulled you underneath him, his hard cock rubbing against your pussy.

"Is that so?" He mused, his lips grazing your neck.

You pushed on his chest, trying to create some distance between you, but he just grabbed your arms and pinned you down, grinding his cock against you.

"Eli-," You breathed, squirming beneath him, his grip on your wrists tightening.

He hummed, easing himself into you, filling you up with one swift thrust, his cock stretching you, the burn was delicious. You moaned, your walls clenching around him, his hips were flush against yours, and the fullness was overwhelming.

He began to pound into you, his pace so relentless that you were pushed further up the bed with each thrust, the headboard banging against the wall, the sound was echoing throughout the room.

"Where are you going?" He teased, his voice full of lust and mischief as he grabbed your hips and pulled you back underneath him, the new angle allowing him to penetrate deeper.

You cried out, the pleasure was immense, and your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers were digging into his chest, leaving angry red scratches on his skin that healed instantly.

"Fuck, Elijah, yes," You moaned, his name falling from your lips, your eyes were rolling back into your head as your orgasm crashed over you, stars danced behind your eyelids, your whole body was trembling, and your mind went blank.

You tightened around his cock, and he let out a primal growl, the sound sending a rush of heat to your core, his thrusts became erratic, and his pace quickened, his balls slapping against your ass, the sound obscene and erotic.

He slammed into you one last time, spilling his seed deep inside you, the feeling of him filling you up was incredible.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath hot against your neck, the feeling of his weight on top of you was comforting and familiar, and the sensation of his skin pressed against yours was soothing.

You ran your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, his hum of approval making you smile. He rolled the both of you over so that you were lying on his chest, his arms wrapped around you, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" He asked softly, kissing the top of your head.

You responded by kissing him slowly, and when you broke the kiss, you nuzzled your nose against his.

"It was perfect," You murmured, smiling sweetly, your eyes shining.

"I'm glad, my darling," He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone. "You made quite a mess of my bed," He teased.

You turned red and buried your face in his chest, your body had never done that before, and it was humiliating.

"Sorry," You mumbled, his chest rumbling with laughter.

"These are Egyptian cotton, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get them clean?" He teased, his lips curling into a smirk.

You rolled your eyes and tried to push yourself off of him, but his arms held you in place, his expression was mischievous.

"You can't leave, I have to clean you up," He grinned, his hands trailing down your back and over your ass, giving it a squeeze.

"I can clean myself," You huffed, trying to break free from his grasp, but he easily overpowered you.

"Nonsense, allow me," He said, his hands gently grabbing your wrists and holding them, "don't move."

He left a trail of kisses down your body, his tongue making its way along your thighs, cleaning up the wet mess that was dripping from you.

His touch was so tender, and his movements were slow, he seemed to be savoring the taste of you, the feeling was so sensual.

"You thought I was done with you?" He purred, his tone was laced with arousal and mischief.

"The party has only just begun,"

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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#elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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f1byjessie · 4 months

Text

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part three.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” You look down at the post. The photos, carefully taken a few nights ago while getting ready for a dinner gala you’d been brought along to as Sophia’s plus one, are pretty. She and you had scrolled and sorted and scrolled and sorted some more trying to pick the perfect ones, and then you’d written and rewritten the caption more times than you could count before finally settling on something vague but faintly implicit.

You study it for a moment longer, then look back up to your friend.

She smirks. “Trust me. It'll work. I got an ex-boyfriend to come crawling back begging for another chance by making him think I was already moving on.”

“It just seems… mean,” you murmur, frowning. You want Oscar to like you— you want it a lot— but you're not sure if this is the way you want to go about it. “Isn’t this just manipulating him?”

Sophia sighs and falls back onto the bed beside you. She gives you a look, gestures down to your phone, and then curls around your shoulder so she can peer down at the screen. “It’s not a soft launch. There’s no guy. The caption doesn’t mention anyone. If he gets the impression that you’re with someone else, then that’s on him.”

You trust her, of course, but this is Oscar. You’ve known him for years. He’s your brother’s best friend, and for the longest time, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend too. As twins, anything Logan did you tended to do with him— soccer, swimming, biking. You even had shared birthday parties growing up. Karting was the first real thing he’d done on his own, but even then you’d always been close by, and that meant you’d always been close by to Oscar too.

Like she can sense your continued hesitation, Sophia speaks up again. “If you post that, and he doesn’t react, then that’s that. You don’t have to do it again.”

“I just— I don’t know.” You worry your lip between your teeth. “I just don’t think it’s the type of thing that he’d go for. He’s, you know, polite like that, I guess? If he thought I was taken, or moving on, or something, then he’d respect that and wouldn’t bother me.”

The silence hangs in the room. She’s still leaning against you, one hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and the other hugging you into her. When you stand, she lets you go easily, watching as you begin to pace the length of your bedroom, phone clenched tightly in your hands.

When you finally come to a halt in the corner farthest from the bed, you turn and meet her gaze shyly, “What if he stops ‘maybe’ having feelings for me because he thinks I'm taken? Or, what if he thinks I’m not interested and so he doesn’t ever bring it up?”

“Then you take one for the team and you tell him,” she shrugs. “Woman up and admit that the entire time you were out in that fancy dress of yours with those roses, you’d wished it was him who had gotten them for you and you’d wanted it to be him you were getting dressed up for.”

