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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

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falling is easy, catching is hard

rated m | also on ao3 cw: recreational drug use, implied sexual content tags: friends with benefits, secret relationship, shotgunning, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sidekick-hero!!! Sandy, you deserve the world, but this 3000 word thing will have to do for now 💖

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

December 19, 1985

Steve Harrington needed sleep.

Eddie Munson had the only thing that would put him to sleep.

But Eddie Munson also held a grudge, a reasonable one, but an annoying one.

“You want me to sell you the last of my good shit? For half price?” Eddie snorted. “You’re out of your damn mind, Harrington.”

“Munson, please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Steve begged.

“Why would I do you any favors? You never did me any.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, waiting somewhat impatiently for a response from Steve.

Steve didn’t have one.

Eddie was right; He didn’t really deserve a favor from someone who had let his friends make his first senior year absolutely miserable.

But Robin’s voice looped in his head: “Be vulnerable sometimes, Steve. People may surprise you.”

“Listen man, I just really need to sleep, alright? I’ve tried everything else.” Steve sighed. “This is pretty much my last hope.”

Which was a truth and a lie. He’d already tried smoking some weed, knew that it worked.

Eddie’s forehead creased in the middle.

That’s kinda cute, Steve thought to himself before shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by big, brown eyes and shiny lips.

“You been to a doctor?” Eddie asked.

“The sleeping pills make them worse.”

“Make what worse?” Eddie pushed.

“The nightmares.”

Eddie nodded once, understanding flitting across his face as he relaxed his arms by his sides.

“How long you been havin’ them?” Eddie asked as he walked around to the bench at the picnic table, opening his lunchbox.

“I guess…technically years. They’ve been worse since July though.” Steve knew he had to be careful about what he said, couldn’t give away more than what the public knew about what happened at the mall, but Eddie seemed trustworthy enough to handle this part. “Doctors said it’s normal for trauma or whatever.”

Eddie nodded, whispered something under his breath, and shuffled through his box.

“Forgot you worked at the mall over the summer. Kinda crazy what happened,” he said as he pulled a small discolored plastic bag from the box. “I’ll make you a one-time only deal, Stevie.”

Steve ignored the butterflies in his stomach at the nickname, kicked at the dirt under his feet, and gestured for Eddie to continue.

“I’m not giving my product away for half price. I’m a businessman and that’s not a smart financial decision for my business.” Eddie held up a hand when Steve looked like he was going to argue. “But! I will share a joint with you right here, right now, for free.”

“Um. What?”

“I was gonna smoke this one tonight as a celebration for passing all my first semester finals by the skin of my teeth. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” Eddie’s smirk made the butterflies even worse.

Steve was going to regret this.

God, he was so stupid.

“Yeah, okay.”

Smoking with Eddie the first time was nice, but the second, and third, and fourth times were even better.

— — — — — — —

January 16, 1986

“You’re late, Stevie. I was starting to worry you’d gotten frostbite.” Eddie’s smile warmed Steve from the inside out, the shiver wracking his body more to do with the growing fondness he had for the curly-haired man in front of him.

Eddie was bundled up like they were in Antarctica, and to be fair, it was below freezing outside right now.

Steve offered to meet somewhere else, but Eddie insisted they come to his usual spot.

And then Steve saw it: Eddie had built them a fire. It was small, he probably didn’t want to draw any attention from the road, but it was throwing heat that Steve craved.

“Come warm up before we get into it,” Eddie waved him over, his gloved hands looking out of place.

Steve was used to seeing shiny rings on his fingers, blisters on his fingertips from playing too much guitar.

Steve stood next to him in front of the fire, holding his own gloved hands out to try to warm his body as much as possible.

“Any reason I couldn’t just come to your house or something?” Steve asked, not quite getting rid of the attitude in his tone.

“My Uncle has tonight off. He’s a pretty chill guy, but I think actively watching me sell drugs to someone would maybe cause a heart attack.” Eddie sighed. “I told him I had a date tonight so I couldn’t really have you show up after that.”

“A date?” Steve grinned, nudging Eddie’s arm. “I didn’t even bring flowers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but looked away to cover a blush. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to put out until there’s a dozen roses in my hand.”

He meant it as a joke surely, but something in Steve’s chest clenched at the thought of spoiling Eddie like that. Maybe not roses, that didn’t quite seem his style.

“I’ll try to remember them next time,” Steve managed to say, nearly choking on his own words.

What was he even doing? Flirting? Eddie didn’t even consider him a real friend, why would he want him to bring him flowers?

“Got a new strain tonight. It’s supposed to be a little stronger, but fades faster, so you should be good to drive back home in a couple hours.” Eddie pulled the baggie out of his pocket, lunchbox long gone after meeting twice a week for the last month.

Steve wasn’t really a customer anymore, no matter how they tried to keep up appearances that he was.

He still tipped Eddie, or tried to, but usually Eddie ignored it and just said it was a favor to help him sleep.

“How strong?” Steve finally asked as Eddie pulled the lighter from his pocket.

“Might make you a little floatier than usual. Not hallucinogenic, though.” Eddie knew he couldn’t handle that kind of trip. That’s why he stayed away from his other offerings. “I tested it out myself earlier this week.”

Steve wasn’t reading into that.

“Okay.” He fought off a shiver, this time from actually being cold. “Guess it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll drive you home if it’s too much.” Eddie’s offer was kind, going above and beyond what a dealer would do for a customer, but Steve wasn’t reading into it. “Or you can nap it off in the van for an hour or so before heading home. Whatever.”

Eddie lit the joint, breathing in long and slow, holding the smoke until Steve was sure he would pass out before slowly letting it out.

He handed the roll to Steve, who didn’t think about what Eddie meant by stronger, and took his normal pull, choking halfway through.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took the joint from him, his hand grabbing onto Steve’s arm as he coughed.

“Jesus Christ, man, you good?” Eddie asked him.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Sorry. It is a lot stronger.”

Eddie searched his face, relaxing as Steve’s breathing went back to normal. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe take it slower?” Eddie teased. “Or- no never mind.”

“Or what?” Steve asked, already feeling the heaviness that came with smoking.

“Ever shotgunned before?”

Steve’s heart stopped. He’d venture to say he was even stone cold sober again after that question.

“Um. No.” He hadn’t. He’d wanted to with Nancy, figured it would be the only way she would be interested in trying weed, but it never worked out. “Would it be easier?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Usually. We can give it a try if you want.”

Steve nodded before he really processed what he was being offered.

Eddie’s mouth would be very, very close to his. Possibly even on his.

And he’d be sharing breath with him, probably more than one if it worked.

Eddie pulled the picnic table closer to the fire and sat on the bench. He patted the seat next to him.

“Might as well get comfy, then,” Eddie said.

Steve sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth coming from his side, close enough to hear Eddie’s hitched breath when they made contact.

Close enough to want to be closer.

“Alright, so I’ll start with a small one, and you just have to breathe in when I breathe out.”

“Is it-” Steve played with a loose thread on his gloves. “Your lips are gonna touch mine?”

Eddie suddenly looked nervous, like he regretted offering this at all, and Steve couldn’t allow that.

“I don’t mind! I mean, I want you to!” Steve panicked. “Like, it’s fine! I know we have to for the whole thing to work.”

“Yeah. Um, it’s not like, weird or anything. It’s just me helping you get high.”

It wasn’t weird, but it definitely was hot.

Eddie took a drag, leaned into Steve’s space, and cupped his jaw, tilting his head back for easier access.

Steve couldn’t breathe.

But he had to, that was the whole fucking point of doing this.

His lips parted and Eddie’s warmth coated him, covered him better than the fire.

He breathed in as Eddie breathed out, his hand seeking contact with anything solid to keep him on this earth.

He found it in Eddie’s hip, his fingers gripping tight as Eddie lingered beyond the point of the smoke clearing from his mouth to Steve’s.

Their lips brushed lightly, an agonizingly soft touch that Steve tried his best not to chase as it drifted away.

He bit back a whine at the loss, opening his eyes to see Eddie still surprisingly close, pupils huge.

It’s just the weed, Steve thought to himself.

It definitely wasn’t their almost-kiss.

Steve breathed out, swallowing once the smoke was gone from his mouth.

“Good?” Eddie asked.

Steve should answer him, should nod and thank him for doing this, maybe ask him for another hit so he could try to blame his fidgeting on being high.

But Steve wanted to kiss him.

Not shotgun, not barely brush lips, not act like this wasn’t something more than what it started as.

