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#i used to smoke in the garage
hooved · 1 year
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there were like at Least 50+ ppl at the party and i got a bunch of compliments on my outfit and someone i had just met cupped my face and said i was precious and i got lots of hugs and kisses :) :) :)
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hiimcanadia · 2 months
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Every time I see my extended family I am reminded how little I have in common with my extended family
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mashmouths · 4 months
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@ god if you don't want me to kill myself turn my power back on i am NOT playing
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Do you smoke ganja?
no and my friends think im a straight-edge dweeb because of it :(
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david-box · 2 years
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Feeling bad lads don't reblog
#shoutout to my parents for somehow making rheir compliments a trigger#deciding not to graduate early bc i wasnt ready to pick a career WAS mature yes#and thank you#but i was incredibly depressed mostly because of you fuckheads#i dont want to hear about how id be great on the lsat#because im tired lf hearing about mommas law school and i dont want to think about my ACt#because it makes me think about a week or less before early college when you said you were worried#about my critical thinking skills (??) and tested me by asking me to put a screwdriver away in the garage#there was never going to be a correct answer you absolute piece of rotten shit. there never was with you#and it was pn the goddamn shelf before you grabbed it#10 o clock at night and you text me abojt this still smoking by the garage. fuck you#and fuck the time you gave me shit over nothing on the way to a doctors appt and then said i should tell the dr#about my anxiety (r/t me bringing it up bc god forbid i be upset)#and fuck you for starting back up again when the appt was done and we were back in the car#and fuck you for starting it back up again with are you feeling better?#as if no was an option you wouldnt pick apart#and then respondkng with how time to calm down made you worse until i finally played the helpful daughter role#and asked you what was wrong#and found out youd criticized killian and i over NOTHING sitting us down just to interrogate us#up to and including asking us what we were thinking and if we said nothing expected us to have something ready when you went back to us#before shitting on the other kid so i had to make up something on the spot#and all because your sister stole our cable?#fuck you and die.#in another life i beat you for that#and every other goddamn thing#i dont want to hear about how wed be worse off if we hadnt had acces to the internet because i would have killed myself
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milo-is-rambling · 1 year
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Alrighty my mom just left to go have fun and I’m sitting at home reading a philosophy book and smoking weed and I plan on sleeping before 11
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bloggerxblogger · 1 year
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Yesterday was the first good day I had all year and I’m a pretty happy content person so that goes to show how things have been lately :/
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yeoslattes · 2 months
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How We Live In Tokyo
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Genre: Smut, TFATF: Tokyo Drift AU!
Word Count: 5.8k
Pairings: street racer Matz!Hwa x street racer fem! reader
Summary: You were notoriously once known as the drift princess, but now you're Hwa's girl. In attempt to reclaim your title, you race, pissing off Seonghwa in the process. You are also Hwa's number one cheerleader.
Warnings: Hwa comes off as a meanie during certain parts, VERY minimal description of reader, Hongjoong openly flirts with reader (his bffs girl...), Hwa confesses, possessive Hwa, weed use, high sex, manhandling, ruined orgasm, oral m+f receiving, eating it through the panties..., lots of spit, spanking, mentions of Hongjoong fucking you by Hwa, Hwa is low-key into it, choking, just rough asf, reader cries during sex, deepthroating, creampie (unprotected sex asf), use of sir like once, basically Seonghwa fucks you stupid, very minimal subspace by reader, aftercare
A/N: She's here, for my first smut after a while it's not too shabby. I'm an over thinker so I kept reviewing and editing just making sure I was happy with the final product. Also I based the reader's car off Suki's pink car in 2003 movie, just cause I thought it'd be perfect for her. I hope you guys enjoy this Hwa as much as I did!
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“Ready! Set! GO!” You swing the red cloth in your hand down, the cars beside you rev noisily. Smoke from the tire burnout goes up in the air engulfing you in a heavy cloud, and just like that the first racers of tonight were off. This was one of your favorite parts of the night life in Tokyo, the races. You never intended to become a car girl, but after a couple flings here and there got you into nighttime racing, the rush and thrill it brought you was simply euphoric. The crowd cheers loudly, flip phones out recording and taking pictures, you jump in the air waving your hands cheering over the loud music and screams. 
While everyone was focused on the race at hand your eyes scanned the scenery for the only man that mattered to you, however he was nowhere in sight. You walked over to your pink Supra S2000 and leaned against the door. Your manicured hand ran over the sleek paint, you smiled at how smooth the finish felt beneath your fingertips. This car was your baby, everything was thought out and hand picked. Rolling around in a ride like your own had never made you feel anything less than superior. You were also Hwa’s girl and that in itself said enough. 
As if manifested by thought, the loud exhaust causes heads to turn, the familiar midnight blue body and chrome accents on the 350Z were unmistakable. Your eyes lingered on the white lettered decal spelling ‘MATZ’ on the upper windshield, you smirked slightly as he pulled up next to you. People cheered when Hwa stepped out, clad in a long fur coat and a muscle tee underneath, he looked delectable. Despite the layers, the large letters in black ink decorating his neck were perfectly on display. 
He greets his racing partner Hongjoong and the notorious KQ Fellaz who had also built an impeccable reputation amongst the Tokyo racing scene. He smiles at you as soon as he spots you. The glimmer of his grills catch the fluorescent lights of the crowded parking garage. “Hey.” He grumbles lowly in your ear, pulling you into him and pressing a searing kiss on your glossy lips. He looked down at you, long strands of raven black hair falling over his eyes. “You look good babe.” He compliments, long fingers coming up to tap on the hoops that were slightly hidden behind the layers of your hair. You smiled up at him, your legs suddenly feeling like jelly under his stare. 
The arm wrapped around your shoulder drops as he turns around to look at the S2000 you were resting your weight on. He walks around it, a singular hand running over the paint. He lifts the hood up, whistling when he sees the engine, “V8 is looking good babe.” He closes the hood after admiring, “Thanks, can’t wait to take her out on a spin tonight.” At your words Hwa’s face drops, his small grin being replaced by a disapproving expression. “Not tonight baby.” You huff in annoyance, see before you and Hwa had gotten together, you were one of the best female racers in this particular part of Tokyo. Every Friday night you’d come out to the streets and race against other girls and even guys. More often than not you’d end up winning. Slowly, you built up a reputation for yourself, even earning the nickname ‘drift princess’ in the process. But that was before Hwa came in and dethroned all the top racers and drifters, ending your streak as well. Eventually, you fell for him, and while he looked stoic and rude on the outside he was a sweetie behind closed doors. His charm was all you needed to become enthralled in him, needless to say you became his princess; you were Hwa’s girl as everyone knew. You ate that title up every single time, however, the singular con about being his one and only was that in fear of you getting hurt, Seonghwa didn’t let you race anymore, not against the good ones at least. He’d always let you go against the newbies, those who were still getting the hang of the Tokyo streets and drifts. 
“Seonghwa.” You begin in a begging tone, but he put his ring clad hand up, silencing you. You rolled your eyes, brooding against the Barbie pink car that was begging for a race. You watched as he went back to where Hongjoong stood conversing in a group.
A frown replaces the big smile you had just minutes ago.
You look around, hoping to find someone that’d wanna take you up on a race, even if Seonghwa had said no. Majority of the seasoned drivers were men, and due to their fragile egos, they wouldn’t dare race against you in fear that you might actually beat them and they’d never be able to live it down. 
You huff in annoyance, and pull your car door open, slipping into the pink leather seats. Your mini skirt is short enough that you feel the cool leather against the plumpness of your ass. You shake your own tan fur coat off, flipping your long hair over your shoulder to give your moistened skin some air. Rummaging through your glove compartment filled with body spray and lipgloss, you pull out a roll of bubble gum, shoving a fat piece in your mouth.
As you reapply gloss and fix your hair in the mirror a female voice catches your attention, “hey,” you looked up at your friend who was polishing the car door just a few minutes ago. She nods in the direction of Matz.
Your eyes turn into slivers when you see 2 girls chatting with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Hongjoong has his arm around the slimmer girl, he gives her a cheshire cat like smile and you could almost see her swoon, but that’s not who you were worried about. Seonghwa, is leaning against his car, arms crossed, talking to the girl in front of him. Her dainty hand comes up to touch the fur sleeve of his coat, she says something with a big smile that causes Hwa to cackle loudly. She wears a low cut halter top and a mini skirt slightly longer than yours, but the expanse of her legs made it look like a belt around her waist. 
You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car. You walk over to them, a big smile adorning your face, “hey baby.” You say in a sultry voice, your hand comes up Hwa’s arm and you proceed, “Who’s our new friend?” You turn to look at her, popping the pink bubble gum in your mouth. 
You can audibly hear Hwa sigh, he leans into your ear so only you can hear, “play nice.” He whispers, his cold hand resting against the warm skin of your waist. You continue to look at her, and she smirks, “who are you?” You chuckle loudly at her words, catching the attention of the people that were around. Seonghwa lets out an airy laugh looking back at Hongjoong as if to say ‘are you seeing this right now’ to which his best friend just raises his eyebrows and chuckles, fully invested in the face off. “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?” People are starting to gather around, you step closer to her and feel Hwa’s hand squeeze your side as a warning but you ignore him. There’s a look of realization in her eyes and her face relaxes, “ahh,” she starts, “you must be the so-called drift princess.” Her faux friendly expression drops into a stoic one, “Where I’m from there are no nicknames. You’re either good or absolute shit.” She spits. 
Your heart hammers in your chest but you ignore it, “Is that a threat? Cause I bet you I can give you a run for your money.” At this point you’re so close to her you can see the glitter lining the underside of her eye. “If I lose, I’ll leave but if I win…” She pauses momentarily, looking behind you at Seonghwa, who stands arms crossed against his car, a serious look adorning his pretty features. He hated where this was going. “If I win I’ll have him.” You chuckle and so does Hwa, making the girl in front of you cock an eyebrow up in confusion at his reaction. “I hope you pick something else.” You say shifting your weight from one leg to the other. Her eyes wander to your right, “oof didn’t think the puppy had a designated owner but that’s fine. I’ll take your car.” People around you gasp and ‘ooh’ at her request. When you tongue your cheek, she feigns a pout knowing she’d hit the spot. “Deal, see you in 10.” She whips around and walks off somewhere. 