You look back down to your phone.

You’ve never done this before— boys, at least. The chase. Europe hadn’t been a very easy place to live— not with a schedule that made keeping friends virtually impossible, let alone a boyfriend. When you moved back to the United States, you were focused more on your career, prioritizing yourself over anything else.

You’d been single for so long that you hadn’t been in any hurry to change things, but now the lack of experience is making you nervous. Apart from movies and books and the borderline horror stories Sophia has told you about her own disastrous love life, you don’t know the first thing about dating.

“Y/N, is this about Oscar or something else?”

You look up, still biting at your lip. “What if we break up and I’ve ruined a friendship?”

Sophia raises an eyebrow, “Is he the kind of guy that would throw away a friendship because things didn’t work out?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem! I wanna say no, that he’d be totally fine and we would be able to pretend like nothing happened and go back to how we were before it all, but I can’t,” you cross the room and lower yourself onto the bed again. “Context matters too. What if it’s a really messy breakup and we can never look at each other the same? What if he does something so unforgivable that it ruins his friendship with my brother? Logan worked hard to make friends and this first season was rough for him. He’s the only American driver on the grid, and they weren’t exactly welcoming. But Oscar was there for him and I would never forgive myself if I did something to ruin that.”

“What could Oscar do that would be so unforgivable it would ruin a friendship?”

You fall back onto the mattress. “I don’t know that either! Realistically he wouldn’t do anything because that’s just who he is— he’s like the nicest most genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. But I’m not a fortune teller! I can’t look into the future and know that he won’t get tired of me and go find some other girl, or, I don’t know.”

You can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes and wipe at them harshly.

Sophia notices and lays down beside you, pulling you into her side again. She runs her fingers through your hair and lets you compose yourself a bit more before she speaks up again. When she does, it’s— “You’re so afraid of the worst-case scenario that you aren’t even letting yourself take the chance. Sometimes you just gotta leap before you look and believe that you’ll land on solid ground.”

“I hate when you get philosophical on me,” you murmur, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

She sits back up and rolls her eyes, but there’s a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Puh-lease. As if you’d ever get anything done without my wizened words of advice.”

You sniffle and wipe the last remnants of tears from your eyes, then sit up with her and look back down at your phone. The unfinished post still stares back up at you.

“What if I just—” you delete the caption for the umpteenth time and let your fingers dance across the screen, “—say this instead?”

Sophia leans over your shoulder, reads the new caption, pauses, and purses her lips. She reads it again, hums, and then breaks out into a grin. An incredulous laugh slips out and she turns to you with shining eyes. “You’re a damn genius! I knew you were worried over nothing. You just gotta stop getting into your head so much.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,827 others

yourusername honey, i’m still free. take a chance on me.

view all 7,631 comments

user WHAT???

user IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???

↳ user she’s literally saying she’s still free?? why would she say that if this is a soft launch?? 😭😭

logansargeant should’ve taken me with you 😒

↳ yourusername logie we both know you hate black tie events

user girl idk how you can do it i’d be spilling out of that dress with one wrong turn

user THE ROSES?? THE BABY’S BREATH?? I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

landonorris slay girl queen boss

↳ yourusername lando… what…

↳ landonorris i’m in my supportive era 😌💅 you should try it sometime

user i NEED to know where that dress is from omg

user oh to be a young rich and beautiful socialite

user not to be delulu but there’s a surprising lack of op81 in these comments 👀

INSTAGRAM.

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 429,868 others

oscarpiastri it’s summer somewhere right?

view all 1,021 comments

landonorris hm this caption seems familiar 🤨 i wonder what it could be referencing 🤔

user GOOD LUCK IN 2024 OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user wishing this were me rn

user i’m too delulu for this rn 😭

↳ user i’m waiting for y/n to show up in these comments

↳ user did they have a fight or smth??? they haven’t commented on each other’s last few posts

user gosh that’s the dream rn

When you answer the unknown number, on your way back to your room with a tub of ice cream and a plan to eat away your disappointment at the failure of Sophia’s plan, the last thing you expect is to hear Lando Norris of all people on the other end. There’s no greeting, no introduction, just an immediate— “Yeah, so, I’m gonna need you to fill me in on the sitch.”

For a brief moment, all you can do is stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, wondering if this is real. You’ve had maybe a few brief conversations with Lando throughout your various visits to the paddock across the season, and though he was very nice and polite, and all of your interactions were friendly, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. Certainly not “swap numbers and call one another” type of friends, either. Your most recent socializing has been strictly confined to the comment sections of Instagram posts.

“Hello? Y/N?”

You clear your throat, “Sorry. What?”

“The sitch? Situation? That’s an American slang word, I thought you knew that.” He says it so matter-of-factly. As if that’s the only thing you could be even remotely confused about in this whole interaction.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head as if it’ll somehow straighten out the spinning of your mind. “I know what the word means, Lando. I’m just wondering why you of all people are calling me right now? How’d you even get my number?”