Robin told him he deserved nice things, and he deserved to be happy, and he did.

So Steve let himself try to have a nice thing.

“Again?” Steve asked, leaning in before Eddie had a chance to take a drag.

“Woah, big boy.” Eddie’s hands grabbed his shoulders, not pushing him away, but holding him back from making contact that he so desperately wanted. “Think that first hit might have gotten to you already. Let’s take a minute.”

“No, I-”

“Steve. You’re high.”

His tone was final, and something about the way his eyes darted away made Steve think that maybe this wasn’t the first time someone tried to make a move on him because he was giving them something.

He didn’t know Steve was into men, either.

Steve could just tell him, though. Let him know it’s not just the drugs, that he’d already had feelings for him before.

But the high was kicking in and Steve’s tongue felt like an iron weight.

“How about I get you some water?” Eddie asked, pulling away and walking swiftly to his van.

Steve didn’t protest. He did need some water.

Eddie sat on the other side of the table when he came back, handed over a bottle of water with a small smile, and watched as Steve gulped most of it down.

“This is good shit,” Steve admitted, slurring his words a little from the effort of moving his mouth. “Better than usual.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice treat once in a while.”

They sat in silence for another 30 minutes or so, though the time didn’t even feel like it was passing to Steve until Eddie stood up and guided him to the passenger seat of his van.

“Wha-?”

“I’m gonna drop you off at home. You got someone who can help you get your car tomorrow?” Eddie buckled his seatbelt, Steve tried not to be too endeared. “Maybe Buckley? Or Wheeler?”

Steve’s brows furrowed.

Nancy had barely talked to him in months, not since she gave him one awkward hug after Starcourt. Robin couldn’t drive, or at least said she couldn’t. That’s why he drove her to school and all of her work shifts.

“Maybe you could?” Steve suggested.

Eddie sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

— — — — — — —

February 14, 1986

Steve got him flowers.

He hadn’t seen him since the night he drove Steve home.

By the time Steve woke up the next morning, his car was parked in the driveway with a note on his keys that said ‘Promise there’s not a dent on her.’

And then Eddie had ignored his calls. He’d conveniently never been at his spot anytime Steve had ever met up with him before.

He couldn’t even pass a message through Dustin because Dustin was too curious for his own good and would probably figure out that Steve wanted to kiss him.

Which is all Steve thought about for the last month while he figured out what to do next.

Robin was no help at all, said he should just corner him after Hellfire one night and make a move if he wanted him so bad.

As if that could ever be an option.

This was his last chance, though.

He’d confirmed with one of his bandmates – Garrett, maybe? – that he didn’t have plans tonight and refused to sell on Valentine’s Day.

Steve stood in front of Eddie’s trailer, a bouquet of white and pink daisies in his hand, feeling particularly stupid.

The van was here, so Eddie was here, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk up the steps and knock on the door. This was maybe the most idiotic thing he’d ever done and he probably should leave before he was seen by someone.

“Steve?” Eddie opened the front door, confusion clear even from a distance. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I said I’d bring you flowers.”

He felt so dumb, standing here holding a bouquet of flowers for a guy who didn’t even want to sell drugs to him anymore. He considered dropping the flowers and making a run for it, but Eddie leaned against the door frame and scrunched his nose up.

Like he was trying not to smile.

Like maybe Steve did something right.

“Better bring them in so they can get water, then,” Eddie said with a hesitant smile.

Steve would take any type of smile, as long as it meant he wasn’t being sent away with his tail between his legs.

He rushed inside, didn’t think about the smell of Irish Spring coming off of Eddie, or the way his arm brushed against his side as he passed him.

Steve stood in Eddie’s trailer, taking in what Eddie called home, holding the flowers in front of him with hope.

Eddie closed the front door and walked over to him, holding his hand out.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers just for me to sell you drugs again, ya know.” Eddie smiled sadly. “I would have let you buy if you really needed it.”

“You won’t return my calls so how would you know if I needed it?” Steve countered.

“Ouch.” Eddie sucked a breath in through his teeth. “You’re right. I, uh, was giving you some space.”

“What made you think I wanted any?” Steve took the flowers back from Eddie’s hand, setting them on the coffee table behind him. “If I wanted space, I wouldn’t have bothered calling at all.”

“That’s what Wayne said, but-”

“Well, maybe you should’ve listened to Wayne.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I fucked things up by wanting to kiss you. I’m sorry if the flowers are too much. I’m sorry if I’m too much.”

Steve couldn’t look at Eddie after his confession, or his attempt at one. It may have been more of an apology, but he figured his intentions were clear enough.

“Steve. Stevie. Look at me.” Eddie cupped his cheeks, that familiar warmth covering Steve in safety. “You’re not too much. Don’t ever, ever let anyone tell you that you’re too much. You were so high, I didn’t wanna take advantage. I thought if I just left you to think about it long enough, you’d realize what happened was just from the weed.”

Steve shook his head, reaching his hands up to circle Eddie’s wrists. “It wasn’t just the weed. You’d know that if you let me talk to you before now.”

Eddie rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone, eyes dancing across the freckles that covered Steve’s surprisingly sun-kissed skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.”

“You’re forgiven if you listen now,” Steve took a breath, letting his hands run down Eddie’s arms and settle on his hips. “I like you. A lot. Definitely more than a customer should, more than a friend should, maybe more than a regular boyfriend should. It’s okay if that’s too much, but it’s what I have to give.”

“You’re really something, Stevie.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I think I’ll take what you’re giving if that’s alright with you.”

“Please,” Steve breathed out as Eddie’s lips crushed against his fully.

Steve always felt so much, always gave so much, hardly ever had anyone who would take what he had to give.

But Eddie was taking it, forcing it from Steve to his own body, his own heart, like it was the only thing he wanted or needed.

“If you wanna buy tonight, you’re gonna be real disappointed,” Eddie gasped out against his lips when they came up for air minutes, maybe hours, later. “I don’t sell on major holidays.”

“Is Valentine’s Day a major holiday?” Steve asked, brows furrowing.

“It is when I get to have you in my bed.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“That sound okay to you, big boy?” Eddie was smooth. Who could have possibly guessed?

Steve barely got out a ‘yes’ before Eddie was pulling him down the short hallway to his bedroom and rattling off things he wanted to do to him.

Steve Harrington probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

But Eddie Munson would make it worth his while.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #birthday fic

651 notes · View notes

livingemkayde · 9 months

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ch v. just you

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter five of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. smut, half porn half plot, unprotected p in v, oral, f!receiving, a little fingering, kinda dom!joel but hes sweet. rough sex and mentions of bruising. some verbal disagreements and fighting. love triangle forming formed. lots of angst, talk of miscommunications. age gap, reader is 23 and joel is 35. Tommy is 30. (ages of all characters and plot do not follow canon strictly for the story’s sake).

summary: you confront joel about, well, everything. you talk it out in more ways than one.

a/n: i been waitin for this one. TURN IT UP. i hope you guys like this slow burn reward, im happy with how this chapter came out. enjoy this before all the drama lol. love you all smsmsmsm.

Joel cuts you off, dips his head lower, his tongue dips into your entrance and when you whine and moan he trails higher, tasting you and gently sucking until he reaches your clit. You bite your lip in favor of screaming, and you can barely hear Joel whisper, like he’s in awe— “I knew it,” as he takes another taste of the slick dripping out of your entrance. “I fuckin’ knew it.” “What?” “Knew you’d taste like heaven,” he says with a muffled groan, sinking his tongue back into your aching hole, his nose rubbing against your clit in a way that makes you shut your eyes so tight you see stars.

There are times you wish texting was never invented.

You like calling people — hearing their voice. The intonations of their words, knowing exactly what they’re thinking.

But there are other times, you thank the lord for creating the form of communication — because you have no idea what to say to Joel.

You stare down at your phone. The text’s words float through your mind. Trying to desperately figure out what to say.

Your thumbs fiddle with each other, you bite your lip as you try and concentrate on a suitable text. Joel’s contact name just stares back at you, unmoving.

You: going to the store on my own, i don’t need your—

You delete that text quickly as you start making a pot of coffee.

You: i don’t think we should go together—

You delete that one too.

You run a hand over your forehead, swiping through your phone to get to Tommy’s text.

You slump against your kitchen counter when you realize you don’t know what to say to either Millers. You look out the window, it’s a nice day out, the sun shining through the early morning dew. The spot in front of your house stares back at you. The spot where Tommy was parked in last night. Where he had cut you off after his question, and begged you to consider it.