Before you can take a step, Seonghwa grabs your arm tightly, spinning you around to face him. “You must be out of your fucking mind. You bet off the car you’ve worked so fucking hard on?” He scoffs, his tongue pressed against his cheek in annoyance, “you’re fucking unbelievable.” He groans, your arms cross at your chest, resting underneath your tits, causing Seonghwa to glance down for a split second. “Oh but if it was you it’d make it okay?” You leave him with his words in his mouth, walking away before he even got the chance to get a syllable out.
Hongjoong laughs loudly at your attitude and Seonghwa’s distress, he slaps his friends back in amusement. “She’s giving you a run for your money huh Hwa?” He says. The annoyed man shoots his blonde friend a glare, resting his hands on his hips he throws his head back and huffs out a breath. 
You stand on standby waiting to get the okay from your girls as they check your car before the race. Your teeth toy with your bottom lip, nervousness settling in your tummy.
You hop in your ride and turn it on, the loud engine causing people to whistle. You might’ve been old to the game but the pre race jitters were very much real. Your opponent on the other hand seemed relaxed. Your hands are clammy on the wheel but with deep breaths you manage to bring the bile rising up your throat down. Hwa stands front row and you can see him through your windshield, he stares at you before whispering something to Yunho who was part of the KQ Fellaz. The tall and slender man draws his eyes to you as Seonghwa is in his ear, and he nods agreeing with whatever your boyfriend was saying. Hwa finishes and stands still in his spot, his jaw ticks, clearly upset at what was about to happen in just mere seconds. 
A girl in low rise jeans and a skimpy top comes between both cars, your foot presses on the gas, your car sputtering loudly. “Ready! Set! GO!” The pretty girl lifts her hand up and just like that your foot slams onto the pedal. You feel it before you see it as you zoom down the spacious garage. With your opponent already a couple feet ahead of you, your heart hammers in your chest, body running on pure adrenaline.
A tight turn is up ahead and you maneuver the wheel and use the e-brake to perfectly drift around until you’re heading straight again. She on the other hand turns slightly too wide slowing her down by a couple of seconds allowing you to zoom past her. The girl is hot on your ass but you keep her at bay not allowing her to get the upper hand. Her pretty face contorts in frustration as she struggles to make any moves. 
This is when you start to relax and it’s like you had never stopped racing. Your mind becomes so aware of your surroundings and what you were feeling. From the way your new wheels felt smooth on the cement, to the low vibrations shaking through you; this was euphoria. 
Your eyebrows knit together in pure concentration as you accelerate. You hit another tight turn, performing the drift that many struggled with effortlessly. Right before the parking garage ramp that spirals upward into the main street, you keep going straight. With a heavy foot you press on the gas, giving it all you got, you can see the exit of the garage and the final drift that everyone always anticipated. 
As you neared it you turned the wheel and pulled on the e-brake, successfully drifting up the ramp till you made it out, the hoard of people eagerly waiting. At the sight of the pink lights adorning the underside of your car, Seonghwa relaxes. You had fucking done it. Your wheels skid loudly as you slow down to park your car.
People high five you and jump on the hood celebrating what had basically been your comeback after so long. You hopped out the car, pulling your slutty skirt down and jumping on Hwa. His hands wrap around your waist, stuffing his face into your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. “Good job baby.” He whispers in that deep voice of his. “You’re so fucking hot you know that?” He says pulling you into a sloppy kiss. The girl who had raced you parks her car and hops out storming over to you. “That wasn’t fair.” She argues, “you are either good or absolute shit.” You shrug, reciting her words back to her. She grits her teeth and storms off, disappearing into the mass of people. You feign a pout and roll your eyes. As people start to head back down into the garage, Seonghwa pulls you into him. “Bad girl.” His words shoot straight to your pussy, a heat wave rolling over your body.
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Another Friday rolls around, it'd been precisely one week since you won your first race back. It was already 11 PM but the streets of Tokyo were calling your name. Tonight’s outfit consisted of a low rise pleated miniskirt and a long sleeve crop top. You looked in the mirror, enjoying how your belly button jewelry dangled and glimmered under the warm lights of your room. Tonight would be special since Matz had gotten challenged by two random guys who wanted to claim territory. If there was one thing you loved to do on a night that Hwa would be racing was look pretty and sit like a good girl in the passenger seat of his car while he raced. I’ll be there soon baby, you sent Hwa a message through your pink flip phone hoping that he wouldn’t be too distracted to read it. 
Singular strands of your hair stick to your glossy lips as you cruise down the somewhat empty roads, the wind blows through your hair and you sing along quietly to the Nelly Furtado CD Hwa had gifted you. It wasn’t long before you were pulling up into the infamous garage. If there were alot of people last Friday, they had tripled today, of course just for Matz. You pulled into the spot next to Hwa, your loud exhaust catching his attention. He went from talking with Hongjoong to looking at you. He smiled at your car, still not over how perfectly the pink decked out car suited you. 
You killed the engine and hopped out, already feeling the eyes running over the expanse of your body, Hongjoong and Hwa included. If there was one thing about Hongjoong was that he did not care. Yes, Seonghwa was his best buddy, but he made sure to let Seonghwa know just how delectable you were with no shame. Still, in other ways he was respectful of his best friend’s relationship but he loved to take peeks anytime he could. 
You walk over to your boyfriend who instead of the iconic big fur coat wore baggy cargos and a muscle tee, his arms on full display. “Hey baby.” You say pressing a kiss on his cheek, you smile at the slight residue of your lips on his cheek. He grabs your chin and kisses you, you try to pull back but the suffocating grip on your face keeps you in place. His tongue toys with yours, and he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before letting go with a final bite. When you pull away he grins at your flushed face and how he had basically eaten all the lip gloss off. 
“Hey Hongjoong.” You pant loudly, greeting the other man who had seen the entire exchange in front of him, he nods his head up at you, “drift princess has made a comeback huh?” He teases, you nod sheepishly. “Maybe next time you’ll take me up on a race?” You ask with big eyes and he smiles, “is that a challenge?” He asks, cocking his brow up, “of course.” He lets out an airy laugh, “that’s if Hwa lets you.” He teases, before walking towards his car. You turn to look back at Hwa who’s grip has tightened around you.
“Hongjoong is up first. Are you gonna be a good girl and cheer for him baby?” Seonghwa says leaning down so you could hear him. You nod and clap excitedly when you see Hongjoong’s car by the start line. As soon as Hongjoong takes off you and Seonghwa run towards the finish line, you both wait, watching through the small flip phone screens as people document the race. You cheer loudly when you notice Hongjoong’s car is ahead. In no time he is skidding up the ramp, drifting into the big pit. He had won! Hwa claps and whistles loudly at his partner's success, now it was up to him to win the second one to maintain the best of the best title. 
You follow your boyfriend down to the garage and hop into the 350Z, you inhale the fresh car scent mixed with his cologne. “Ready baby?” You ask him, he grips your hand and kisses it, “always.” 
Hongjoong peers in through the passenger side window, you buckle in as he talks to his best friend, paying no mind to what they were discussing. When he finishes he taps the edge of the window and sends you his infamous cheeky smile and a wink. 
You sit quietly, sucking in a breath and getting ready for the ride. Hwa exits the garage, and that’s when it becomes too real. One thing about Seonghwa was that he always preferred racing in the streets rather than the garage that almost every race took place in. You place a hand over your chest, feeling your blood pumping muscle thrumming beneath your fingers. At the sound of you sucking in another sharp breath Seonghwa turns his gaze to you. “Scared?” He asks, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. You purse your lips swallowing thickly, nodding. “It’s usually more dangerous Hwa, I hate when you do this.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. 
“Dangerous…” He scoffs, “That’s what I said last week when you raced and you still went against my word. So, sit, look pretty and hold on tight or get the fuck out.” He had gotten you there, regardless, there was no way to ever argue with Park Seonghwa. So, you shut your mouth up and look down at your fiddling hands.
The starter is another girl, she swings her bra up in the air and when it drops Seonghwa takes off. The g-force alone pulls you back into the seat, your hands grip the door handle and your seat, ironically your fear only grew. He hollers loudly already having a great advantage to his opponent, your body turns with the car as he drifts. You stared at his pretty features, his perfect skin and long nose bridge accompanied by his pink and plump lips. He’s too busy looking for the guy through his mirrors to really pay attention to anything else, the air blows violently into the car, your hair a mess now. The longer you sit in the car, the more you start to relax, the cool breeze in your face relieving your anxiety. 
Seonghwa startles you when he grumbles loudly, he hits the steering wheel out of frustration, his opponent had passed him. You weren’t too familiar with the path Hwa was taking, perhaps racing here once or twice before and if you remembered correctly he was more than halfway done. 
“Hold on!” He yells, he presses the red button beneath his thumb, immediately you are pulled back from the sudden acceleration. His 350Z zoomed by the guy in the other car and already you could see where the finish line was. Hwa keeps the man at bay as he rides his ass. As if it were clockwork the crowd of people disperse to make room for the infamous Park Seonghwa. He crosses the threshold into the pit of people, the car coming to a noisy stop. He cheers and you cheer along with him “I fucking love you.” He yells, you feel everything go in slow motion at that moment, the faces of the people cheering him on outside become a blur, it almost felt like you had ascended. “W-what?” you say in confusion, “I fucking love you. I am in love with you.” He says, smiling widely at you. 
Like a tradition, people hit the roof and hood of the car congratulating him on another victory. He pulls you into a heated kiss and when you pull away you lean into his ear. “I love you too Hwa.” He hops out of the car and you follow suit, instantly, he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Hongjoong comes up and gives him a hug, “we are still the best of the fucking best.” Hwa’s best friend yells.
The rest of the night you had spent velcroed to Seonghwa’s side, celebrating the win and watching other races go on. By 2am you were ready to call it a night. That's when Hwa pulls you aside, “wanna spend the night?” He asks tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. You nod eagerly, “we can get high and do whatever we want.” He whispers only for you to hear. His hands softly caress yours. “I’ll see you there baby.”
The drive to Matz’s garage is about 10 minutes, you pull in and park in the spot Seonghwa had reserved for just you.