You can hear music and voices on the other end of the line, muffled and distant, and then a door opens and closes and the extra noise is gone. Lando takes a deep breath and sighs, “If you must know, I got it from Alex, who got it from Lily, who got it from you. So, you know, transitive property means technically I got it from you, too.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore how wrong all of that is,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continue down the hall and eventually slip into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You do recall giving your number to Lily, and the two of you have shared a few messages since the end of the season— mostly typical check-ins and catching up with the happenings of your individual lives. Occasionally she sends you recipes she thinks you’d like, and you do the same. You knew she’d given it to Alex because she’d asked you first if that was okay, and all Alex had sent was a brief well-wishes when Williams had confirmed Logan’s re-signing, accompanied by a short message that Lily was looking forward to seeing you in the paddock again.

Ignoring all of that, however, you focus on the matter at hand. “Why are you calling? Isn’t it crazy late in Monaco right now?”

He hums. “I’m the slightest bit tipsy, but I cannot take it anymore. If I see one more caption with underlying subtext like this is a forbidden romance in a period drama I am going to, quite frankly, lose my mind. I need you to explain to me what in the fuck is going on between you and Oscar.”

You pause, and then you groan. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, ‘oh my God’ indeed. Now please explain.”

You heave a sigh, because you know he isn’t going to drop this, but you also know that if anyone could help you more than Sophia, it’s probably Lando. He’s Oscar’s teammate, and at the very least, if you can’t talk to Logan, you can talk to the only other person who probably knows him just as well.

“It’s a long story,” you mumble, curling up in your bed.

He makes a sound, like a scoff. “Okay? I have plenty of time.”

So you start from the beginning. Between spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream, you detail how it all started because of a message of condolence, how that had led to a rendezvous for drinks, and how that had led even further to him kissing you in the car as he’d dropped you off at your hotel.

He’s silent up until you mention that Oscar hadn’t acknowledged the kiss at all afterward, and then he makes an affronted noise and mutters something under his breath about stupid guys and heads in asses.

You admit that part of it was your own fault, that you hadn’t attempted to communicate either because you’d been afraid of the reaction and potentially the rejection, but that you’d been kicking yourself ever since for missing out on being able to talk face to face about things when you’d had the chance.

It all culminates in you explaining your current situation, and you tell him about your talk with Sophia and then your friend’s self-proclaimed mastermind plan, which had failed spectacularly when Oscar hadn’t even seen the post.

When you’re finished, there’s a moment of silence before he bursts into laughter.

You flush red in embarrassment and hug the tub of ice cream closer to your chest, feeling miserable and ashamed, but also like you deserve it all anyway. The tub isn’t freezing cold anymore, but the chill still seeps in through your shirt faintly, and it’s comforting against the heated blush.

“Sorry,” he says when his cackling has died down to chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I actually do want to help. I genuinely can’t take one more post with a caption that’s all thinly veiled pining.”

You pause, fiddle with your spoon for a moment, and then hesitantly ask— “Do you know if he likes me?”

Lando goes quiet, and then he hums and admits that he doesn’t. “But,” he adds quickly, “just because I don’t have total confirmation doesn’t mean it isn’t basically obvious. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know Oscar.”

You sigh, “But how are you going to help? You can’t just ask.”

“I don’t need to,” he answers, like you’re crazy for thinking he’d do something like that. “I’ve got a plan.”

Great. You run a hand down your face and try to stay optimistic. Another plan.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry

━━ a/n: a bit more writing heavy this part, and a bit longer because of it, but i'm proud of how it turned out! we're finally getting somewhere, and now we've got lando joining the team. genuinely had so much fun writing him, so i'm excited to feature him in future parts!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #alex albon #lando norris

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maximoffwitch · 11 months

Note

for the 1k celebration, could i please request from the smut list #126. "I'm sorry but, I don't think I can remain professional any longer." with natasha x fem(she/her) reader? 🥺

Keeping It Professional

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: 18+ !!! heavy sexual content, swearing, strap-on use (r receiving), fingering, reader has a praise kink, oral, mature content overall!!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: wow okay so this is like the smuttiest thing i have ever written i honestly don't know what i'm doing so pls be kind 🫣 also pls ignore the fact that this request is over a year old and from a celebration i never finished 😭 and as a reminder: this blog is 18+ !! (because this comes up in the story CEO is Chief Executive Officer and CFO is Chief Financial Officer :))

“You wanted to see, Ms. Romanoff?” You entered the large corner office, gently closing the door behind you.

“Yes, (Y/N),” the redhead didn’t even look up at you, her eyes still glued to whatever important documents she was reviewing. Natasha Romanoff was one of the most powerful CEOs in the city, if not the world, starting her own consulting firm at just 23. By the time she was twenty-eight, Widow Enterprises was the most successful firm in the entire country, making Natasha the first female executive and the youngest to lead an industry.

Oh, and she was also your boss. Working as Natasha Romanoff’s personal assistant was often a thankless job. The long hours and tedious tasks left little room for a social life, and your boss’s stoic perfectionism did little to ease your days.

“Please sit.” Natasha motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk, finally looking up and setting down her pen.

You obliged, taking a seat across from her.

“Do you know why I called you into my office, (Y/N)?” The redhead leaned back into her chair, as she carefully observed you.

You frowned, quickly racking your brain for any reason why your boss could want to talk to you so out of the blue and, apparently, in such a serious manner.