“Just think ‘bout it before you say no.”

And when you hadn’t said anything—

“Please?”

So you nodded, and you’re not sure why, but tears threatened to spill from your eyes, leaving the truck in disarray and falling asleep in much the same manner.

When you woke up this morning, you hoped it had been a dream — his big brown eyes had never looked that desperate, and you know you fucked up by telling him you’ll think about it — when all you can think about is his brother.

You stare back at Tommy’s messages and type in your own.

You: can we talk in person?

You look at the words for a long time, before hitting send. You needed to clear the air as quickly as possible.

You open Joel’s texts. The last couple ones just revolve around Sarah, pick up times, and what the plans were for dinner.

But the very last one, from last night — looks particularly menacing. Like it might grow wings and fangs and jump out of your phone.

Joel M: Get home okay?

You sigh, ignoring his text and typing out your own.

You: i think i’m gonna go shopping on my own soon. be by to drop off the stuff later

Whatever — you think to yourself before hitting send.

You don’t even know what month it is.

You hadn’t realized the calendars flicked to July, until you walked through the Party City and all the decorations you can find are red, white, and blue. The aisles are crowded, everyone getting last minute party favors and decorations in prep for Monday’s holiday.

You find the birthday section, rifling through to get streamers, string lights, balloons, and banners. You smile to yourself when you find a small toy horse from that show Sarah likes.

You put the toy into the basket.

The market is next, you haul ass to get as many two liters of soda you can carry, chips, and different snacks for the party. Tommy had managed to get a decent turn out from his RSVP (which was just a phone call asking if they could come) and you want to make sure there’s enough food for everyone.

Your name being shouted from down the aisle snaps you out of your thoughts. It’s Janet Baker, one of the moms from Sarah’s soccer camp, she strides towards you pushing a cart full of hot dogs and buns. You distinctly remember seeing her at one of Sarah’s games. The one where Joel and Tommy both showed up, you, slotted to sit between them.

“Hey, you!” she says, pulling you into an unexpected hug.

“Oh! Hi, Mrs. Baker,” you reply shyly with a chuckle, her cart is abandoned when she gets a peek into yours.

“Now, I told you to call me Janet, don’t be makin’ me feel old with all this ‘Mrs’ crap,” she chides, you smile, not really knowing what to say.

“Sorry, Janet,” you say with a chuckle.

“What are you shoppin’ for missy? Fourth of July party?”

“Oh — uh —” you look down to your cart, “actually, Tommy’s birthday is tomorrow.”

“...Tommy…?” she says, while looking up towards the sky.

“Oh my god, sorry — Tommy Miller, Sarah’s uncle?” you say, trying to get it to ring a bell. She thinks for a long time, you’re about to say it’s not important but she cuts you off—

“That’s right! We met at that game last weekend,” she says, nodding her head, remembering the encounter.

You remember that game. It was before all of these new — situations — with Joel.

Sarah had come up to the three of you before the game started, a friend in tow. You were introduced to one of Sarah’s close accomplices, Katie.

“Are you Mrs. Miller?” Katie had said, looking between you and Joel hesitantly. Your cheeks felt hot.

Joel stifled an awkward laugh beside you. Tommy was quiet.

“Oh, no, kiddo — ’M just Sarah’s nanny.”

Tommy was silent the rest of the game. You don’t remember much after that.

But you remember Janet, giving you a couple friendly smiles, when you introduced her to Tommy after the game had ended. The same smile she gives back to you right now.

“Yeah, just getting some decorations and food,” you say, pointing down towards your cart.

“Well, aren’t you a sweet thing for throwin’ him a party.”

“I appreciate that, Janet. Why don’t you and your daughter come tomorrow, she can play with Sarah?”

“Oh, how nice of you to invite us. I sure hope Tommy’s okay with it,” she laughs.

“He will be,” you say back, trying to match her enthused demeanor. Her bright eyes and almost obnoxious laugh make you chuckle to yourself a bit.

She’s suddenly close to you, dipping into your personal space to whisper slyly so that no one else can hear her ask—

“Y’all aren’t datin’, right?”

Your eyes widen. This woman’s timing is fucking impeccable, you’ll give her that.

“No! Oh no, no, I’m just — I’m Sarah’s—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sarah’s babysitter. But between you and me, sweetie —” she leans even lower, her hand coming to the side of her mouth like she’s telling you a secret. “ — even though you’re Sarah’s babysitter, all us moms think you look mighty nice next to Joel.”

You don’t even know what to say, Janet’s eyebrow sticking up like she’s hinting at something. Jesus, it’s like she’s had a private viewing of your life this past week and she’s taking the footage and taunting you with it.

“M-me? With…?”

“Joel. Yes, doll—” she says, like now it’s her turn to get you to remember one of the Miller brothers, “—we see the way he looks at you.”

“No — I think you might be mistaken, Janet—”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll see it soon too.”

Joel’s door stares back at you.

You have all the bags in your hands, the plastic of the handle turns your fingertips white from the pressure of the two liters pulling it down, but you can’t bring yourself to knock.

Not until you hear some movement from inside — not wanting him to catch you waiting outside his door like a creep. You kick the door a little with your shoe in place of freeing a hand to knock.

Joel opens the door, his eyes widening at your state.

“Jesus, what are you—” he cuts himself off with his movements, bending down to take the bags from your hands, though you protest.

“I got it, Joel, just—”

He takes the bags from you anyways.

“Should’ve called me,” he mumbles while turning towards the kitchen counter, leaving you in the doorway sans the six bags you struggled to pick up all on your own.

“Sorry. I —”

You don’t really know what you’re apologizing for.

“Thanks,” you say when he puts the bags on the table and begins to unpack them. You move to help him, opening up the fridge for some of the food.

“What’s this?” he says, pulling out the toy horse for Sarah.

“Oh. It's for Sarah. ‘S the horse from that show she likes.”

He stares at you for a long time, before looking down towards the toy in his hand.

“You got this for her?”

“Yeah,” you say, confused as to why he seems surprised you got her a toy.

“She’ll like that. Thanks,” he says, setting the toy on the dinner table and rifling through more stuff until it’s just decorations left in the bags.

“She’s at her sleepover?” you ask, looking around the living room at any signs of life.

“Mhm,” Joel replies from the kitchen.

You wait in silence for a while, unsure of how to proceed. Normally you would probably just ask him if he wants to set up some decorations but this is far from normal.

“You wanted to go without me?” he asks, when you stop walking around and stand in front of him.

“I just didn’t want it to get too late, since Sarah was here…sorry” you say. You try to keep the hurt out of your voice.

“‘S fine, I…wanted to—” he shakes his head, organizing his thoughts before changing the subject. It sort of surprises you — but it seems like this has been on his mind all day. “You didn’t answer my text. Had to call Tommy last night.”

“Oh.”

Shit.

He sounds so fucking worried it almost makes you sick.

“‘M sorry. It was a—long night.”

“You got back okay? No issues?”

Yeah. No fucking issues except your brother asked me out.

You think you should say something. Not like Joel has the right to know, but it’s the right thing to do in your eyes regardless.

“Did Tommy tell you…?”

“Did Tommy tell me what?”

Fuck.

“He—uh—um,” his eyebrow lifts at your words, you can barely get the sentence out, your pulse thrumming with each second you stall with stuttering.

“He asked me out. Last night.”

Joel looks at you. It might be the first time you’ve ever seen that look in his eye. Like he’s the embodiment of disappointment. Like he doesn’t know what to do with his face, let alone his hands, his body.

The warm sunlight peeking in through the window starts making you sweat the longer he stands looking at you. When he finally speaks you can barely hear him — the drawl you love so much, quiet and blanketed under an emotion you can’t place.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah.”

He nods like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. Though, it only makes you more scared from the uncertainty of his words and actions. But surprisingly he doesn’t act out at all, he just gives you an emotionless face and words that seem harmless, but cut through your skin.

“Oh. Happy f’you two.”

“No—I—”

“Nah—’s…’s good.”

“Stop, Joel—”

He stops. But you’re not entirely sure he’s listening very clearly.

“I didn’t say yes. He told me to…think about it.”

“And?”

“And I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Jesus, Joel,” you say, exasperated. Your hand comes up to your forehead. “About last night? About…?”

Everything. You want to say. But fall short.

“What about last night?”

God, was this all in your head? It certainly didn’t feel like that at the bar. Nor on the front porch when he almost kissed you, or on the phone that same fatal night.