The garage was Seonghwa’s and Hongjoong’s working space, it was scattered with car parts as well as half built vehicles. You stepped out of your pink mobile and headed up the metal stairs, your boots stomping loudly, sending vibrations up the railing. Hwa stands at the door and lets you in.
You stepped into the warm apartment, fully expecting Hongjoong to be there but instead it's quiet. “Where’s Joong?” You wonder, not wanting to impose on his personal space and most definitely not wanting him there if you and Hwa got to it. “Found some girl at the race tonight so he won’t be here.” 
As always Hwa hands you an oversized shirt, it was a routine any time you stayed at his. Given that your clothes weren’t always the most comfortable, he’d always have an oversized tee on deck just for you. You strip in front of him, already feeling his gaze burning holes into your supple skin. You sigh gleefully at the feeling of the tight clothes being off your body. 
Seonghwa sparks the blunt, his slender fingers bring it up to his lips, he takes a long drag and hands it to you. “I don’t know if I should.” You say quietly, weed just wasn’t your thing like it was Hwa’s. “It’s indica this time baby. You’re here with me, it’ll be okay.” You take the burning blunt from him and raise it up to your lips, praying that you wouldn’t end up panicking like the first time you had smoked with him. Your eyes close softly, as the smoke rushes into your lungs, affecting all your senses.
You hold the smoke in for a couple seconds, handing it back to your lover. Seonghwa takes 2 long hits, relaxing into the couch you two were on. Your eyes linger on  him, you could see his eyes drooping slightly from the marijuana. His limbs are loosely splayed on the couch, blunt hanging loosely between his pointer and thumb. Without much thought you reach for the burning plant and take another hit, that was enough to have you feeling like you were melting into the couch. You didn’t know how, but Hwa always managed to finish the blunt, this time was no different. 
“I’m pretty high right now.” He mumbles thoughtlessly slouching down even further. As the minutes tick by you feel yourself get more and more intoxicated. You felt tingles run up and down your arms and legs and your eyes felt heavy. Seonghwa drapes his fluffy blanket over the both of you when he notices your body starting to shiver. Normally, you’d be freaking out but for some reason you felt fine, just high. Seonghwa lays his head on your lap, eyes on the TV. You looked down at him watching his eyes slowly blink as he focused on Finding Nemo. The chills had subsided, if anything you felt warm now, even warmer as you felt Hwa’s hand trailing up and down your bare thigh. 
He grins slightly when he feels your thighs twitch beneath him. He kept this up for what felt like ages, never getting close to where you really needed him. Seonghwa shifts down, the full weight of his head now resting on your left thigh. You lean your head back on the couch when he runs his hand between your legs this time. He fully reaches your hot heat. “H-Hwa…” You whimper weakly, you pout when he looks up at you. He sits up, one leg pulled in and the other one resting on the floor. He presses his lips against yours, his hands gripping your face. Nothing was neat about the kiss, it was filled with hunger and lust. His spit coats your chin now and you moan when his tongue snakes between your parted lips. He roughly pulls you onto his lap, large hands going directly to rest on your ass. You pulled away momentarily, to mumble a quick “I love you Hwa.” He pauses his actions, fingers brushing messy hair strands away from your face, “I love you too baby.”
Seonghwa grunts when you grind down forcefully on him, he pushes you off him roughly, and drags you into his room. You bask in his sheets, his scent completely engulfing you, you felt like you were drowning in him. “Been wanting to fuck you ever since I saw you in that stupid slutty outfit of yours.” He tugs his shirt off you. Immediately his lips latch onto one of your buds while his free hand toys with your other tit. You felt like you were floating and in a way he felt so far yet so close. All your senses were on overdrive thanks to the weed. “Seonghwa please.” His hands wrap around the back of your knees to flip you onto your belly, 
His hand comes down heavy on your plush ass. Hwa smiles sinisterly at the red hand print forming, he feels himself twitch in his pants. He delivers a couple more slaps, “don’t think I have forgotten how you’ve been flirting with Hongjoong.” You lift your head up to protest but he shoves you back down and you let out a yelp. “What a slut. My best friend? Really?” He grits out as he works on the button of his pants.
You can’t push down the tears that sting your eyes, despite his words you knew he knew you’d only ever pick him, he just wanted to pick on you. 
You rest tummy down one cheek pressed against the mattress, “Hongjoongie keeps messing wi-.” You’re cut off by Hwa’s hand landing on your already abused skin. “Don’t try to make it his fault.” He grits, leaning his torso to get closer to your ear, “but honestly if I was him I’d wanna wreck you too.” A wave of arousal crashes over your body, shooting straight south. 
 Hwa pauses, watching the way your thighs pressed together. You sniffle, tears rolling freely now out of frustration. “Are you fucking crying?” Seonghwa says brushing your hair away from your eyes. He scoffs, “no way you’re fucking crying.” Seonghwa clicks his tongue in disapproval.
“It’s okay baby, maybe one day I’ll feel nice and let him fuck you too. Would you like that?” He teases, flipping you back onto your back. You shake your head ‘no’. He spreads your legs open and toys with your sensitive bud that your panties outline. “No? Because you’re soaked right now.” Without slipping the dampened undergarment  off he leans down and flattens his tongue against your cunt, soiling the fabric even further with his spit. 
Hwa works his long tongue languidly against you making you writhe in his grasp. “H-hwa.” You moan attempting to shove your hips against his face. The grip he has around your thighs prevents you from doing so. He presses harder against you and loosens his grip allowing you to fuck yourself on his pretty face. You groan, involuntarily grinding against him desperately trying to chase your high. “Cum baby cum.” He sounds muffled, the weed heightening every sensation has you teetering on the brink of your orgasm rather quickly. Right before you fall over the edge he pulls away; waves of what could've been your orgasm roll through you but fade as quickly as they came leaving you unsatisfied. 
You groan in annoyance, tears pooling in your eyes yet again. “You’re leaking from both ends now, that’s new.” Seonghwa says as he cups your chin, he leans down so his droopy eyes are directly in front of your teary ones. “There's no reason to cry so stop before I give a reason to.” His words make the tears actually roll down your face this time and he grins at the sight.
He flips you back onto your belly, “all fours baby.” As high as you were, you did your best to move into the requested position, your limbs moving slowly due to your impaired motor skills. He pulls your underwear down, sniffling slightly. You can feel his cockhead prodding at your sopping hole, you whine, wiggling your hips back against him. His large hands come to your shoulder blades to hold you down while he pushes in. You gasp at the intrusion, the stretch so delicious you squirm back to get more. “Stay still.” he grumbles annoyingly. He fucks into you hard, his hips being unforgiven against the globes of your ass. You keep shifting to which Seonghwa stops and places a hand on your lower back to deepen your arch. “Don’t move.” He keeps you there, his thrusts are deep and forceful, hitting that spongy spot deliciously. 
Your mouth is agape but there’s no sound coming out. “God- fuck Hwa,” you pant, tongue lolling out of your mouth and your eyes rolling back to your skull. “Feels good huh baby” He grunts, his own pants and groans filling the room, “so fucking perfect- you’re perfect.” He whines desperately, rutting into your wet pussy, you fight for air, your gasps sounding high pitched every time you sucked in air. 
He pulls out, “Get up quickly.” He commands, grabbing you by the arm, he manhandles you on your knees. “Open.” Your mouth drops open, tongue out ready for whatever he had to give you. Seonghwa wastes no time shoving his cock down your throat. You relax as much as you can, spit pooling in your mouth and falling onto your chest in thick ropes. Through the slits of your eyes you can see Seonghwa looking down on you with heavy eyes, the ‘Matz’ scribbled across his neck stretching beautifully as he throws his head back. Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and he grabs your head and shoves his dick desperately as far as he could until you are fighting to pull away.
You push back, resting your ass on your heels, fighting to catch your breath. “Good fucking girl baby. Cmon get up so I can’t fuck my load into you.” Hwa says, slightly out of breath. You lay back on the bed, hips hanging slightly off the bed, he slips right back in. Your spit mixed with your wetness, allows his cock to enter your walls smoothly. Your back arches off the bed as he fucks you hard, his hands push down on your waist once more to pin you down. 
The fat head of his cock hits your spot again. Everything feels far away now, but your orgasm is fast approaching. “You’re fucked d-dumb aren’t you. Does my dick do that to you?” He asks, his tongue running over his pink lips, “look at you can’t even fucking answer me.” Seonghwa’s hand wraps around your throat tightly while his free one toys with your clit, stimulating you to the brink of your orgasm, a couple more strokes and your legs begin quaking on his shoulders, “Fuck Hwa, sir too muc- I can’t.” You cry out, bringing your arms that suddenly feel so heavy to push him off but instead he wraps his hands around your wrists and presses them into the bed, “it’s o-okay baby. I’m almost there.” Sweat drops are now falling on you. He slows down his thrusts, he grinds himself into your cervix that sends him over the edge. His hips still and he groans loudly emptying his load into you. You whine, weakly trying to get him off, but still relishing in your postorgasmic bliss. He pulls out watching the way you weakly curl into yourself, his spunk seeping out of you and he can't help but smirk. 
“Don’t float away from me yet baby.” He says tapping your cheek. He slips the same shirt you had on earlier over your head and wipes you down. Slipping on some sweats and an old shirt he tucks himself in bed with you. Your eyes are now closed, the cloudiness of your high slowly dissipating but still, you felt exhausted. You slowly blinked, now realizing that Hwa had turned off the lights and you sleepily admired the way the neon purple lights from the signs outside illuminated the room.
“Hwa?” You ask into the darkness. “Hm?” He responds, not moving from his spot, “I might’ve agreed to another race next weekend.” You say sheepishly, he rolls his eyes in the dark, and you can feel the disappointment and annoyance radiating off him, “you’re in big trouble.”