“Did you want to discuss the upcoming board meeting?” You subconsciously crossed your legs and adjusted your slacks, a nervous habit you picked up in said board meetings—being one of two women in a room of men is nerve-racking, to say the least. “I prepared all the notes and slide decks, but did you want me to forward them to you to review?”

Natasha had stopped double-checking your work about six months into your tenure there, as you had proven yourself more than competent. But you would understand her hesitancy, seeing as this meeting was with corporate executives who, if you had to guess, possessed the majority of the world’s wealth.

“No, no,” Natasha nonchalantly waved her hand, “I trust you have that all under control.”

You let out a small sigh of relief before knitting your brows. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but then I can’t say I know why I am here.”

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the chair and made her way around the desk.

“I have a problem,” she revealed, as she sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her arms before lowering her voice, “with you.”

You nearly choked on your breath, your own anxiety choking you.

Seeing you were at a loss for words, Natasha continued, “Now don’t get me wrong, your work speaks for itself. I have no issues with the way you do your job. In fact, you are the best personal assistant I have ever had.”

Your eyes widened at Natasha’s rare compliment.

“Then what,” you cleared your throat in an attempt to rid the nerves from your voice, “what is the issue?”

“The issue is.” Natasha pushed herself off the desk and circled you as if you were her prey. When she hovered behind you, she bent down and whispered, “I don’t think I can remain professional any longer.”

You remained frozen, clenching your thighs together, as the feeling of your boss’s warm breath against your ear caused a tightness to coil in your lower abdomen.

Natasha smirked at your body’s reaction, before gently running her fingertips across your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from your neck, exposing more of your skin. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You should yell that this was outrageously inappropriate, that you really shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the work day, that this violated every single one of HR’s rules.

But you didn’t; you couldn’t. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you wanted her.

Craning your neck, you turned your head to meet Natasha’s salacious gaze and nodded.

Natasha raised her brow, amused. “Use your words, doll.”

“I want you,” you husked.

“Oh, I know you do.” She gave you a smug grin, firmly cupping your chin while running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me during meetings or the way you flaunt yourself around my office in those tight pant suits.

“Are you that desperate for attention, little one?”

“Only yours,” you panted, need bleeding through your voice.

“Good.” Natasha clicked her tongue, pleased by your answer, before guiding you to stand. “Now turn around.”

You obeyed and turned your back to her, gasping when Natasha gripped your hips and pushed you against the desk, her front pressed against you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she growled as she pulled your hair, causing you to arch against her.

“Every time I see you and your wide doe eyes, so eager to please, so eager to be fucked,” Natasha nipped your neck, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your mouth. At that moment, the redhead could not be more grateful for the soundproof walls of her office, “I want to bend you over my desk and give you what you want.”

"Yes, please,” you groaned, grinding your hips against her front, liquid arousal pooling in your stomach as you felt a bulge in Natasha’s slacks.

“Please what?” She kissed the corner of your mouth, as she nimbly worked her fingers to unbutton your pants, slowly sliding the waistband down.

“Fuck me,” you begged, “please.”

“So needy,” Natasha shoved her hand down the front of your black-laced panties, where she was instantly met with a desperate wetness.

“You are so wet, princess,” she teased, her fingers circling your clit slowly, “and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Before you could plead for more, Natasha plunged two digits into your heat, stifling your moan with a searing kiss.

Your tongues languidly danced together, fighting for dominance. Natasha quickly won that battle, simultaneously biting your bottom lip and curling her fingers deeper into your core.

“God, fuck,” you moaned as she pushed you down onto the desk so you were completely bent over at her will, your pants pooling at your ankles.

“Natasha is fine.” You could practically hear her smirk, but you were too far gone to say anything. All you could do was clench your walls around her fingers, silently asking for more.

Natasha added another finger as the heel of her palm rubbed your clit. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“Be a good girl.” She leaned down and kissed the shell of your ear. “And come for me.”

“Natasha!” you cried out as you let the waves of pleasure crash over your body. Natasha kept her fingers in you, slowly pumping them in and out, as she gradually brought you down from your high.

As she finally slipped out of you, you whined at the loss. Natasha wrapped her arm around your chest, pulling you up and back against her.

“Taste.” She stuck her glistening fingers before your mouth, and you obeyed. Wrapping your lips around her digits, you stared directly into her eyes and swirled your tongue to taste your own pleasure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened at the action as you released her fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“You’re such an obedient assistant, aren’t you?” Natasha hummed, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “I bet you’d do anything I asked, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your shame long gone, as you submitted yourself completely to the other woman.

“Good.” She kissed the corner of your mouth before taking your hand in hers. “Now, come suck my strap.”

You stepped out of your pants, goosebumps rising up your legs as you were left only in your underwear and half-buttoned silk blouse.

As Natasha sat down in her chair, she pulled her own slacks down her thighs, revealing a decently sized strap-on, and your mouth watered at the sight. You lustfully eyed Natasha, who scooted her hips to the edge of the seat.

“Get on your knees for me, pretty girl,” the redhead directed as she worked to unbutton her shirt.

You sank to your knees in between Natasha’s legs, ignoring the harsh vinyl floor beneath you. Softly rubbing your hands up her thighs, you stared up at her and took the tip of the plastic cock in your mouth.