“Joel,” you plead with him, your voice breaking a bit. He breaks your eye contact when you say his name, almost like it hurts him to hear you say it. This game you two are playing right now is fucking ridiculous, an old tired version of the one from last night, in front of the bar.

“There’s nothing to talk—”

“Don’t do that. You can’t just fucking—” you almost laugh.

Who the hell is this guy in front of you? You continue, even through your ragged breaths and tears that now stain your cheeks.

“You can’t. Don’t—”

“He’s my brother.”

“So? I knew you before any of this—”

“He’s my brother.”

His loud voice cuts off any thoughts you had forming. You wait for a while, trying to understand what he means by that — maybe this is some petty competition they have going and Joel feels like he’s losing. You don’t know what to think of their dynamic anymore.

“I can’t just ignore it,” you say. You hate how your voice sounds so small. “I didn’t want it like this,” you say, more tears falling, you try to wipe them away quickly, embarrassed to cry in front of him.

“You think I do?” his rhetorical question lingers in the air when you don’t respond. “That fuckin’ day you met Tommy, he—” Joel can’t even look at you anymore.

“He asked me if I — liked you — or whatever, ‘n I said no. You and I were done. We had just decided it was over.”

“So you’re just gonna throw this away because he called dibs?”

“I ain’t throwin’ anythin’ away—” he shakes his head. “I don’t wanna throw this away.”

“Right. Like last night?”

“So this is about Caroline? I told you that I don’t like her — it was a fuckin’ set up.”

“This is not about Caroline,” you could almost laugh.

He gives you a knowing look. You both know this is definitely not about Caroline.

“‘M sorry. About last night, ‘bout everythin’, but you left,” Joel says, “You wanted to leave. I—I wasn’t gonna stop you.”

“I thought you were gonna come with me.”

That shuts him up. He looks at you with a slack jaw, like he was going to say something already braced on his tongue but at your response, he became speechless. Like your sentence smacked the words out of his own mouth.

“I wanted you to come with me,” you say, softer this time. “And then you—fucking—left me and got Tommy.”

“Tommy was—”

“I didn’t want Tommy. I don’t want Tommy.” you say, your voice breaking more with each confession. “But you wanted to hand me off to him—”

“C’mon. ‘F course that’s not what I wanted. You know that.”

“Then what? Because this isn’t a game to me, Joel.”

“‘S not a game,” he forces out, like he’s tired of playing too. “It was never a game.”

You stay silent, taken back by his words. You can tell his head is spinning, not really sure of what to say or rather, how to articulate his feelings.

“This is — you’re fucking…Jesus, I don’t know,” he starts, but begins to pace around the room, unable to finish.

You stay silent, watching him walk around slowly until he’s rooted right in front of you, closer than before.

“‘S a mess. Tommy is — you’re gonna break his heart because this is —”

You raise your eyebrows, pleading with him to continue, to finally say what he’s been thinking about since you two met at the bar.

“This is real. You’re real.”

Your heartbeat bangs in your ears, he’s closer than before. You don’t remember when he got so close. Close enough that when he talks after an unbearable silence, you can feel his breath on your nose.

“But you don’t know. You don’t see — any of it.”

“I see you, I —” you can’t get much out because your breath hitches. Big brown eyes stare back into yours. “Help me — show me,” you hiccup out while his hot breath catches your eyelashes.

His hand reaches down, like last night, pulling you closer, this time, you let him. His fingers sprawl out across your cheeks, feeling your neck, his big brown eyes pulling you in. He's a bit more breathless than you if that’s even possible. You keep blinking like you’re scared it might be a dream.

You look up at him. For the first time in a while your gaze isn’t cut short by wandering eyes or loud interrupting voices.

He dips down, his lips just barely touching yours, letting you make the final move towards him, kissing him, tasting him. It might be silly, but you remember his taste from all the weeks before. It feels like yesterday when he moans a bit in your mouth, and your hands fly to his chest to steady your shaky knees.

He breaks away first, you’re both panting into each other, like you’ve just surfaced from being underwater for so long — maybe you have been.

But he doesn’t say anything, only takes your hand in his and with a couple panting sighs, pulls you towards the stairs, towards his bedroom. He looks at you with a silent question etched on his face.

You nod before you know what’s happening, and he’s whisking you off into his room. You’ve never been in his room before, upstairs, sure, to help Sarah with things. But his room was unspokenly off limits. It smells like him, and as the tears reside and the genuine want rushes over you, it seems like he’s one step ahead of you, closing the door, and guiding you back towards the bed.

He’s kissing you, it’s sloppy but calculated at the same time. So much pent up frustrations and wandering eyes seemed to break at the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands running up and down your body.

You’re moaning and whimpering into his mouth, almost desperate despite always trying to remain stoic. But who are you kidding, it’s Joel.

“Please,” you bite when his mouth trails kisses down your neck and even more so when he slips your top off, catching your nipple in his hot mouth.

“Joel,” you whine again, when all he does is hum against your sensitive bud.

“Baby,” he says, and you notice the drawl is back. Like it never left, rich and honeyed — matching what you imagine every night before bed — hell — every waking moment.

You’re naked before you muster the brain power to notice him taking your clothes off. He doesn’t bother with his clothes, almost like he’s too eager to see you, forgetting about himself. You claw at his flannel but he pushes your hands back and over your head, rending your arms useless.

His other hand reaches down, finding your aching cunt dripping onto the gray bed sheets and he genuinely groans at the feeling. Brooding Joel Miller reduced to a moaning mess at the feeling of you wet and hot for him. The thought drives you up the walls a bit.

“Fuckin’ wet, so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart,” he grumbles more to himself than to you.

He runs his fingers over your outer lips while mouthing at your neck — you whimper and squirm under his grasp but his hand just holds yours harder. It might — no, it definitely will leave bruises on your wrists the next morning, but you could care less. The biting pain of it shoots right down to that white hot burn in your lower stomach.

“Quit movin’,” he says while beginning to trail down, almost like a warning for when he releases your wrists and settles in between your legs. He pants hot breath onto your swollen folds and despite his warning, you squirm underneath him. Joel seems a bit too desperate to tell you to stop or punish you otherwise.

When his lips place a hesitant kiss to your clit you almost scream, forcing his head in between your thighs and when he stops, you realize you might be squeezing him too tight. You sit up a bit, releasing your thighs when he stops and looks up at you.

“‘M sorry — shit — I — no one’s ever…I’m sorry, Joel—”

“‘M fine, lay back down.”

You do lay back down, but you're hesitant.

“No one ever do this to you, baby?” he asks, smiling up at you from between your legs, your face feels hot and you hide a shy smile. He mouths at your thighs and places a few gentle kisses to your folds.

“No, I — I guess not.”

“It feel good?”

“Good? Joel it feels fucking—”

“I knew it,” as he takes another taste of the slick dripping out of your entrance. “I fuckin’ knew it.”

“What?”

“Knew you’d taste like heaven,” he says with a muffled groan, sinking his tongue back into your aching hole, his nose rubbing against your clit in a way that makes you shut your eyes so tight you see stars.

His mouth feels like a shot. Your grip in his hair, more like the chaser, grounding you back to the bed, his bed. In his room. The bite of him seeping through every corner of your body, his flat tongue pulling your fast approaching orgasm out of you so quickly you forget your name.

“Joel, I—”

You shut up because you think he knows, his hum against you sending vibrations through your clit, his wide palms coming up to grasp at your thighs until the spasms from your orgasm cease.

He keeps going even after you come down from your high, mouthing at your entrance which seems to get even wetter after you come. He snakes back up to kiss you, you moan into his mouth at the taste of your own slick all over his lips.

The feeling of his clothed length pressed into your all too sensitive cunt makes the wanting need spark back up, like he’s blowing hot air onto a fire starter, and it just ignited.

“Need you,” you moan into his lips as he kisses you, his hands coming to grab your breasts, he’s everywhere, and you need more. And you need it now.

He pulls back at your words, a darker look on his face. You remember this look from the bathroom, when he asked you to beg for his cock, his name, and to cum inside your hot cunt.

“I — I don’t think I can be gentle, baby — I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Please, want it rough,” you tell him, looking back into his brown eyes, almost pleading.

I just need you.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he says with your final words, your permission. Joel suddenly hauls you up towards the head of the bed so you’re resting against his pillows. He shucks off his flannel and t-shirt, undoing the belt buckle of his pants in such a timely manner, if you weren’t watching him intently you might’ve missed it.