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astonmartinii · 10 months
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big girls do(n't) cry | charles leclerc social media au
pairing: reader x charles leclerc
charles' gf just can't seem to catch a break
yourinstagram
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liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 201,876 others
yourinstagram: weekend breaking with the girlypops
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leclercbaby: so charles is racing in miami and y/n is out spending his money with her friends?
ynandcharles: you know she has a job right? and a life outside of charles?
charlesdefender: let's not pretend her little writing gig covers all of this shit
charles_leclerc: lovely lady
yourinstagram: why thank you my dashing gentleman
ferrarigirl16: imagine dating an elite athlete and smoking? it's so gross charles needs to drop her asap
charles_leclerc
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liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 612,088 others
charles_leclerc: friday feeling in monaco 🇲🇨
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babygirlpierre NO Y/N ??? DON'T GET ME EXCITED
holacarlos55 do you people not have jobs or ?
yourusername what do they put in the water in monaco woooooof
charles_leclerc says the tall glass of water herself
justleclercthings let's not pretend that her missing his home gp isn't a HUGE deal omg
lordperceval i usually don't care about wag drama but like ... we all know y/n is the worst wag, right? she hardly comes to races, is always spending his money with her friends and is smoking as if he doesn't need to be in top condition?
likedbypierregasly you might have a point
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yourusername
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liked by yourbff, landonorris and 231,887 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, yourbff1, yourbff2, yourbff3
yourusername: you didn't think i'd forgotten about monaco, did you?
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cl16x mother back to mothering as she should
charlesstan okay well some of y'all are real quiet now
charles_leclerc wouldn't be a monaco race without you (and your stray cats)
yourbff since we're staying at your house i'll keep what i wanted to say to myself
yourbff2 meow bitch
yourusername don't pretend you don't love us
peargasly why can't she go anywhere without her friends it's so weird
pierregaslight because she obviously has no friends in the paddock any time the camera goes to the ferrari garage no one is ever with her
grussy63 she seems super annoying idk what charles sees in her
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f1wagsupdates
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liked by gatekeepgaslightgirlboss, babyricc3 and 1,276 others
tagged: yourusername
f1wagsupdates: y/n y/ln at the release party for her new book sharp objects! this is her third book and it's already a new york times best seller, so happy for her
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howdyricciardo so everyone who gets on her ass when she can't go to races but where's the same energy for charles now - we all know they have the week off cause he's on holiday with pierre.
landonowins it's such a double standard
number16 i still think she's bad for charles her actually doing her job won't change my mind
charlesbaby can't wait for the day when she won't be on this page anymore
perceval16 these comments ... they're on every post i really think charles needs to say something at this point, he's just hanging y/n out to dry
yourusername added to their story
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[caption: lonesome love. i am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. i think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore]
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yourbff
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liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 4,198 others
tagged: yourusername
yourbff: since no one else will, LISTEN UP SLUTS!!! this girl is the most talented and kind-hearted girl in the whole entire world. ANYONE would be lucky to be with her, so it honestly BAFFLES my mind that those blessed enough to be with her are so silent when his so-called fans rip a person they do not know apart on social media. i say this sincerely GET A LIFE!!! also she's the sexiest girl in the world and could have literally anyone she wants so PICK UP THE SLACK OR we'll activate operation hot girl summer - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!
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yourbff1 @charles_leclerc
yourbff2 @charles_leclerc
yourbff3 @charles_leclerc
yourusername i love you all so much - platonic soulmates for real
danielricciardo @charles_leclerc
charlieleclerc oh wow charles just got humbled
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charles_leclerc
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liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 1,087,556 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: i've not been the best of boyfriends in recent weeks, so it is time i say my piece. y/n is the most talented, patient and beautiful individual i have ever met and i won't stand for her being attacked on social media by my "fans". you are not a fan of mine if you attack my girlfriend. i love her and nothing an anonymous comment can say will ever change that. you attack her for not "supporting" me enough and yet none of you know anything from behind the scenes (not that you should need to), if anything i have been the unsupportive one. i love y/n so so much and i will do anything to make sure she knows it. please stay out of our business.
comments disabled on this post.
yourusername
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liked by yourbff, charles_leclerc and 101,775 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
yourusername: he's mine. cry more.
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lilacleclerc i love them so much PARENTS
danielricciardo WHOOP TELL EM'
charles_leclerc love you too baby
yourusername i love you more
landonorris mic drop
myloveleclerc finally !!!
dutchlion i'm so glad he finally said something - and also me if i were a wag CRY MORE
note: bit of a random one but alas i hope y'all enjoy
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lorarri · 4 months
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꒰꒰ ‧₊˚𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ˚₊· ꒱꒱
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─ summary . . . ❨ being forced to go to a gp was not something on Y/N's 2023 bingo card but who knows maybe she will create a friendships that could help her thought this tough time ❩  ─ pairing . . . ❨ step dad! lewis hamilton x fem! young teen! reader ❩ ─ genre . . . ❨ social media file ❩ ─ author note . . . ❨ the plot thickens also yes I did make danny a redbull driver in this universe cuz I can and I'm 100% on the danny rbr agenda rn anyway so enjoy! ❩
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❨ previous | taglist | masterlist | next ❩
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MOTHER Lewis has got us VIP tickets to the Australian gp Isn't that exciting!
Y/N but I have an archery comp on that weekend
MOTHER dw about it I've pulled you from the comp you can do the next
Y/N are you fucking kidding me you pulled me from a comp to go watch you boyfriend's race what the fuck?!?!?!
MOTHER language young lady first of all he my fiance and he is gonna be your step father soon
Y/N he is not gonna be my anything as far as I'm concerned and the only way I am going is if you drag me there kicking and screaming so fuck you
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MINJI babe where is u at?
Y/N @ the Aussie Gp 💀 ... girl don't u remember me telling you guys about this 🙄
HANNI We do but your mom just called asking if we knew where you were 😭😭
Y/N wtf would you guys know where I am 😐
DANIELLE cuz aparently she can't find you and she thinks you are trying to catch a flight out of the country to avoid spending time with her and lewis 🫣
Y/N tf is this bitch on? I would never put that much effort into her let that be know first and for most 😝 second of all I'm hanging out with Max and Daniel 😌 so dw I'm not trynna skip town 😔
HAERIN Max and Daniel? as in like Red Bull's drivers Max and Daniel as in like Mad Max 😡 and big dick Danny ric 🤠
Y/N ew 🤢🤢🤮🤮 never say that again 🚫 but yes that would be them 👍
MINJI ... proof or it never happened 👀
Y/N
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happy now?
HANNI okay but how did you even meet?
Y/N walked off to have a smoke and ran into them and started talking
DANIELLE ain't your mom gonna be pissed though?
Y/N why?
HAERIN cuz your created a better bond with Max and Daniel then what you have with Lewis
Y/N tbh I don't really fucking care Lewis seems like an alright guy ngl but I don't like how my mother is forcing me to spend time with him it's awkward and weird escpially since my dad is refusing to answer my calls or texts and everytime a ask my mother about it she says "maybe he is busy sweetheart" and "well look at it this way it will be the perfect opportunity to bond with Lewis" so yeah I have 0 shits to give rn anyway I need to go time for the race max says I can watch in the red bull garage
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NANA (EX WIFE) my plan isn't working I thought by forcing you to stay away Y/N and Lewis could bond but I think she hates him more now
JUNHO (EX HUSBAND) no shit sherlock btw I'm coming to pick Y/N up this weekend she staying at my house till she has to go back to school
NANA (EX WIFE) is that bitch gonna be there?
JUNHO (EX HUSBAND) yes my girlfriend is going to be there and I am going to show you the correct way of introducing your kid to your new partner and that starts by telling them the truth about why you marriage ended in the first place and since you refuse to tell her I will read
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pinkrelish · 11 months
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
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singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶"Can I kiss you?"✶
NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+
chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date
Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.
It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.
Oh, he remembered it all.
And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.
The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.
He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.
He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.
Oh, God.
His knees went weak.
Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.
“Good morning, hand—Oh?”
Eddie froze.
You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.
“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”
His lips parted.
Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?
“Eddie?”
“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.
Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.
Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”
Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.
“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.
“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.
“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”
Salvation reigned upon him.
Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”
In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.
“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”
Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.
You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”
“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.
“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”
As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.
Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 
The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.
You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.
He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”
“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.
“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”
A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”
“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”
You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.
Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.
“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”
He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”
By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.
Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.
————
It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.
You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.
Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.
DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)
              YES    or   NO
ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?
              YES    or   NO
By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.
Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.
You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.
(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)
Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.
You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.
Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.
The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.
“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”
Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”
“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.
“Never, never,” he promised.
Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.
“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.
There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.
The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.
Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.
what did you have in mind?
I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.
  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU
    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME
       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE
PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?
Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.
In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.
“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”
“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”
You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.
All night? He wished.
Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”
“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.
The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.
sounds perfect :)
YOURE PERFECT =)
For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.
Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.
————
Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.
“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”
There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”
“Rob,” you groaned.
“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.
The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”
Oh dear God get me out of here.
Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..
The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.
His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.
And yet?
Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.
You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.
“Hey there, sweetness.”
“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.
Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.
You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”
“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”
“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”
Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.
“Is that so strange?”
“It’s a little strange.”
“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.
What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.
He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.
Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.
“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.
You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”
“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”
The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.
It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.
The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.
So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.
“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”
So, no Adrie, and no uncle.
“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.
Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.
Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.
He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.
Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.
Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.
Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.
“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.
Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.
Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”
Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.
Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.
“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.
He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”
His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.
Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.
“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”
Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.
Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.
The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.
Right?
You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?
..Right?
Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.
The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.
“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.
“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.
Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.
Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.
He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.
“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.
“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.
“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”
“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”
You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”
“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”
Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.
Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.
“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.
Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.
“Sweet!”
Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.
“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”
You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”
His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”
Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.
“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”
You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.
Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.
Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.
Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.
The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.
Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”
And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.
He nodded.
Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.
He shifted. You shifted.
The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.
“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”
During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.
You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”
The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.
“And awkward.”
“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.
Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.
Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.
“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.
Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.
Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”
It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”
“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”
As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.
This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”
But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.
Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.
You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.
An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.
“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”
His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”
“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.
He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.
He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?
Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.
A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?
That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.
So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.
“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.
Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”
You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.
“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”
You squeezed.
He squeezed back.
Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.
Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.
Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.
You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”
Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.
At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?
~~~
The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.
Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”
“You should name a character after him in DND.”
“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”
With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.
He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”
“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”
Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.
You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.
You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.
He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”
Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”
He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.
“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”
“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”
“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”
It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.
“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”
A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.
If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”
Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
How sweet.
It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..
Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.
At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.
“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”
Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.
“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”
“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”
He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.
The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.
You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—
He dropped his gaze to your lips.
Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?
Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.
Was the unspoken language shouting now?
Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”
You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.
The floor beneath him creaked.
Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.
The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.
Briefly, you considered uttering his name.
The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.
Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.
He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”
Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”
Well, at least you could always make him laugh.
~~~
Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.
Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.
Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.
The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.
You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.
Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.
“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.
You were stunned at the effort.
The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.
Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.
“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”
His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.
As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.
“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.
When they came to a rest, you both sighed.
“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”
Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”
You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”
“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.
Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.
Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..
Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.
He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.
“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.
His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.
Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.
“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.
Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.
The pressure to continue conversation waned.
He squeezed.
You squeezed back.
~~~
Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.
While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.
Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.
Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.
Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.
Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.
The air was thick with awareness.
You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.
He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.
Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..
Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?
Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?
What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?
Shit.
While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.
The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.
Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—
You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”
Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.
You remembered you remembered you remembered—
“If you adore me so much..” you added.
Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.
Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.
He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.
You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.
Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.
His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.
The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.
“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.
You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”
He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.
He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”
You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.
Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.
Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”
“Eddie—”
The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.
Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.
Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.
Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.
Hums lowered into a depraved moan.
The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.
There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.
Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.
He really did worry too much.
Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.
You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”
The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.
“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.
For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.
Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.
Just let go.
He listened.
As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.
He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.
Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.
He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.
But it wasn’t scary.
It was slow and steady.
The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..
Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.
He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—
Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.
Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.
“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.
Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”
A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.
“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”
“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”
A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.
You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.
“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.
Time to pick up where that phone call left off—
“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.
His breath hitched.
Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.
Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.
Slightly over seven inches, indeed.
Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.
“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.
His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.
Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”
Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”
Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”
“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”
He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”
Your face fell flat.
You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”
He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”
You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”
He blinked dumbly.
Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”
You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.
Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.
Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—
For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.
Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.
Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.
Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.
Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.
Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.
Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.
You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.
“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.
The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.
The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.
His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.
Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.
More nylon stitches popped.
Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.
Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.
Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.
A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”
Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.
Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.
The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.
The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.
You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.
He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.
He was so wrecked on intimacy. 
Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 
Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.
“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.
A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.
Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.
The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.
You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.
You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”
He made a choked off noise in response.
Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.
You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.
His muscles jumped under your lips.
Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.
He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.
Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.
“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”
“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”
Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.
Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”
His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.
Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”
You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”
The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.
It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.
“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”
Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”
He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.
Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.
The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.
Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.
Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.
He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”
“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.
With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”
You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.
Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.
His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.
His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.
Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.
When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.
His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?
To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.
Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.
Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.
It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.
Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”
He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.
Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.
Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.
In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.
You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.
The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.
“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”
A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”
Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.
“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.
You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.
You backed off. His face went lax in relief.
“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”
Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.
Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.
You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.
All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.
His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.
You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.
You draped his balls over your mouth.
It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.
Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.
“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.
With his approval, you indulged.
The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.
Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.
Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.
You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 
Eddie whimpered.
His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.
You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.
“Fuck, baby—”
At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.
Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.
The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.
His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.
Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.
“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”
His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”
Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”
“Is it the best?”
The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.
“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”
You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.
This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”
With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.
There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 
“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.
He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.
A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.
You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.
Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.
You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.
You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.
He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.
The pace was not shy.
You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.
“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.
Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.
Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.
His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.
You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.
In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.
At once, he was at home in your throat.
In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.
“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.
Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.
The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.
His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.
Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.
You swallowed.
And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.
In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.
“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”
His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.
You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”
“That I am!” he stated proudly.
Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.
Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”
You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”
The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.
He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”
~~~
“God, that feels so good.”
“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”
“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”
Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.
One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.
You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.
Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.
You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.
Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”
He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”
Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.
Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.
“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.
“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”
Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.
You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.
A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.
Oh, he was very awake.
Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”
“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.
He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.
You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”
“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.
Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.
“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—
Lightning struck, and the phone rang.
Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.
It rang a second time.
He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”
Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.
He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.
“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.
As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.
Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”
His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.
Thunder rocked the trailer.
“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”
The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.
He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.
Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.
3K notes · View notes
ayvnari · 7 months
Text
begging for attention
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♡ ellie williams x f! bratty reader
♡ ellie has been ignoring you all week, and you're needy. after watching her lay down for a nap after an intense workout, you see it as your time to strike
18+!!
warnings!
teasing, edging, cursing, smoking, ellie being really rough and mean :( , oral r!receiving / giving, light spanking? , hair pulling, after care, mostly smut, kind of hardcore
word count: 1.7k
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you watched from the side of the small at home gym ellie had created for herself in the garage. you fidgeted in your seat as you watched ellie workout. her breasts straining against the her shirt, and her ass looked so good in those tights.
you tried to distract yourself from the ever growing aching from your core. ellie hadn't touched you in almost a week now, and she refused to tell you why. you could always pleasure yourself, but her fingers were bigger than yours, and she knew all the right ways to make you crumble.
ellie's muscles stretched against the fabric of her compression shirt. with every bench press she did, she gritted her teeth. a low growl emanated from the depths of her throat, a bead of sweat ran down her chin.
you were so used to ellie spoiling you, getting you whatever you wanted and touching you whenever you asked. it was frustrated for her to suddenly rip it all away and give you the bare minimum.
you felt hurt, but when you yelled at her for it, a smirk adorned her face. that's when you knew...
... this was her game.
she wanted you to beg for her attention, but you wouldn't do that. no. you'd take it.
-
ellie laid down on your shared bed, laying in a bra and some jeans. after her workout, she just wanted to relax and get high. her arm rested on her inner thigh, her legs spread open on the bed. she took a drag from her blunt, blowing out the smoke, her head leaning against the headboard
you snuck up between her open legs, leaning against her inner thigh. ellie felt a smirk pull at her lips, but she held it in and continued to ignore you.
this pissed you off.
you gave her the best puppy dog eyes you could muster up, but ellie wouldn't even spare a glance at you. instead of saying anything, you started to unzip her pants. ellie raised an eyebrow, but instead of interfering she wanted to see where this was gonna go.
ellie grabbed her phone, taking another drag of her blunt before unlocking her phone, scrolling on it aimlessly.
you swallowed an annoyed growl, but you couldn't help the ache in your core that you had been shoving down since this morning. you pulled her pants down just enough, and pulled her panties to the side, kissing her clit.
ellie gritted her teeth a took a deep breath, intent on ignoring you.
you sucked on her clit gently, looking up at her facial expressions.
ellie let out a guttural growl, closing her eyes, she moved her hips against your mouth, trying to fight that feeling. you continued to tease her, she had to break soon.
eventually ellie let out a loud groan as she sat up, gripping you hair and pulling your face up to her level. you smirked.
you got your way.
"you're a fucking brat, a slutty one at that." she growled, before suddenly shoving your face into the mattress.
"put your ass up, bitch." she said in your ear, her voice guttural and filled with irritation. before you could even move she placed her large, calloused hand on your stomach, pushing it up, forcing you on your knees.
you let out a loud yelp when she smacked your ass.
"you wanted my fucking attention right? now you're gonna get it." she said, smacking your ass again. she roughly pulled down your bottoms and panties, leaving your soaking cunt on full display.
you felt a shiver run down your back, the cool air hitting your wet core.
"god... you've been begging for me to touch you all week." ellie laughed, her voice harsh and unsympathetic. "you're such a slut for me... i can't stand it." she said, holding your legs down as her tongue ran up and down your lips, collecting the slick you've accumulated.
you let out a desperate moan, your hands gripping the sheets under you as her tongue abused your desperate cunt, her tongue moving expertly, licking you in all the right spots to make you fall apart.
"els... fuck!" you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head.
ellie smirked, lightly sucking on your clit. "shut up and take it." use growled, the vibrations from her throaty voice sending your mind into overdrive. you could already felt your knees getting week, but ellies strong arms wrapped around your legs, spreading them so she could hit the deepest parts of you.
she stuck her tongue in your gaping hole, filling it with her longue, needy tongue, rubbing against the places you needed her the most. she rubbed your clit roughly with her hand, not interested in your own comfort.
you began to babble nonsense as your climax was approaching. ellie felt you tighten around her tongue, she knew you were close.
she pulled away, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you up to her chest. you let out a whine.
"els pl-"
"shut the fuck up." she cut you off, her voice harsh and demanding.
she wrapped her hand around your neck, gripping it, making breathing uncomfortable, but you felt your mind go dizzy from her touch.
"you wanna cum? hm?" ellie asked, a smirk playing at her lips.
you nodded frantically. "ellie please... need.. I need... to cum... els..." you begged, you felt your slick running down your inner thigh, you couldn't do it anymore. you needed her and you needed her now.
"should I let my princess cum? hm? you think you deserve?" she said, patronizingly. you felt like you wanted to cry, you needed her so bad but she was denying you.
"yes yes yes." you repeated. "i'll be good... i'll be so good." you promised, your eyes glossed over.
ellie chuckled, before her hand slid down to your needy core, sticking three fingers in without warning. you threw your head back, letting out a loud gasp. she thrusted her fingers in rapidly, barely giving you time to breath.
"yeah... you like that don't you? oh I bet you do you little slut. you want me to fuck you senseless huh? look at you, losing your pretty little mind already."
your head rested against her shoulder, your loud moans filling the room. her words just added to your pleasure. ellie looked into your eyes, watching them roll back in your head with satisfaction. when you finally came undone, she brought her soaked fingers and pressed then against your red, pouty lips.
you were too exhausted to care, she slide her fingers in, making you clean her fingers clean.
once you had finished, she pushed you onto the bed. your head hit the pillow under you, as you looked up at ellie. she grabbed a small box from under your bed, taking out her strap. she put it on, not losing eye contact with you
she positioned herself over you. she held your leg over your shoulder. she pushed it in, she didn't even let you have time to adjust to the new length, never mind recover from your previous orgasm before she started recklessly pounding into you.
you let out a choked sob.
"els!" you moaned, your mind going blank as she hit your sweet spot over and over again, your already overstimulated core ached in a painful pleasure. you begged for her to stop, but you begged for her to keep going.
you felt those familiar butterflies in your stomach as your second orgasm of the night arrived.
"ellie... im coming..." you cried. ellie put a hand over your mouth. "shut up, you come when I tell you to." she growled.
you nodded, you already felt the tears pricking at your eyes. the sound of skin clapping and your desperate whines for release were like music to ellies ears.
"beg for it."
your eyes widened, you opened your mouth, but you barely understood what she said, your mind went blank as you focused on not letting yourself cum just yet.