Natasha watched you with an intense gaze, her eyes unable to leave the sight of her strap-on slowly disappearing deep into your throat. As you bobbed your head up and down, coating the dildo with spit, Natasha groaned, throwing her head back.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” She took a fistful of your hair in her hand, controlling your pace. “I bet your pussy is just aching to be filled by my strap.”

You wantonly moaned and increased the pace of your movements, causing Natasha to hiss, as the strap-on rubbed against her clit.

Natasha tightened her grasp on your hair and tugged at your scalp, sending a shock of pleasure through your body at the brief moment of pain.

“Are you gonna let me fuck your mouth, princess?” She looked down at you, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Nodding slightly, you widened your mouth and relaxed your throat.

“Good girl,” Natasha cooed, as she brought her other hand to gently caress your cheek before firmly taking hold of the back of your head.

Natasha bucked her hips, hungrily chasing her own release. The squelching sound of the dildo plunging into your throat echoed around the office, as your eyes began to water.

“So good,” Natasha threw her head back, still rutting into your mouth. “So close.”

Feeling herself right at the peak, she thrust her hips up and pushed your head down, causing you to choke and lose your breath momentarily.

“Fuck!” she cried, her body stilling as her orgasm washed over her. Gasping, you released the strap from your mouth. You looked up at Natasha, who was also catching her breath.

“Come here.” Natasha softly hooked her finger under you chin. You stood from your kneeling position and moved in between her legs, leaning forward to meet her awaiting lips.

This time, Natasha kissed you with less urgency and more passion, as if she had all the time in the world.

“You did so well, milaya,” she cooed, the praise along with the Russian term causing your walls to clench around nothing. Natasha grinned, as she saw your thighs involuntarily clench together. “You want to ride me?”

Though she posed it as a question, you could tell there was little room for debate.

Nodding, you bit your lip and shrugged your shirt off your shoulders. You kept eye contact with Natasha as you slowly shimmied out of your ruined underwear.

The redhead followed your every move with blatant desire, gulping when she watched a string of wetness cling to the fabric as it fell down your legs.

Bracing yourself on the back of the chair, you straddled Natasha’s lap, hovering over the dildo.

“You are so perfect.” She kissed your exposed cleavage, biting your skin before soothing it with her tongue. “So perfect and so ready to be fucked.”

“Yes, Natasha,” you rested your forehead against hers as she teased your entrance with the strap-on, “please fuck me, take me, make me yours.”

“You’re mine,” Natasha growled, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed the tip into your heat.

“Yours,” you sank down, the toy stretching your walls perfectly, and the two of you moaned in unison. Neither of you moved, allowing you to adjust to the size.

Slowly, you started to move, pulling another cacophony of sounds from the woman beneath you.

“Faster, (Y/N),” Natasha gritted through her teeth as she gripped your hips. “Ride my cock.”

You followed her commands and bounced up and down on her strap. Natasha eagerly bucked her hips up, matching your rhythm.

“Fuck, Nat,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as Natasha reached around you to unclasp your bra, allowing your breasts to bounce freely.

“That’s right.” She pinched your nipples between her fingers, causing you to let out to a guttural moan. “You’re such a good girl, riding me like the slut you are.”

“Nat,” you pleaded, feeling the coil tightening in your abdomen.

“Are you close, princess?”

You nodded with a whimper, grinding your hips down onto Natasha’s.

“Chase your pleasure,” she whispered, as she brought your forehead to meet hers.

You stared deeply into her eyes as you relentlessly rode the toy.

“I’m gonna come, Natasha,” you gasped, your breath hot against her lips.

“Not yet, darling,” she commanded, causing you to pout. Natasha slipped her hand between your bodies, her fingers ghosting over your clit. “I want us to come together.”

You let out a whine, your pace even more frantic than before, as Natasha began to rub tight circles against your bud.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” she grunted, her thrusts becoming sloppy. Pinching your clit, Natasha surged forward to kiss you, before mumbling against your lips, “Come with me, my good girl.”

You both cried out, pleasure overtaking your bodies at the same time. Melting into her embrace, you rested your head against her shoulder. The two of you basked in the post-coital silence, the toy still buried deep inside of you.

Remembering where you were, you lifted your head and tenderly smoothed Natasha’s disheveled hair.

“How was that?” You gave her an amused smirk.

“Perfect.” She grinned blissfully. “You were absolutely perfect.”

“Better than you imagined?"

“So much better, my love.” Natasha gently kissed you, her way of thanking you for fulfilling her fantasy. Though she knew you got just as much pleasure out of it as she did.

“Good,” you separated, pecking her lips once more before demounting from her lap.

“Where are you going?” she whined, removing the harness and tossing it aside as she watched you gather your clothes.

“James’s soccer practice is ending in twenty minutes, and I told him I would pick him up.” You fastened the buttons on your blouse before walking around the desk to where your pants were.

“Don’t we have a sitter for that?” Natasha joked, though you could tell she was still disappointed by your departure.

“We do.” You used the desk to balance yourself, as you slipped on your heels. “But I gave Kate the day off because I promised James I’d pick him up.”

“Fine,” Natasha stood up, pulling her own pants back up and buttoning up her shirt as she walked over to wrap her arms around your waist, “but I had other plans for us.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, straightening out her collar. “I was serious earlier about sending that slide deck over to you to review, if you want.”

“And I was also being serious earlier,” Natasha shot you a knowing wink, “I trust you have that all under control.”