He’s kissing you, rubbing his cock through the slick of your folds, you remember the punch of his girth and how the length of his cock almost kissed your cervix, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be prepared for that feeling, especially now, when you’re pent up, and tense and you just need him.

“God, feel fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he says, running the tip of his cock through your folds, when it hits your clit you buck up against him, but he falters.

“Easy.”

His voice, his drawl, a bit darker, but you’re not scared. Like he said before, he can’t go easy, he can’t be gentle. You don’t want him to, anyway.

But what surprises you is when the tip of his cock comes to fit snug against your entrance, he falters. Almost like he’s asking the final permission, in a dark drawl that might almost sound whiny if he wasn’t so brooding—

“Can I? Please?”

“Yes. Joel, yes, please — ngh —” he cuts you off, sinking into your heat with a tight thrust, you’re surprised at the stretch of his length, it’s like he barely fits.

“What…Jesus — you —?”

“Didn’t touch myself much,” you admit, knowing what he’s saying; How are you so fucking tight?

“Was trying not to think — ngh — about you.”

Your face feels a bit hot when you remember your phone call half a week ago. It was one of the first times following the night at the bar you touched yourself, and there was definitely no time to see anyone in the last couple weeks.

Joel can evidently feel that too, groaning when he sinks in to the hilt, his breath punching somewhere near your ear, his hand bruising your waist with the force that he grips you with.

“You gotta relax, baby, I —”

“Please just — move, Joel,” he laughs a bit at your neediness, but it’s cut off with a groan as he moves, retreating a fraction of an inch before pushing back in, rending your breathless, boneless.

He picks up his pace when you start to relax around him, mold to him, like he’s the only one who will ever fit inside you. His groans and grunts are no match to mask your whimpers, his praises ring through your head, you feel weightless.

“Fuckin’ perfect, angel,” he groans, you claw at his back, probably leaving scratch marks but you’re too fucked out to care. “Just like I remembered.”

It feels like old times. Before all this mess, before the incident in the car, on the porch, outside the bar. Before Tommy, or Caroline, or Janet fucking Baker. Before everything. Before all the laters and everything unsaid. Like old times. Like he’s saying Hi for the first time and not Goodbye like he has been for the last week.

His grip on your waist tightens if possible — so much for wearing a bikini tomorrow at the party. The bite of his fingers almost snap you out of it, but he feels so good, teetering you right on the edge of painful as he spears into you with no remorse. It’s like he can’t help himself, and he probably can’t considering all the blue balls over the last few weeks.

For some reason that spurs you on further, your orgasm quickly approaches with each stab of his fingertips digging into you, his hot breath near your face, and the feeling of coarse hair nudging at your clit just right.

“J-Joel,” you moan, but you don’t think you have to tell him you’re close. You know he can feel it.

“Missed you so much – fuck, baby,” he groans, placing hot kisses on your neck, “Needed you. Needed this.”

“Joel—” it’s already braced on your lips, you both know it. An unspoken ritual that feels way too possessive for either of your own good — but you say it anyways and he groans all the same.

“Can I cum? Joel, please?”

You don’t really hear much aside from his small yes and your vision blinks white as you moan out long and deep into his ear. He fucks you through it, grunting out praises when he feels you get impossibly tight around him.

It might even be too much but you don’t care.

You wait for him, your aftershocks sending him closer to his own release as his hips stutter and he gets out one last demand that sends him over the edge.

“Say it’s me — sweetheart. Please,” he groans, almost begging. Like it’s the last thing that will push him towards bliss.

“‘S you, Joel — it’s-’s always been you,” you comply and feel him groan and shudder when his orgasm rolls through him. You can feel the hot stickiness of it roll through you, and he holds himself up to whisper one last thing to you before you both slump onto the bed and fall asleep.

“Tell him no. Tell him — just — just be with me.”

You nod, panting, he finally falls into the crook of your neck and you welcome it graciously, pulling at his curls until you fall asleep.

“Okay,” you whisper.

chapter vi. bruises

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. (for this series, i took the liberty of adding you to the taglist if you commented that you wanted more parts on chaser. you can let me know if you want to be taken off) kisses!

@sofiparallel @akah565 @going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @defnotashifter @missgurrl @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @skysmiller @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @spongebobspooploop @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tsunamistorm123 @awhoreforalotofshows @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @violinchick @rhoorl @yoongjennie88

@rainbowcosmicchaos @pedropascalissofine @purplemechanics @suzmagine @untamedheart81 @hellaradd @josephine1837 @noisynightmarepoetry @lawh0re @joelsversion @vanillen @brujitafantomatico @cartoon-garbage04 @jpbplvr @whattownheadshake @beccerjune @pedrotonin @sen-mirjahaal @awesomebunnyqueen @bluetattoos @sunnysaphira @vickywallace @bbyanarchist @gossipgirl-03 @casa-boiardi

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mountain-maiden · 3 months

Text

Sweet Nothing

Summary: Joel comes home from patrol in need of comfort and reassurance.

WC: 2.7k

TW: 18+ MDNI, Oral (m receiving), men whimpering, religious imagery, Taylor Swift references, author went to catholic school during formative years, author has never enjoyed giving head and didn't know how to write it :/

This is the first fanfic I've ever posted so please be nice to me!!

The snow crunches beneath Joel’s boots, yielding to the solid weight of a man on his way home. Moonlight filters in through the clouds, guiding him to your shared abode as the rest of Jackson sleeps soundly. It had been a extra long patrol, his late return made even more devastating by the knowledge you had most likely made dinner for two and eaten alone.

His hand warms a pebble in his pocket, your pebble really. You had picked it for him during a patrol together last July, claiming the warm brown of the rock matched the honeyed irises of his eyes. He remembers how he scoffed at the notion but here he was months later, clutching the small stone for some semblance of comfort. You had rediscovered it a couple months ago, borrowing his jacket and marveling at the tiny stone that had made it all this way, stowing away in his pocket.

“Does it ever miss the river sometimes?” You had asked, a small smirk playing on your lips as you slipped it back into his coat. He’d been found out, yet he had never really minded your small discoveries.

He could never simply lay back and bare his soul to you, but with each calloused layer you peeled away, Joel found himself eager for you to reach his core. To peer into the depths of his soul and deem him still worthy of your love. He didn’t expect God to forgive the sins he’d committed, had stopped praying for that long ago. But at the altar of your hips, he’d get on his knees and beg for absolution until he dissolved into the dust he knelt on. Joel didn’t believe in much these days, but he believed in you with an intensity that could rival the most devout priests of the days of before.

Finally, he is bathed in the warm light of your home, bleeding through the blinds and blanketing the snow covered path to your front porch, beckoning him inside. Joel opens the door and immediately all the tension he had been carrying begins to dissipate. The warmth of your home melts the frost from his bones as he kicks off his mud coated boots, discards his soaked through socks, and hangs his threadbare coat, eager to see your face.

He find you in the kitchen, humming a tune he remembers from right before the outbreak, something Sarah had made him listen to, probably that Taylor Swift she was always going on about. Your whirl around when you sense his presence, eyes lighting up as you realize it’s Joel standing in your kitchen.

“I like that song,” He smiles, walking forward to embrace you, “Sarah used to listen to it a lot.”

“She had good taste,” You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him in, “Never would have taken Joel Miller for a swiftie.”

He can feel you chuckle at your own joke, but he feels no need to defend himself. Instead he focuses on the feeling of your body as he holds you against him, as tight as he can without fear of hurting you. It’s a ridiculous notion, but Joel finds himself hoping if he presses himself to you just right, he can meld your two beings so he’ll never have to be without again. It’s a selfish thought, you have a life outside of him, which is why he doesn’t voice it, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Eventually you pull away to inspect his face for any sign of injury, but all you find is Joel doing the same to you. It’s almost comical how the man will be on patrol in the dangers of the wilderness for days and still worry for your health while you lounge in the safety of Jackson’s walls.

“I missed you,” Joel whispers, and he means it with the entirety of his being. The words incapable of expressing how devastatingly incomplete he felt without the melody of your laughter accompanying his meals, the bite of your scolding when he was reckless, the warmth of your body pressed against him at night.`

“I missed you too,” you smile, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair, smoothing out the greying strands that had become tousled by the wind during his journey home.

“I saved you food,” you gesture to a closed tupperware sitting on the counter, “Do you want to shower while I reheat it for you?”

“I- Um, would ya mind joinin’ me?” Joel asks, suddenly feeling shy as if he’d just asked for your hand in marriage instead of company in the shower.