"aww... is my pretty girl being fucked too dumb to understand?" she gripped your hair. "beg. for. it. you wanna come? beg for it. before I fuck those pretty lips like the slut you are."
your vision blurred as you tried to listen to ellie. you couldn't take it anymore, as you felt yourself coming on her strap. your back arched and you threw your head back.
ellie looked at you, her eyes filled with rage. she pulled out, her strap soaked with your juices.
as your mind cleared up, you realized what you did.
"did you just fucking cum?" ellie said, her tone strict and demanding. she gripped your hair, pulling you up and sitting you down in front of her strap, the tip teasing your bottom lip.
"look up at me." ellie demanded.
you looked up at her. "im sorry ellie... I... I couldn't handle it-" suddenly you were cut off by her forcing you down on her strap.
the taste of your juices mixed with the plastic you so desperately missed the taste of entered your mouth as she roughly fucked your mouth.
"I can't fucking stand sluts like you." ellie said, biting her lip at the sight. "you're not even trying to deny me. you want me to fuck you like this, this is why you've been such a fucking bratty bitch all week."
with every thrust of her hips the tip of the strap hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. spit dribbled down your chin, the tears that threatened to fall before were on full display.
"oh... is my bitch crying?" ellie said, wiping your tears.
"maybe you'll think before fucking with me again." she said, before pulling out.
you gasped for air, clinging onto her thigh. she sat down next to you, wiping the spit off your abused lips before kissing you.
"Shh... it's okay baby." she said comfortingly, rubbing your back. "you okay?" she said, smiling at you.
you nodded, as she wiped away your tears, she brought you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up.
when she laid you back down on the bed, you ran her hands through your hair comfortingly, whispering praises in your ear.
"you did so well for me."
"god... you looked so pretty." she said, while peppering your face with kisses.
she wrapped her arms around you, as you two fell asleep.
one thing you knew.
you'd be doing this again.
-
(idk if this is good but I started laughing while making this bc imagine if you had a wig and ellie pulled your hair and it just came off)
2K notes · View notes
talkdutchtome · 4 days
Text
"Let me take care of you" - Max Verstappen
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pairing . . . max verstappen x reader )
genre . . . smut )
summary . . . after a disastrous race, you take care of max the best way you know how )
warning . . . smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play, use of petnames, sub!max, very soft dom!reader, traumatized maxie, not proofread )
word count . . . 2800 words )
a/n . . . this actually ended up a lot more emotional than i intended it to be but i hope everyone likes it anyway. i don't know if my smut writing is getting better or worse tbh. any and all feedback is always appricated <3 )
Max was a perfectionist; anyone could see that. He also had a desire to win like nobody else. He never let up. It didn’t matter to him if it was a title deciding race or a completely meaningless one, he needed to win. It had been instilled in him for as long as he could remember; second place is first loser after all. So naturally, when his brakes failed, and his car very literally caught fire in the Australian Grand Prix causing him to have to retire three laps into the race; you knew he was not going to take it well.  
You were watching along in the garage, and the only thing you could think about as his smoking car pulled up to the pits was how hard on himself he was going to be. The fact that it was through no fault of his own was irrelevant. He had just handed a win to Ferrari, and that made his blood boil.  
In typical Max fashion, you barely saw him after he retired too. He gave you a quick hug as he reached the garage but after that it was straight back to business. He made his way to the pit wall and immediately began discussing with Christian and GP what exactly happened and how do they fix it for Japan. He sent you a text that he was going to stay late at the track with the mechanics so that you should just head back to the hotel.  
Truthfully, Max was avoiding you. You had only been dating Max for a couple of months, and so far you had only seen him dominate on track. And whilst you were concerned that that he would be beating himself up for disappointing himself or the team, he was busy focusing on how he had disappointed you. You had taken time out of your busy university schedule to travel to the other side of the world to see him race, and he had to retire three laps in. He was used to people living through him, taking his wins as theirs. He had never considered that all you cared about that he was safe and didn’t get hurt.  
So, you went to the hotel and waited for him; or at least you tried to. Tiredness and jet lag eventually started to catch up to you, and you had just started to drift off to sleep when you heard the door open. Looking up greet Max, you could see immediately how heavy the weight he bore on his shoulders hung.  
“Hey baby, how are you feeling?” You asked him sleep in your voice still evident. Max just hung his head and walked into the bathroom. He half expected you to berate him. To question him on exactly what went wrong and what he’s going to do to fix it.  
“Maxie?” You asked again, as he came in from the bathroom and made his way to his side of the bed, his eyes routed to the floor. This time he just grunted at you in response before getting into bed and turning away from you. He did not have the energy to be told everything he did wrong and why - he had already had that from his dad.  
“Please talk to me Maxie, I’m worried.” You pleaded at him, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around him. You wanted that more than anything, but you sensed that he maybe didn’t feel the same.  
“What do you want Y/N?” He finally spoke, his voice cracking.  
“Are you okay? I know that was tough result to take but it’s only once race. We both know you’ll be back better than ever for the next one.”  
To your words, Max just grunted again. And this time you couldn’t help but reach over to hold him. Wrapping one of your arms around his waist and the other coming up to brush through his hair. You waited cautiously for him to pull away. A moment passed and he began to move, your heart sank; he clearly didn’t want to be anywhere near you right now. But instead of moving away, he just turned around, bringing himself closer to you, resting his head on your chest.  
“I just hate to let the team down” he spoke, his voice no more than a whisper, like he wasn’t 100% convinced if he should be saying anything.  
“But baby you didn’t let them down, you did nothing wrong. There was an issue with the car that isn’t your fault.” You gazed down at his face, your hands smoothing through his hair.  
“I could have done something. Maybe I pushed the brakes too much. Maybe I went too hard. All I know is that I let the team down. I let my dad down. I let you down. You cam-“ He started to ramble, but you had heard enough.   
“Whoa Max baby slow down. I can’t speak for the team or your dad, but you certainly did not let me down. All that matters to me is that you didn’t get hurt. I was so worried; you were literally driving a car that was on fire. You could have been hurt.”  
As the words left your mouth, he looked up at you. Almost as if he was trying to see if you were telling the truth. When his eyes met yours and he realized you were being sincere, he hugged tighter into you.  
“I love you Y/N” he spoke and before you could say anything, you felt him bring his mouth to your neck. Leaving hot open-mouthed kisses from your collarbone up to until he met your mouth. His lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hungry and desperate. His hands found your hair and his teeth nipped at your lips. He quickly found himself getting lost in you and you weren’t too far behind. But when his hands wandered towards the bottom of your pajama top, you had to pull away.  
“Wait, Maxie. Are you sure you want to do this? You’ve had a rough day, are you sure you want to do this. We could just go to sleep if you’d prefer.” You didn’t want him to feel like this was something he needed to do.  
But when his lips once again found your neck, it was clear you had your answer. “Please” he mumbled against your skin “I just want to forget” between each word he left a kiss on your neck, before beginning to nibble against that one spot on your neck that he knew always sent you completely insane. He left deep purple marks all down your neck and you couldn’t help but let a moan slip through your lips.  
You were about to completely cave into his touch before you had an idea, and before you could overthink whether it was a good idea, you swung your legs over him until you had him pinned underneath you, your legs either side of his. A smirk plastered across your face 
Max looked completely taken aback at your action, but the second you leant down to kiss him, your lips just slightly brushing against his; he was starstruck and could feel himself growing harder by the second, which only deepened your smirk.  
“Let me take care of you baby” you whispered in his ear before beginning to grind your core against him. The whimper that left Max’s lips took you both by surprise but, taking that as confirmation that he wanted you to take control; you attached your lips to his neck, trailing kisses down his chest until you reached the waistband of his underwear. It was clear from the way that his hard dick strained against the cloth that Max was enjoying this new side of you, and you could be lying if you said it didn’t give you a bit of a confidence boost. 
You started to tease him, placing warm kisses over his underwear, but when you hear him try and fail to beg you to touch him, it becomes clear that maybe today isn’t the day to tease him. So, you hook your fingers around his waistband and release him from the tight confines of the cloth. Immediately, your mouth found his cock, your lips wrapping around his tip. Max’s moans filled the air as he came apart like putty in your hands. The way that your tongue swirled around him made him go crazy. He reached out his hands to grab your hair in a makeshift pony, but you dodged him. Max honestly thought he was going to cry when you took your mouth off him. 
“No baby, I told you I was going to take care of you, you just sit back and let me do everything” you told him before quickly placing a kiss on his lips before reattaching your mouth to Max’s throbbing dick and bringing your hand to the part of it that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Max felt lightheaded; it’s not like you hadn’t given him a blowjob before, but never like this. He couldn’t ever remember being this turned on before. He had never even considered letting you take control, letting you take care of him so intently before; but now that he was experiencing it – he kicked himself for waiting so long. 
The sounds coming from your boyfriend were music to your ears and only encouraged you to make him feel better and better. You could feel yourself getting wetter, completely desperate to feel him inside of you; but today was about Max, you’d happily wait longer for your own pleasure to take care of him. You began taking him deeper and deeper into your throat, earning more moans from Max. You had never heard him be so vocal before. Things got even better for him when you hallowed your cheeks and brought your hand up to his balls, massaging them in your hands as you worked his dick in your mouth.   When his tip hit the very back of your throat and you gagged around him, he was so loud you were just slightly concerned that whoever was in the room next door would be up for a rude awakening.  
“Oh, fuck baby, oh my god. I’m so close” Max just about managed to get out between moans, promoting you to once again let go of his dick. For a second Max looked at you with puppy dog eyes, silently begging you to take him back in your mouth. But as soon as you stood up and very slowly pulled your pajama shorts down, he realized that there were better things to come.  
“Do you want me to ride you, Maxie?” you asked him breathlessly earning another groan from the man lying on the bed. 
“Fuck, yes. Please please ride me I need to be inside of you more than anything” Max’s voice was weak; it was becoming all too much for him. And when you finally rid yourself of your pajama top, Max started to see stars. Your tits were his weakness, and you knew that all too well. All he wanted was to take them in his mouth, to suck and bite on your nipples. So, when you straddled him once again, that's exactly what he did. You thought about stopping him again, reminding him that tonight was about him and his pleasure; but when you caught sight of his eyes – usually so bright and sparkling. Now they were so dark, so filled with lust and desperation, you didn’t have the heart to deprive him of one of his favorite things to do.  