“Good, because I do,” you smirked confidently.

“Best. CFO. Ever.” She emphasized each word with a kiss.

You preened at the praise, a slight blush tainting your cheeks. “Well, now I have to go be the best mom ever. Seriously, love, I have to go.”

“Alright,” Natasha relented, letting her hands fall from your hips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish what we started later,” you whispered, pecking the corner of her lips, as you slipped something in Natasha’s breast pocket. “I’ll see you at home, love.”

“Counting on it.”

You lightly patted her chest and winked, before making your way out of the office, making sure to close the door behind you.

After you left, Natasha cleaned up, ridding any evidence of your activities and reorganizing her desk. As she prepares to resume her work, powering on her desktop, Natasha feels something in her breast pocket.

Reaching into her pocket to retrieve whatever you put there earlier, she grinned at what she pulled out.

“Little minx,” Natasha chuckled, fiddling with your lacy black thong in her hand before tucking it back in her pocket.

Best. Wife. Ever.

#my writing #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut

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fairysluna · 4 months

Note

I have a request 🙄🤭 threesome cregan Jace and reader no plot just smut maybe? Either modern or not

MASTERLIST

Hope you like this story made especially for you!! please enjoy it and thank you for sending this request🤍 This is the first threesome I've ever written, so this is complete new territory for me, I hope I did good tho.💀

Reblogs, comments and feedback are highly appreciated!

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.

TAGS — canon!time, targcest (brother/sister), porn w/o plot, smut (threesome, F/M/M, oral sex - both receiving, face fucking, p in v, slight degrading, breeding, praising, spit, pussy slapping, belly buldge, overstimulation, aftercare), cursing, a tiny bit of cregan x jace, cregan and reader are betrothed, dom!cregan/switch!jace/sub!reader. If something is missing let me know!!

WORD COUNT — 2k.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

Cregan loved to hear how overstimulated you were. His hands were gripping your thighs - keeping your legs spreaded. He saw how Jacaerys was eagerly lapping at your throbbing clit, moaning and whimpering against your flesh. You were crying already, tears of raw pleasure streaming down your face as your entire body trembled between his arms. You were barely able to hold it together anymore, laying against Cregan's chest - eyelids closing by themselves.

Jacaerys, your sweet brother, had no intention to stop. His tongue doing wonders as he dived it inside of you - his nose rubbing against your clit. His face was red and sweaty, covered in your slick after stealing three orgasm from you - yet it seemed he hadn't had enough. Your hips would twitch, trying to squirm away from his hungry mouth without success.

“Please, stop! It's- it's too much… I can't!” you mumbled, digging your nails in Cregan's arm. “Jace- Jace, please…”

The youngest man looked up from his position, his tongue still attached to your folds, slowly circling around your swollen pearl while his deep, brown eyes stared at you through a layer of lust. He searched for Cregan's approval, and he denied it.

“Don't listen to her,” he huskily said. His hot breath against your neck caused shivers down your spine. “She's a tough girl, right? I bet she can handle another one.”

“M-my lord… please…”

“What kind of host would I be if I don't make sure my guests are satisfied?” A deep laugh followed his words, a simple sound that almost pushed you over the edge. “Your dear brother hasn't finished his meal yet, be a good princess and keep your legs open for him, okay? He’ll know when it's enough.”

Jacaerys followed Lord Stark's words, indulging further in your taste until you were nothing but a mess between their arms. He would use his fingers to tease your entrance, pushing them in and then pulling them out to lick you off. He repeated this action multiple times, until you were cumming on his face once again and coating his long fingers with your slick. He hummed, delighted to drink from you, enjoying the sweetness of your release and devouring every single drop that came out of you.

Once he finally decided to pull away, you sighed - relieved that he had finally stopped and gave you time to rest. Cregan cooed against your ear, praising you with soft words as his thumbs wiped the tears that had fallen down your warm cheeks.

“Such a good job,” he murmured. “Taking everything we give you, huh?.”

“I'll never get tired of her taste,” Jacaerys added- almost in a whine, caressing your thighs. “So sweet, and so addictive.”

“Oh. Do you hear how greatly your brother speaks of you? He's so sweet, so nice to you- to us…” he added, looking at the Prince who was kneeling in bed in front of the both of you. “I think you should reward him for what he has done to you.”

Jacaerys whimpered, thrilled with the idea.

“Look at him, princess,” Cregan added, stretching his arm and holding Jace's cheek. His thumb brushed against his plump lips. “Our poor Prince has his lips sore after eating your sweet little cunt for too long ”

You observed in awe how your brother parted his lips to receive Cregan's thumb inside his mouth - his tongue twirling around his digit as his brown eyes glint with lust. A moan escaped from you, feeling the arousal pooling on your soaked flesh. The neediness inside your body only increased once you saw your lordship bringing his thumb to his own mouth, and tasting the mixture of your juices and Jace's drool. Your mouth parted, bewitched by the scene.

“Mhm…” he groaned in approval, “it still tastes like you.” He let out a throaty chuckle. “I suppose now it's time for you to give your dear brother a reward for what he did to you. He deserves it after being such a good boy, isn't that right?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, agreeing with him.

“What if… you suck his cock while I fuck you with mine? Doesn't that sound good?” Cregan proposed with a smile.