“Not at all,” you take his hand and walk to the bathroom, unable to hold back a small grin at the knowledge Joel craved your closeness just as much as you craved his.

You enter the small room and sit Joel on the closed toilet while you fuss over the water temperature. When you deem the water an acceptable heat, your attention returns to Joel’s seated form. You reach for the bottom of Joel’s shirt and he begins to protest.

“I don’t need yer help takin’ my goddamn shirt off,” He huffs, no real heat to his words as he lifts his arms to aid your efforts.

“Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you don’t want it,” you tease, “it’s okay Joel, we both know you’re a big softie in disguise.”

He grumbles some form of an argument but makes no real effort to convince you. Instead he quickly becomes distracted as you kneel to unbutton his jeans, belt already discarded on the floor beside you. You pull his jeans to the floor and look up to meet his heated gaze, a small smirk playing on your lips. He holds back a groan as you peel off his boxers, removing the last barrier between him and your mouth, and watches in dismay as you stand up.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later Miller, now get in the shower,” you instruct before beginning to remove your own layers.

Joel shakes his head and laughs as he steps into the warm stream of the shower. He lets his head hang as he feels the water cascade down his back, removing the days of sweat and grime from his skin. You pull back the curtain and step in to join him, immediately reaching out to loop your arms around his neck.

“Hey Darlin’” Joel gives you a lopsided smile, letting you know he was finally starting to relax.

“Hi baby,” you giggle, “Come here often?”

You watch in delight as he chuckles and pretends to pull away, “Didn’t realize I invited a dork into my shower,” Joel snorts.

“Oh please, you knew full well you were inviting a dork into your shower,” you laugh, reaching up to tip his head back and let the water run through his hair.

“And, I actually prefer the term comedian,” you continue, stepping behind him to reach the shampoo and conditioner.

“Comedian my ass,” you hear Joel mutter as you pour the shampoo into your hands.

The steam from the shower envelopes the both of you as Joel stands beneath the warm water. Your fingers tracing slow circles against his scalp, melting away his tension. It wasn't just the physical weariness from the patrol; it was the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders, the burden of surviving in a harsh post-apocalyptic reality. And, as your fingers worked through his hair, you could sense the tough facade he tried to hard to maintain slipping away.

"Joel," you whisper, your voice a soft caress, "you don't have to do it all alone. You have me."

He sighs in a mixture of relief and vulnerability, his guard down in the sanctuary of your embrace.

"You've been taking on Tommy's patrols, fixing everyone’s houses, looking after Ellie," you continue, tilting his head back to rinse the soap from him hair, "but you can't save everyone."

His response is a low murmur, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily silenced by the soothing rhythm of your touch.

"I can't just watch. People rely on me," Joel croaks, his voice raw with the admission of his own limitations. How could he explain his selfish motives, how it wasn’t about helping them, but saving his soul? How could he explain the weight of his past, how little time he had to redeem himself, how little time he had to become someone worthy of your love?

"And who do you rely on?" You ask, hands reaching around to his front, tracing patterns on his abdomen. "You don't need repent for surviving, Joel."

Finally, he turns to face you and you press a soft kiss to his mouth, relishing in the restrained groan he lets out. You pull away to find his eyes glazed over in lust, gaze fixed on your lips. Apparently you take too long to reconnect the kiss, because suddenly Joel is surging forward, capturing your mouth in a desperate kiss.

He kisses you like a man starved, teeth colliding, tongue demanding entrance to your mouth, pressing your back to the cool tile of the shower wall. Fitting his thigh between your legs, you can feel his length hardening against your hip while you grind on his thigh, letting out a soft moan at the feeling.

“‘Atta girl, so good for me.” He murmers, words spurring you on as you let out small whimpers of frustration, the angle just off, or the pressure not quite right. Joel shifts to get to his knees desperate to taste you, but halts when you grab his arm, tugging him back up.

“Just, let me,” you sink to your knees, Joel’s broad shoulders shielding you from the spray. You press light kisses to his hips and he can’t stifle the soft whimpers that escape while you continue to tease him, lips brushing everywhere except the place he needs you most.

“Fuck baby, Ple-” He chokes on his words when you suddenly take as much of him as you can into your mouth at once. His eyes rolling back as he fights to keep his hips from thrusting forward.

His fingers find purchase in your hair, not to guide you but to ground himself as you send him to what he imagines is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. A sinner such as himself is never going to see those pearly gates, but in the tight heat of your mouth he can’t find it in himself to regret any of the sins that paved his path to you, his own personal salvation.

You continue to take more of him with each pass, using your hands to make up for the length you can’t fit, encouraged by Joel’s mixture of soft gasps and choked moans.

“Fuck baby, I’m not gonna last long” He warns.

Joel's words only motivate you further, bracing yourself with his thighs, relaxing your throat and taking him deeper into your mouth. He can feel himself hurtling towards the edge with each passing movement, his hips bucking involuntarily against your ministrations.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart, so perfect for me,” endless praise spills from his mouth as he feels his climax approach, knowing he can’t last much longer.

“Gonna swallow for me, pretty girl?” He knows you can’t answer, he also knows the answer is already yes.

He feels the familiar pooling of warmth in his gut and all the warning you get is a drawn out groan before he’s spilling into your mouth. Joel towers over you panting, bracing himself against the tile of the shower wall as he recovers from the waves of pleasure still crashing over him.

“So fucking good to me,” Joel murmers, reaching down to help you off the slippery floor of the shower.

“Not doing anything you don’t deserve,” you give him a quick peck before turning the water off, having used beyond an indulgent amount.

You make to step out of the tub but Joel pulls you back in for a searing kiss, battling his irrational fear that the second you leave the shower, he’ll discover you were just a figment of his imagination. An angel bestowing a temporary blessing on a man built more of sin than flesh.

When he pulls away, you leave to fetch a pair of towels and return to dry him off. Joel is ashamed of how underneath your attentive care he allows himself to feel loved, how your patient hands wipe away not just the droplets of water but also the misdeeds of his past, leaving behind a glowing trail of love. He knows he doesn’t deserve any of this, but he’s taken plenty of things that didn’t belong to him in the time before you met, and he figures your affections for the man you believe him to be, a good man, can be his one last stolen good, his perfect crime.

“I love you,” you run your fingers along the broad expanse of his shoulders, before cupping his face, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“I love you too,” Joel whispers, allowing you to take his hand and lead him to your shared room, forgoing clothes and crawling into bed.

“Can I return the favor?” Joel asks, beginning to position himself further down the bed before you grab his arm and pull him back up.

“We’re both tired Joel, you’ve been awake for days, lets just sleep. Yeah?”

“You’re too good for me baby,” Joel brushes a stray hair from your face, “I’m hopin’ you won’t figure that out for a long time though.”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes at the man above you, “one day I’m going to get it through your thick skull that you are a good man, Joel Miller.”

“My skull ain’t that thick, you wound me Darlin’” Joel clutches his heart dramatically before draping himself over you, resting his head on the soft cushion of your chest.

“Aw baby, it’s not a bad thing, a skull that thick has made you real hard to kill,” you chuckle, softly tapping at his head in jest. He lazily swats at your hand before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself closer to you.

Minutes pass in silence, you assume he’s fallen asleep and are about to reach for your book, when you hear the soft rasp of Joel’s half asleep voice.

“Sometime’s I think the end might be comin’,” He murmurs, burrowing his face in the valley of your breasts, determined to mold his body to yours, “Everyone’s up to somethin’.”

You frown at his sleep-muddled words, clearly not meant to be voiced, and stroke his hair, “Yeah, there’s been a lot of push and shoving.”

You wait for a response and when a few moments pass in silence, you grab your book and begin to read, hoping the rustling of pages isn’t enough to wake Joel. You get lost in the story and hours pass before you are closing the book and turning off the lamp, preparing to sleep. You have to resettle into the pillows and the movement causes a disruption in Joel’s slumber, a quiet groan leaving him as he attempts to get closer again.

“I might be too soft for all of it,” He murmurs, pulling you into him so he can hear your heartbeat as he drifts off. In his sleep addled state, Joel had confessed his greatest sin. The softness you cultivated within him, intertwined with the fear that perhaps he was already too late for redemption. He could carry the weight of regret every day, but it was growing hard to ignore the feeling of futility when faced with trying to mend a lifetime of mistakes in the few years he has left. Why endure the struggle for redemption when he could find heaven in the warmth of your embrace? A sinner too complacent to repent.