You leant down to kiss him again, and the taste of his own precum on your tongue made him groan feverishly against your lips. Unable to wait anymore, you finally lowered yourself onto his dick. Now it was your turn to let out a string of moans and profanity. The way that he stretched you out was a feeling that you could never grow old of. After a beat to get used to having him inside of you, you began to bounce on top of him, pumping his dick in and out of your tight desperate pussy.  
“Oh my god Maxie you feel so good, your huge dick sends me so crazy” You moan out, completely cock drunk. “You fuck me so good, god nobody makes me feel like you can” Your praise made Max moan louder than ever and then he simply couldn’t help himself anymore; he brought his hands up to your hips and began thrusting hard into you. You wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him to let you take care of him – but when he rammed his cock into g-spot you physically couldn’t ask him to stop doing something that felt so good.  
“I love you so much Y/N baby” Max croaked out, bringing his mouth back to your tits and his hand down to your clit. Him touching you for the first time tonight meant it was now time for you to see stars. His expert hands rubbing against your clit brought you closer and closer to release and you could tell from the way that Max’s thrusts became deeper and harder that he wasn’t far behind you. 
Wanting to finish what you had started; you placed your hands on his chest – signaling him to stop for a second. Max did so very reluctantly, but when you started to bounce on his dick again his eyes rolled back into his head. After each bounce you grinded yourself down on him, desperate to get him as deep as you possibly could. Your climax was getting closer and closer and soon you felt like you were ready to burst. 
“I’m going to cum on your dick okay baby? You just make me feel so good I can’t help myself.” you told the man beneath you breathlessly, prompting Max to resume rubbing circles into your clit. 
“Please do. Please cum all over my cock I need that so much” Max croaked out and with that you fell over the edge. A wave of pleasure washed over you and you screamed out for Max. It felt so good you thought you were going to pass out, completely taken over by the pleasure that Max’s hard dick had given you. For a few moments, you simply had to still yourself to let yourself recover. 
Once you had ridden out the last of your orgasm, you were ready to go again; ready to make Max feel as good as you possibly could. You began grinding down onto him, squeezing yourself against him. After feeling you cumming all over him, Max knew he wouldn’t need long before he was right behind you.  
“Fuck Y/N I’m really close, get off and I’ll finish in your mouth” Max just about got out between moans. When you didn’t get off and instead began bouncing faster and harder, Max really thought he might just die.  
“Cum inside of me Maxie please, I need your cum fucked so deep inside me”  
“Fuck really?” 
“Yeah, i need it so bad.” 
“Oh my god Y/N, you’ll be the fucking death of me” 
The second those words left his mouth, he fell apart. A string of profanity left his lips, and you could feel his dick pulse inside of you as he painted the insides of you white with his cum. Max couldn’t believe how good it felt, sex with you was always great but that was on another level, he couldn’t remember ever feeling that good before. 
“I love you so much Y/N” 
He gently slipped himself out of you and you collapsed next to him on the bed. Exhausted wasn’t the word for how tired you felt after that. And apparently that was true for Max as well as in the time that it took you to waddle to the toilet to clean yourself up, he had managed to fall asleep. You couldn’t blame him of course; even before that it had been a very long tiering day for him. So, as quietly as you could, you got ready for bed and slipped yourself into bed next to him.  
Looking at the very peaceful sleeping man next to you, you couldn’t help but snuggle down close to him. Placing a kiss on his temple before assuming the big spoon position that you know he loves so much from you. Your movement causing him to ever so slightly stir awake. 
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me” he spoke so softly you almost missed it before falling right back into a very peaceful sleep. You couldn’t help but feel so lucky to have a man like him cuddled close to you. 
“Sleep well Maxie, I love you more than anything.” 
1K notes · View notes
lecsainz · 6 months
Text
BEEN MINE
request: that one where you and charles have been friends since childhood and end up together
pairings: charles leclerc x friend!f1driver!reader
authors note: It was a request from a while ago, and it was in my drafts, so I decided to finish it, but I couldn't find the request box 😭
✩. . . masterlist !
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liked by charles_leclerc , redbullracing , and 1.783.809 others
yourinstagram week of tests and a bit of my veryyyy boring holidays for you guys.
view all 10.527 comments
ynismylife can't wait to see you racing this season
danielricciardo gonna kick some butts, girl!
⤷ yourinstagram I'll kick yours, danny!
⤷ danielricciardo oh, don't even
tswift the best of the grid
yourmom so proud of you my little baby
⤷ yourinstagram love you ❤️
⤷ landonorris “little baby” 😂
⤷ yourinstagram shut up, head square
landonorris still can't believe you ditched me to team up with max.
⤷ yourinstagram what can I say, lando, I love energy drinks! 😝
⤷ landonorris just smuggle some to my garage, we're good
⤷ yourinstagram deal!
⤷ landonorris 🤝
mcslaren her in the RBR uniform is gonna be the death of me.
⤷ monzaaaaa she must look smoking hot
charles_leclerc see you on the track, Y/N/N
⤷ yourinstagram ready to eat dust, leclerc?
⤷ charles_leclerc I never, but you...
⤷ yourinstagram we'll see, charles, we'll see.
redbullracing check out our new driver! we're thrilled to have you on the team, Y/N!
f1girly SHE IS SO MY WIFE
⤷ ynmine no she is MINE
maxverstappen1 can't wait to go for a run together, mate!
⤷ yourinstagram same here max.
⤷ 44hamiton not max calling her a mate 😭
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yourinstagram - 4hrs ago
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seen by charles_leclerc, oliviarodrigo and 12.681.879 others
charles_leclerc — 5hrs ago
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seen by carlossainz55 , maxverstappen1 and 6.827.971 others
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liked by charles_leclerc , kendalljenner , and 2.683.729 others
yourinstagram definitely wasn't my best race, but hey, I made it to the podium! yeah, I'm gonna copy my grid mates, a.k.a. lando and daniel, and post more random pics. nah, I'm never making an insta for this; I always forget the password I set.
tag: danielricciardo , charles_leclerc , maxverstappen1, landonorris
view all 17.628 comments
charles_leclerc y/n, you gotta be kidding me with this pic!
⤷ yourinstagram but it's your bestie's best shot!
⤷ charles_leclerc I hate you, stinker
⤷ yourinstagram you're the stinker, percival
vsttapen RBR on 🔝!
landonorris since when do you remember anything?
⤷ yourinstagram lando, I just forgot your birthday, no biggie
⤷ landonorris NO BIGGIE????
foryn I'm just loving Y/N's era in red bull
yourbestie miss you 😢
⤷ yourinstagram me too sweetheart 😭
charles_leclerc since when do you root for the lakers, muffin?
⤷ yourinstagram always have.
⤷ charles_leclerc not gonna comment
⤷ yourinstagram boring 😑
danielricciardo when? where? and why did you take this pic of me?
⤷ yourinstagram I've got way more where that came from, danny.
⤷ danielricciardo y/n, you're scaring me
ferrariclub Y/N dropping a bunch of memes for us was just what I needed
lewishamilton we gotta set up a playdate for roscoe and [your dog name]
⤷ yourinstagram OMG! we need that, lew.
sebastianvettel you had an awesome race, kiddo!
⤷ yourinstagram thanks, seb ❤️
lecciardo we need posts like this every week!
maxverstappen1 should've posted a pic of us on the podium, mate.
⤷ yourinstagram couldn't find any good ones 😭
⤷ maxverstappen1 what do you mean?
⤷ yourinstagram charles_leclerc was photobombing like crazy.
⤷ charles_leclerc why am I still your friend?
⤷ yourinstagram cause you love me.
⤷ landonorris friend?
⤷ yourinstagram yeah, just a friend, lando!
ynandcharles I'm dying from this comment thread.
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liked by carlossainz55, taylorswift , and 18.362.071 others
charles_leclerc you are the best thing that's ever been mine
tag: youristagram
view all 23.681 comments
yourinstagram and every time I look at you, it's like the first time
ynfirst the caption 😭😭😭
landonorris finally, you guys spilled the beans, I couldn't hold onto this anymore.
⤷ yourinstagram the first time you kept a secret!
⤷ danielricciardo HOW DID LANDO KNOW AND I DIDN'T
⤷ landonorris DON'T WANNA KNOW, DANIEL (I accidentally caught them both in the act, traumatized to this day 🤮)
f1gossip I TOLD YOU!!!!
carlossainz55 can I be the wedding godfather, lovebirds?
⤷ yourinstagram of course!
⤷ charles_leclerc yes!
⤷ landonorris can I be too?
⤷ yourinstagram NO
sainzmyluv my folks
arthur_leclerc congrats! and officially welcome to the leclerc family, yourinstagram
⤷ yourinstagram thanks arth ❤️
⤷ charles_leclerc you seemed more hyped when we told you
⤷ arthur_leclerc oh cmon I am the fan number 1 of yncharles!
hrryswif them being a swiftie couple >>>>>
maxverstappen1 I couldn't stand Y/N talking about charles all day, and now it's going to be even worse.
⤷ yourinstagram MAX! I don't talk about him all the time
⤷ maxverstappen1 YES, YOU DO.
lorenzotl Y/N dating the rival, christian won't like that very much...
⤷ yourinstagram I'm going to steal ferrari's strategies 😎
⤷ charles_leclerc I knew there was something behind it
⤷ yourinstagram LOVE, WAIT, I CAN EXPLAIN!
yourmom pascal and I always knew you two would end up together
⤷ pascal_leclerc we'll have to rethink our plans for their wedding.
⤷ yourinstagram oh no
⤷ charles_leclerc MOM, WE HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED DATING PROPERLY YET.
⤷ pascal_leclerc it's never too early to have everything planned, dear
yourbestie yourinstagram, you sneaky! why didn't you tell me, but you make a HOT couple
⤷ yourinstagram calling you now, bitch
2K notes · View notes
astonmartingf · 4 days
Text
CHASE ; MV1
max verstappen x streamer!reader
. . . you find yourself in a predicament between max's request and your conscience, so you ask charles for help in your game of chase with max verstappen
amgf mention of dnf and written portion in at the end. i am capitalizing on the ausgp, which is the same for wyh hahaha
previous: what if we met?