“Please,” your brother replied before you did.

Cregan looked at you for your consent and you effusively nodded - a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

You sighed tiredly once you felt his arms wrapping around your body and moving you around as if you were his doll. He did it so effortlessly, positioning you on your back with your head almost hanging from the edge of the bed and with a pillow below your hips. You noticed how he signed to your brother and he immediately moved until he was standing in front of your face - his leaking tip just mere inches away from your drooling mouth.

“Spread your legs for me,” Cregan commanded, and you immediately obeyed. Your exposed flesh was burning red, drenching with all the stimulation it had before, glistening under the dim lights of the candles and the fireplace. “So pretty…” he murmured, using his thumb to play with your clit, slowly drawing circles on it - you mewled. “I understand why your brother is so obsessed with you, my princess. You have the prettiest cunt in the whole fucking realm.”

He pulled away, enough to stand up from the bed and get rid of his pants. Seconds later, his hardness stood proudly as he crawled back at you, bouncing with every movement he made until he was towering your smaller frame. Cregan gathered his drool on his mouth to then let it fall right on top of your folds - he spreaded it with the head of his cock and, before you knew it, he was slowly stretching your tightness. Your walls would clamp around him, involuntarily trying to push him out as he struggled to sink deeper into you.

“Seven hells,” he grunted, “you're still struggling to take me, huh? Guess I'll have to fuck you more often then.”

As you felt the air leaving your legs with each thrust, you saw Jacaerys grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes at it. With his tip, he tapped on your swollen lips and you opened wide to receive him too. “There you go…” you heard him saying, before he let you wrap your mouth against him. “Mhm… so good,” he praised you.

The whine that escaped you once Cregan was fully sheathed on you was muffled due to your stuffed mouth. Both men moaned at the same time, looking at your body laying there, ready to be used as they pleased.

Gods, they truly loved their little princess.

Cregan was not being very patient as other times, and he quickly started to pound roughly against you, holding your hips to keep you in place as the movement made you take Jace deeper in your mouth. The youngest man started to move his hips too, unable to be still and longing for more - obsessed with the sight of your breasts bouncing in your chest with each thrust.

The main room in the Winterfell castle soon was filled with desperate panting and moaning. The sound of Cregan's body slamming against yours was buzzing in your ears while he managed to hit every right place inside your soft walls, abusing that sweet spot that would make you see stars behind your eyelids. All while you were choking around Jacaerys' cock, who was moving himself deeper with each passing second.

Both of your brother's hands wrapped around your throat to find some stability, this gesture made you cry out in pleasure - loving the way you felt with his hands around your neck.

“Come on, little one,” he grunted as he looked down at your drooling mouth, receiving him so eagerly while you gagged and gulped around him. “I know you can take me deeper… Go on- oh fuck, just like that… shit.”

“Who would've thought that our Princess was such a good slut?” Cregan added, breathless as dig his nails on your hips. “Can't wait to marry our little whore and fill her with my seed until she's round with my pups…” The way your walls squeezed him so tightly made him know that you loved the idea too. “Perhaps I'll let your brother fill this cunny too, mhm? Bet you would love it- fuck… ”

Jacaerys hands involuntarily tightened his grip around your throat, and you knew he was getting closer. “Fuck- M’so close…” he whined. “Fuuck…”

“Imagine it, my prince,” Cregan teased him, smirking as he locked eyes with him. “Her pretty cunny leaking with your seed, her belly filled and round. Isn't that such a pretty sight?”

“Y-yes…” he mumbled, struggling to keep his movements steady. “Oh, fuck… yes.”

His eyes closed as he leaned his head back, and suddenly his length escaped from your lips - you gasped. He peaked right there, letting a few drops of his seed spurt on your breasts before he would put his cock back into your mouth so you could swallow the rest. You eagerly licked it all, cleaning him as felt his legs getting weak with the subtle overstimulation you were providing him - yet, it felt too delicious to stop.

“What a piece of art,” Cregan mumbled, seeing your skin being tainted by pearly drops. “So fucking pretty.”

Jacaerys fell on his knees next to you, you felt his hand slipping down your body as Lord Stark pounded against you like a savage. Your brother's fingers found your swollen pearl, slowly stroking it while you were being filled. Cregan groaned in approval, fastening his pace.

The creamy sound of your juices covering his cock was so obscene, bringing a slight embarrassment to you - Gods, you were so wet. With the overstimulation you were receiving once again, you felt closer to edge faster than you thought.

“Come on, my pretty girl,” Jace cooed in your ear as he peppered soft kisses around it. “I know you're so close… you were so good to us, letting us use you as we pleased. You deserve to cum.”

His fingers stopped tracing figures on your clit, only to replace it with soft taps against your sensitive flesh. You mewled.

“Look how deep Cregan is,” he mentioned with a smirk. “I can see it in your tummy…”

“M’so close…” you mumbled. “Gods! Please, I need it so bad…”

Jace removed his hand from your core, taking it to your mouth where he slipped in two fingers. You receive them eagerly, twirling your tongue around it and sucking them off as you taste yourself. Meanwhile, Cregan grabbed the back of your legs, pressing your thighs against your body and going deeper and harder against you. You tried to keep up with the intensity of it all, but it was too much - tears were falling down your face as you were fucked against the mattress, barely able to move.