In the delicate balance of vulnerability and resignation, he clings to you, his sanctuary in the face of an irredeemable past. In your arms, Joel finds reprieve from the crushing guilt, thoughts consumed by the comforting rhythm of your heartbeat. God might demand repentance for entrance to heaven, but all you’d ever asked of him was sweet nothing.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you

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aidaronan · 10 months

Text

You, Like Me

Rated M || Tags & Warnings: Blood, Internalized Homophobia, Vampires For @steddiemicrofic's July prompt: Pool It started with a pool of vomit and ended with a pool of blood.

"When?" Eddie asked, staring at Steve with brown-red eyes in the pits of hell.

"Yesterday." Steve figured he didn't really have to describe it, but he did anyway. The cold sweat, the nausea, the way the bites had burned and itched so much he thought he'd have to claw his fucking skin off to make it stop. "Hit me last night that if I…"

Eddie's mouth twitched. "Sweet of you to think of me, Steve."

"I came to get you."

"Oh, did you now?" Eddie looked ragged, clothes shredded on his slight body, bites standing out in shades of mottled pink, already looking like years-old scars. Steve's hands itched to see if they felt like his own.

"Do you remember Jeremy Tompkins' grad party?"

"Oh I remember. Do you know that was Corroded's first ever paying gig? We got a cool twenty bucks from Mommy Tompkins to cover gas for the van." Eddie's faced softened a bit, wistfulness smoothing the sharp edges before falling away and leaving behind marble in its place. "Your point?"

"I've known I had a thing for guys forever. I kept pretending I didn't, telling myself I was imagining it, telling myself it didn't matter anyway because what the hell could I do about it, right?"

Eddie tilted his head in a way that was distinctly inhuman. "I think I like where this is headed, Steve."

"I stood in the back that night and pretended I didn't care. But I watched you. I watched the way your hand wrapped around that shitty mic. I watched the way you rolled your hips into your guitar."

"Keep going."

"I wanted you. I think that's why I hated you when you started hanging around, not because of some stupid, uh, repression or whatever. But because it was easier to pretend to hate you than to admit I wanted your mouth on my neck."

"You can't say the words 'mouth on my neck' anymore, Steve." And even standing several feet away, Steve could feel Eddie's eyes boring into the skin of his throat. Fair. His own eyes had been doing the same to Eddie's since he'd spotted him.

"Better if we try it on each other than risk it being someone else."

"Touche." A beat, then a slowly-growing smirk. "Okay then, Stevie. Come get it."

In another life, Steve would have--could have--resisted. In this one, he couldn't, didn't. He closed the distance, sinking his teeth in, blood pooling in his mouth and in the hollow of Eddie's clavicle.

It tasted of iron and salt and the sweetest relief.

#steddie #fanfic #mine #will i ever stop writing vampire steddie fics? prob not #steddiemicroficjuly #steddiemicrofic

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theweightofakiteofdreamsingold · 8 months

Text

Unchained Melody – J. M. K.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mature themes, fingering, unprotected sex, language, MINORS DNI

A/N: I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. There’s something about my brain and Josh and showers that somehow equals smut. I don’t know. BUT I’ve been working on this fic since the end of July because hearing Josh sing Unchained Melody with my own two ears in person changed me as a woman. Enjoy.

Bajabule,

-Han

As you wiped the sleep from the corners of your eyes, your ears grew accustomed to the sounds around you. You heard the hum of the fan oscillating over in the corner of your bedroom, feeling the cool air that it was projecting as it brushed against your face. You heard the pattering of water against the floor of the shower, and you could see the steam from it wafting through the space under the closed door of the bathroom. Just then, a sound broke through the quiet droning of your surroundings.

His voice.

It was light at first; it sounded soft and sweet, like the falling of rain while the sun is shining or the tinkling of chimes in the warmest breeze.

“Loooonely rivers siiigh, ‘wait for me, wait for me.’”

He paused, and you could hear the water hitting the floor again.

“Hmmm mmm coming hooome, wait for meeeee.”

His voice grew louder, belting from his stomach like no one could stand a chance of hearing. The sound was clean and crisp and made your heart pull tight in your chest while pulling the air from your lungs at the same time.

“Woooooahhhhh,

myy-yy-yyyy lo-ooovvveee,

myyy da-aarllinn’,

I’ve hunnn-gered, hun-ger-eh-ered, for your tou-ou-ouchhh,

A longgg, lonely time–,”

It was then that the door creaked as you tried so very gently to open it. You cursed yourself at the sound and softly padded across the threshold. You saw a loosely figured silhouette move behind the shower curtain, and you watched as his fingers snuck out from behind it, curling around the edge, before pulling it slightly down the rod, just enough for his head to poke through. His face emerged with a silly grin and his hair completely lathered with shampoo. He looked you over more than once before he asked, in a playfully dramatic voice, “Did you come for the show?”

“I did,” you said, grinning from ear to ear.

It made your heart swell when he was lighthearted, and he was, the majority of the time. Every once in a long while, he would express an insecurity or a worry that made him self-conscious, and you always did your best to soothe his anxieties. You absolutely adored the little light in his eyes and his brilliant smile, and it truly shattered your heart to ever see him anything less than euphoric.

His heart warmed you like a kiss from the sun, and all you wanted was to be his moon, reflecting his light back to him and out for the world to see.

You watched him scoop a handful of lather from his head and blow it at you like a kiss. It fell densely through the air and landed on the tile floor without a sound. You smiled at him and let out a small giggle, and he immediately returned it to you.

“You know,” he started, his brown eyes glinting at you, “you could join the show. If you wanted to.” He dramatically wiggled his eyebrows at you as he failed to fight off another grin.

“I’d love that,” you spoke in a tone hardly above a whisper, “but there’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t sing,” you said with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Your eyes stayed trained on him as he thought, processing your so-called “problem.”

He huffed a bit air from his nose, chuckling at himself. “I can make you sing, mama. Maybe not like The Righteous Brothers, but either way.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled a cocky smile.

Your body immediately felt as if it were burning from the inside out. Your eyes widened and your cheeks got hot. His smile never wavered as he let you squirm under his gaze. All of the silliness had melted away, leaving you with an aching between your legs for him.

You removed your clothes while he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, and you gingerly stepped into the shower. His back was to you as he faced the water, and you let your eyes wander over his naked body in front of you. You took special notice of the muscles in his legs and back as he ran his hands through his wet curls. You watched small streams of water flow down his back and over the prominent curves of his ass before they hit the floor of the shower.

Once he had finished with his hair, the two of you changed places, and you started to rinse your hair. You took your turn to face the water and he took his turn to look over you. It wasn’t long before you felt his hands running over your hair, working the water into it, the tips of his fingers softly massaging your scalp. You tilted you head back, embracing the feeling of his fingertips and letting the warm water hit your chest.

He moved his chin to sit on your shoulder while his hands traveled to your heat. He slipped his middle and ring fingers through your folds before making light circles around your clit. Your chest heaved as you huffed air in and out of your nose, tilting your head back and feeling a whine escape from your throat. You arched your back, pressing your ass into his hardening cock, and he responded by slipping his fingers into your entrance and curling them immediately.

He set a quick pace, his fingers sliding in and out of your heat with more ease than usual. You assumed the copious amounts of water from the shower had a big hand in this, because it certainly had a big hand in the sounds that came from between your legs that echoed throughout the bathroom. Right as your whimpers became essentially continuous, you felt him remove his fingers from deep within you and take them into his mouth. You turned to look at him, and he was moving toward the back wall, his fingers still between his lips.

After you’d shampooed and rinsed your hair again, you turned to Josh to find him already looking at you. Sitting on the small bench in the corner of the dimly lit shower, the shadows of his face were dark, making the structure of his jaw look much more pronounced than usual. His eyes also looked darker; more lustful, causing another budding warmth to spread between your legs.

You watched as he extended his arms out toward you, making repeated grabbing motions with his hands. You giggled before walking over to him and standing in the space between his knees.

“You look so gorgeous, mama. So pretty when you’re wet like this for me,” he said, a grin spreading across his face at his own innuendo.

You snickered. “Shut up,” you managed, mid-chuckle.

“I can’t. You’re too good,” he murmured, pulling you into his lap to straddle him, so close that the tip of his cock rested on your lower belly. You let the smallest moan spill from your lips at the feeling, and his eyes flicked up to yours, his irises impossibly darker than they had been just a moment before. You rolled your hips into him, and he cracked another smile.

“God, Josh. Please.”