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This was the first race you watched live in a long time. Charles tried to invite you multiple times, the last time you watched was during his debut back in 2018.
You could barely remember the difference then and now, sitting in the Ferrari garage with other members of the team you situate yourself in the corner, not really knowing what to do.
It was more chaotic than you remember, seeing Max especially going to the pit lane, his wheel burning, leaving a trail of smoke for every garage to see. It alarmed you a little bit, but hearing his voice through the radio, calmed you down.
You meet his gaze as he walks by the Ferrari garage, probably on the way back to their motorhome, or the media pen. Charles gave you a tour of the track at the start of the weekend, but you still find yourself getting lost in the middle of Albert Park.
You flash him a small smile, followed by a wave which he returned. He must be not in the mood to talk, knowing the situation that happened, it caused them the gap to tighten between drivers.
As Charles' friend it definitely filled you with hope knowing that he might have a chance to pull some points to get ahead of the championship ranks.
But as someone who recently knew more about Max, it was definitely an unfortunate moment for him. You watch the screen as they interview Max regarding what happened with his car.
You stare at the screen, fully realizing then that this is the first time you two met outside the shared video games you played together.
As much as you tried to keep your cool alongside Charles' insistent teasing, you admit that you're nervous forming a conversation with him.
Just like after the second practice session, they planned to eat dinner together. Obviously you came with Charles, but what you didn't expect was for Max to be there as well. And safe to say it wasn't the same as your conversations online.
You remember Charles recalling your conversation with him word for word the whole night, teasing your awkwardness.
And in his words, he thinks, "it's cute that you're both awkward together, like two little nerds catching feelings for each other"
How appalling. And the day before the race when you bumped into Max, who happily helped you on your way back to the Ferrari motorhome. Which led to even more incessant teasing from Charles, you don't understand how Max keeps his cool whenever Charles keeps making fun not just of you but of him as well.
Maybe he's more used to Charles, they did race each other for a long time. But that's a story for another time, it's the first time you saw both of them and it seems like the fans are right when they say they sense chemistry between those two.
Your phone pings, receiving a message from Max.
Max the Builder: You want to go out on a little walk for a while?
YN: Where are you?
Max the Builder: I'll meet you at the back of the Ferrari garage.
You look around, everyone's eyes are glued to the screen watching Carlos and Charles closely. Glancing back and forth to the screens on the garage and your phone, you make your way behind the exit, where Max stood waiting for you.
"Have you been waiting for a while?" You watch Max jump, catching him off guard as he whips his head in your direction.
"I just got out of interviews, I'm free for the rest of the race. Want to spend it with me?" There he goes again asking you those questions, you know he speaks out of malice, but his genuine expression makes it hard to say no to him.
Before you could reply, you feel that Max has sensed your hesitance, thinking where he got things wrong again, immediately cutting off your reply. "But if you want to watch Charles we can do that as well. Or you just don't want to hang out with me?"
A soft gasp left your lips, quickly shaking your head left and right, "Max, you know that's not true. But I guess you could say I was avoiding you for the last day..."
Max tilts his head before nodding slowly, trying to hide the evident disappointment in his face, "So that wasn't me just overthinking it... You were purposefully avoiding me?"
"Not like that Max, I guess I was just overthinking as well. We've only talked online until now. I guess I got intimidated seeing you in real life, because we're not on Minecraft? Maybe I just got used to that, hence I kept avoiding you."
Max thinks in silence before raising his finger, "If you're uncomfortable talking at the moment we can play Minecraft and talk there?"
His suggestion catches you off guard, "What? No, we don't have to play Minecraft just to talk silly. That is a good idea Max, but I think we just need more conversations outside discord. My name is YN LN, nice to meet you." Extending your hand in front of him, which he happily shook back.
"Hello YN, I am Max Verstappen. I guess now I won't have to chase after you yeah?"
You laugh, shaking your head disagreeing, "You can't just tease me immediately Max, then I'll have to run away again."
Max shrugs putting his hands in his pocket, feeling more comfortable and finding the flow in your conversations, just like you did back on Discord.
"Well, run all you want, I'll have to let you know— I'm known for being fast."
You nod your head playing along, it's seems like the grooves have connected, like gears shifting in connection. "Well, your engine seems to disagree."
You watch Max' face freeze, "Too early?" your thoughts buzz around, thinking how you messed up the conversation in less than a minute.
A record breaking time.
But your worries halt hearing the sound of Max' laughing at your statement. "That's a good one YN, you're catching up quick."
This time it was your turn to shrug your shoulders, "What can I say, I learned from the best." bumping your shoulders into him.
You walk with Max as the race comes to a close, feeling confident and content as your friendship with him grows.
amgf i think there's one final chapter, the twitch stream hahahaha max is getting desperate but i would too
amgf ★ superstars: @namgification @lpab @the-untamed-soul @xjval
494 notes · View notes
mixsethaddams · 1 year
Text
Eddie forgets it’s Valentine’s Day until the literal moment he pulls into the parking lot outside of Steve’s job to pick him up after his shift. The big banner in the window offering their February 14th special offers nearly sent him into cardiac arrest.
It was too late now to flip it into reverse and speed to the nearest garage and buy the first box of candy he could find; Steve had spotted him through the window and was already waving at him. Eddie usually arrived a few minutes early but he got caught up staring through the window at the music store downtown. There was an acoustic guitar he was saving up for on display. It would take him almost a year to get there on his current budget, but he was determined. Now that Eddie thought about it, there was definitely some pink ribbon hanging in that window today. He cursed himself again, realising he must’ve seen a million other literal red flags throughout the day that he’d ignored.
“Think, Munson, think….” Eddie grumbled to himself, wringing his hands around the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Steve was walking towards the van now, and the small red gift bag in his hand killed any hope Eddie might have had that he’d forgotten too.
“Happy Valentine’s, Eds,” said Steve brightly as he hopped into the passenger seat, handing over the bag.
Eddie looked into it and found an assortment of a few of his favourite things. A heavy metal magazine, red twizzlers, a pack of smokes, even some new guitar strings. Ah shit, this was perfect. Eddie felt like hell.
“You don’t have the right guitar for those yet though,” Steve pointed out and sure enough, on closer inspection they were nylon acoustic strings and not the steel kind Eddie used for his electric guitar.
“That’s ok it’s not- Wait, yet?” asked Eddie.
Steve looked giddy as he handed over a piece of paper. It was a receipt of sale and Eddie gawped at it in silence for almost a full five minutes. Steve bought him the guitar he’s been staring at in the window. The note on the bottom said he could pick it up tomorrow.
“This is for-”
“Sure is”
“-that I’ve wanted for months-”
“Sure have”
“-is this for real?”
Steve rolled his eyes.
“Yes Eddie it’s for real,” said Steve with a sigh. “You’ve been talking about that thing in your sleep, figured this might make you shut up about it,”
“I will never shut up about this,” said Eddie, still staring at the receipt.
Another moment passed and Steve very politely and gently cleared his throat. Eddie snapped back to reality. Steve’s eyes went wide as Eddie kicked into action. He pulled his jacket off his shoulders and threw it at him. He reached down and tugged his shoes off, threw them at Steve too. All the rings on his hands came next, then his belt, and the keys for the van hit Steve squarely in the chest with a light thud.
“Take it,” he mumbled, adding his socks to the growing pile on Steve’s lap. “All of it,”
Steve let out a confused laugh.
“Eddie what the hell are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.
“You can have the trailer too,” said Eddie, fishing candy wrappers from his pockets and deciding if they were Steve worthy. “Wayne will understand,”
Steve laughed properly now.
“What are you talking about, baby?”
“This!” shrieked Eddie, now halfway out of his t-shirt, waving around the receipt for the guitar. “I can’t compete with this! I can’t give you anything like this, so just-” Eddie’s voice got muffled as his shirt got stuck over his head. “-take everything,”
He flung the piece of clothing and Steve’s head and started to unzip his jeans.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” said Steve, shaking with laughter now as he grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Put your clothes back on, this isn’t a competition,”
“You’re only saying that because you won,” said Eddie with narrowed eyes.
Steve began to hand Eddie back all the things that had been hurled at him over the last frantic few minutes.
“I don’t need anything from you,” said Steve softly. “Especially not week-old candy wrappers,”
Eddie snatched back his socks.
“I don’t….” He said, embarrassed. “I don’t have anything though…”
Steve chuckled.
“So you can buy me dinner instead,” he told Eddie, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. “Now hurry up and take the rest of your shit back so you can bring me home,”
Eddie nodded solemnly and took each item back as it was given to him. He slipped his t shirt back over his head and when he looked at Steve for the last of his rings, he was holding Eddie’s favourite skull ring between his fingers. It was the only one that was big enough to fit Steve. A plan formed quickly, so organically that Eddie was shocked it hadn’t occurred to him before right now. It…was perfect honestly. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it before, it just never felt like a good time and… Oh yeah, this was definitely the excuse he needed to just do it
“How ‘bout you keep that one, at least?” suggested Eddie. “Make me feel like I’m not a total failure today,”
“You’re not a failure,” said Steve, rolling his eyes again. “But fine, yes, I’m keeping this one,”
Eddie smiled and held out his hand to take one of Steve’s.
“Well then allow me,” he said, taking the ring. Steve offered up his right hand, and Eddie promptly swatted it away. “Other one,”
Steve’s eyebrow raised higher as he hesitantly gave Eddie his left hand.
“Seriously?” asked Steve, suspicious and amused.
“Unless you’d prefer the right hand?”
“No, no, left works,” said Steve quickly, taking his hand back to wipe off any sweat onto his jeans.
Steve shook out his hand and quickly smoothed down his hair. He plucked a stray starburst wrapper from his shoulder and flicked it to the ground. He settled himself comfortably facing Eddie and placed his left hand in Eddie’s waiting palm.
Eddie slotted the ring onto Steve’s third finger and gave it a little pat once it rested snugly against his knuckle, before bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. A tiny squeak escaped Steve’s mouth.
“How’s that?” asked Eddie with a smile.
“Just what I wanted,” said Steve, looking like he was on cloud nine, and leaning over to kiss him.
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