“Come on, let me feel you, princess,” he grunted as he buried his face on your neck. “Want you to fall apart in my arms…”

Your skin was burning and you were gasping, trying to fill your lungs with the air they needed - Cregan would grunt against your skin, being loud and shameless as he was about to reach his peak. You suddenly felt the waves of an intense orgasm washing over you as you released your pleasure in spurs, soaking the sheets beneath you and your Cregan's hair trail. That sight must have been the limit for him, who immediately filled you up with his seed, covering your insides with his pearly drops until it started to leak out of you.

His body pressed against yours as he tried to calm down. His length would twitch inside you each time you clenched around him, until he was absolutely dried and spent.

Jacaerys went to look for something to clean you up, almost moaning when he saw Cregan pulling out of you and his seed oozing from your entrance. Such an obscene view had both men drooling.

You were too tired to even move, so after they made sure to wipe out the sticky mess between your legs, they grabbed your body and took you to the center of the bed - laying between them. Right in that moment, you felt like you were in heaven, being pampered by the two men you loved the most and receiving all the attention you desired.

The fact that this was your future brought a smile on your face.

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#cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon x reader #f/m/m #hotd fanfic #hotd smut

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tcfactory · 6 months

Text

Since my brain has been full of SVSSS brainrot lately:

I want a fic where the transmigration mostly fails and Shen Jiu wakes up from his qi deviation as User002 with the goddamn System treating him like he is Shen Yuan. Trashy yellow book what??? No, he doesn't need stats on his fellow peak lords, if he is supposed to follow a plot then he wants to see the script! You wretched floating rectangle, how is he supposed to play along if he doesn't know the source material?!

The stress of having what feels like a very pushy curse or an insanely weird demon inflicted upon him makes him deviate from some minor plot points and he gets punished for being OOC a couple of times until the System takes pity on him and directs him to Airplane bro, with the very clear suggestion that if he can't remember the early arcs of the story - System understands, User! It's very long after all. UwU - he should go and discuss it with the author.

He basically kicks down Shang Qinghua's door in desperation for some clarity and maybe an explanation, right now before he works himself into a stress-induced qi deviation, Shang-shidi. Shang hamster looks at his miserable scum villain, takes a deep breath, brings out all of Shen Qingqiu's favorite snacks that nobody should know about, makes a pot of calming tea and tells him everything.

Shang Qinghua expects Shen Qingqiu to be angry, to rip into him for writing him into this wretched life. And Shen Jiu is angry, but not at Qinghua. His anxious, mousy little shidi who lives his entire life under the looming threat of a horrible, seemingly unchangeable future doesn't look like a god. Shang Qinghua, who does his best to run his peak well and look out for his disciples despite his admittance that in the story the original Qinghua did a shoddy job - he doesn't look like someone who would have put pen to paper and written a tragedy if he knew it would become someone's reality.

And how could Shen Jiu, who has seen people sell their bodies and their very dignity for a cup of stale water, judge someone for writing a very bad yellow book so he can eat? Please. Peak Lord Shen might have developed a very discerning taste in literature over the years, but you can't fill your stomach with artistic integrity, Shang-shidi. Shen Jiu understands.

So they sit and for that first evening, Shen Qingqiu listens to all the differences creeping into the story, Shang Qinghua's retelling of the drafts he abandoned due to peer pressure, the long rambling tangents of the research he's done, even if they never made it into the story. Qinghua is so caught up in having someone to talk to that he doesn't realize that Shen Qingqiu put everything that happened to Qi-ge together, somewhere between the musings about how a sword inspired by kintsugi would be so cool looking, shame that nobody ever sees the thing, and the griping about how much one of his patrons complained about Yue Qingyuan dying without ever drawing his sword.

Later, when the snacks are gone and the tea is replaced with something stronger, he tells Shen Qingqiu about the stories he really wanted to write. About how he shamefully sneaked his dream man into PIDW, just so he could have some small part to himself, and oh, Shen Qingqiu will have to remind him about demon courting practices when they are both sober again, because it sounds like that Mobei prince is down bad for him.

He leaves that night with a newfound determination. Shang Qinghua might be resigned to the whims of his System and the shackles of the Plot, but Shen Jiu didn't burn the Qiu manor down and break his chains to give up so easily. This is his world, his sect, his Qi-ge on the line, and he would sooner wrest control from the System and become custodian of the world himself than let something take away and ruin what is his. He is the strategist of Cang Qiong Sect, there is no situation he can't think a way out of and he has had enough of tragedies.

Before any of that, however, he needs to go and have a good yell at his Qi-ge, smack his stupid face and then curl up in his arms for a good night's sleep. It's long overdue.

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shang qinghua #that last bit can be read as qijiu or platonic #but I'm personally very partial to qijiu. they just have so much tasty tasty tragedy to sink your teeth into #sqq fixing the world by directing his anger at the right thing for once? more likely than you'd think #idk how they would deal with all the binghe related nonsense but sqq is nothing if not resourceful #tc writes

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hazelfoureyes · 3 months

Text

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Male Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Female Reader - Someone nice, Somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when Angel made a joke that your toys must be worn to the base, you felt the need to clarify. Total virgin, never used toys or your hands for, you cringed, penetration. Everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.