His lips planted a long, open-mouthed kiss between your breasts, and your fingers tangled themselves in his drying curls. He hummed against your sternum, making your entire chest vibrate and fill with warmth. You felt your nipples harden as his hands roamed over your spine.

“My sweet baby. So polite,” he said, his lips touching your skin as he spoke. He changed his focus to your breasts as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked it, while his hand cupped you from underneath, gently squeezing the swell in time with the laps of his tongue.

You ground your hips into him harder now, begging him for his cock with more than just your words. He moved to your other breast to repeat his ministrations before giving in to your pleading and lifting your hips. He teased your clit with his tip, making your legs twinge before he slipped into your entrance. You gradually lowered your hips until you’d taken him in his entirety, and you felt yourself relax as you settled against him.

“Oh fuck, Josh,” you breathed, “So fucking deep.”

He moaned at your words, his eyebrows scrunched as he looked at you. “Feels so fucking good like this,” he strained, “Fast and deep this round, yeah?”

You took your turn to moan at him. “Mmm please,” you breathed.

“Haven’t even moved and you’re still begging. This is gonna be messy, he chuckled, “and really fucking loud.”

“Shit–,” you started, but you were interrupted by the feeling of your hips being lifted and dropped, quickly shoving his cock inside you as far as it could possibly go. You let out a squeal and he grunted, his hands finding residence over the curve of your ass, helping to guide you as you bounced in his lap. Eventually, he let you take over your movements, opting to wrap his arms all the way around your back and bury his face in your neck.

You moved quickly, but still made long strokes, almost ridding yourself of his cock entirely each time you raised your hips. In a matter of less than a second, you found yourself rising yet again. You dropped your hips with such force that the sound of your soaked skin meeting his each time you came down quickly became more ominous than the droning sound of the water from the shower hitting nothing but the floor.

As you perfected your rhythm, you felt his breathing change, and you knew that he was close. You noticed that he would hold his breath for a few moments, straining, trying to hold off his climax just a bit longer, and then he would take rapid, short breaths and then repeat with various moans and grunts mixed in.

His head separated from your neck, and you watched it tilt back, his face absolutely twisted and flushed a deep red. His eyes were screwed shut, and if you hadn’t known any better, you would have been afraid that you were hurting him. However, his cock throbbing in your pussy served as reassurance. You strained every muscle in your legs to move faster than you had before, and you felt the intensity of his impending orgasm rise to the absolute brink. He was fighting with absolutely everything he had not to let go, and still, you pushed him. You felt yourself rise again, but this time, in the midst of all of his moaning and the squelching sounds of your pussy sliding around all over his cock, you misjudged your placement, and he slipped from your entrance as you lowered yourself, his tip slipping up and out of your folds, his shaft pressed hard against your clit.

A guttural moan ripped from his chest as he released a breath he’d been holding. He gasped and moaned, trying desperately to catch his breath and process the sudden feeling of his cock not being swallowed by your heat. His hands gripped you harder than they had the entire time as he attempted to regain his composure.

His eyes found yours and he watched you half-lidded as you tried to regulate your breath. You could feel his heart hammering in his chest while he throbbed against your clit.

“Fuck, I’m sor–,”

He interrupted your breathy apology by crashing his lips into yours in a needy, feverish kiss. He licked and sucked at you bottom lip while he rocked his hips into you, sliding your clit along the shaft of his cock. You cried out into his mouth at the sensation and he continued, gripping your hips and pressing them into his own to create more pressure against your clit as you continued your wordless praises.

“Cum for me, mama. Cum on my cock.”

“Ohh, Josh,” you cried out, gripping his curls in your fingers as he held you up. “Want you,” you panted, “to cum, t-too.”

“Mmmm I will, don’t worry,” he grinned, “I’m right behind you, sweet girl. You need me here? Or back inside?”

“Fuck, put it back in,” you panted, “please.”

“Godddd-dammit, I love it when you beg me for my cock,” he breathed, as he moved you up and down his length.

Your legs trembled underneath you as they did a shoddy job of holding your weight. Your whimpers grew higher and louder as you bounced in his lap, sure that the tip of his cock was tapping at your cervix. You clenched every muscle in your walls around him, just savoring the feeling of your pussy being filled to the point of stretching over and over again before you erupted into your orgasm, and he into his immediately afterward.

He grunted and strained as his hips paused before pulling back and pushing up again, filling you with his cum at each pause. When he had finished, you felt him lean back against the wall of the shower to finish coming down, and you went with him, your head in the crook of his neck.

When both of you had regained control of your hearts and lungs, he helped you to stand before joining you under the now-cool water of the shower. He slipped his arms around your waist and pressed his lips into the spot between your neck and shoulder, gently swaying you both back and forth. You let the cool water hit the searing skin of your chest, leaning your head back into him.

He pulled his lips from your neck and kissed the shell of your ear, still swaying you back and forth.

“And tii-ii-iime goo-oess byy-y sooo sloww-lyy-y,

And tiiiime– can dooo so-o much,

Aaa-are you-ou-ou still miiiiiiiiiiiineeeee,

I-iiiii neeee-eee-eed your loo-ovee,”

He paused and placed a kiss under the side of your jaw, sliding his hands over the front of your body before pulling his head back slightly.

“Iiii- I need your lo-love,

Godspeeeed your lo-oveee too-oo-oo-ooo me-ee-eee.”

#greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fic #josh kiszka #starcatcher #gvf #josh kiszka fic #josh gvf #greta van art #josh kiszka smut #greta van fluff #josh kiszka fluff

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mystellenia · 2 months

Text

bet on it masterlist.

inspired by this request by @naoblack87

chapter 1: chit chat

in the bustling atmosphere of the field, amidst sports activities and the warm october weather, you bond with phoebe, sharing gossip about school cliques and observing the dynamics of your fellow classmates. later, during spanish class, a chance encounter with abby leads to an unexpected exchange, marking the beginning of a potential friendship

characters:

abigail (abby) anderson:

white. blue eyes. blonde hair. bi. 5'9" (1.75 m)

clara cane; may 5 ♉️

white. blue-grey eyes. black hair. lesbian. 5'8" (1.73 m)

phoebe stafford; july 30 ♌️

nigerian. brown eyes. brown hair. bi. 5'6" (1.68 m)

theodore stafford; july 30 ♌️

nigerian. brown eyes. black hair. straight. 6'0" (1.83 m)

adrienne (adri) newport; jan 03 ♑️

vietnamese-american. brown eyes. brown wavy hair. bi. 5'5" (1.65 m)

dylan hernandez; nov 11 ♏️

puerto rican. brown eyes. brown curly hair. lesbian. 5'7" (1.70 m)

elizabeth (liz/lizzy) woods; aug 26 ♍️

white. grey eyes. red hair. straight. 5'7" (1.70 m)

all pictures are from pinterest!!

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julesofnature · 2 years

Photo

In the early Springtime, when the violets grow, When the birds sing sweetly, and the soft winds blow, Comes the little daisy, blooming fresh and fair, Springing bright and joyous in the morning air.

Sunny little blossom, on your slender stalk, How much you would teach us if you could but talk! Ever looking upward, all the livelong day, Bright your faces turn to catch each sunbeam's ray.

The Daisy By T. F. Seward

#by Julie M Brown #naturephotography #wisconsin #daisy #photographers on tumblr

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, group play, mmf, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (v), p in v, dirty talk, praise kink

chapter five: bejeweled (15k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #16.

And when I meet the band

They ask "Do you have a man?"

I can still say "I don't remember"

Bejeweled — Taylor Swift

Differences Between Butterflies and Moths

July 11th, 2019 — Australian Butterfly Sanctuary

Although both of these fluttering insects come under the classification Lepidoptera, they possess many differences that classify them as a butterfly or a moth.

Wing Position: One of the most obvious differences between butterflies and moths is their resting wing position. Moths rest with their wings open, whereas butterflies tend to rest with their wings closed. However, many butterflies "sun bake" with their wings open. This allows them to attract more sunlight.

Nocturnal vs. Diurnal: Butterflies are active during the day (diurnal), whereas moths are active at night (nocturnal).

Pupae: In the metamorphism from caterpillar to butterfly, caterpillars spin a pupa consisting of hardened protein. On the other hand, moth caterpillars form a soft silk pupa, which is known as a cocoon.

General Appearance: Widely speaking, moths tend to be stockier and have furry bodies, whereas butterflies are smooth and lean.

Colour: In general, moths tend to be duller and less vibrant in colour, with less intricate and striking patterns. Although this is a generalised rule, some moths, such as the Madagascan Sunset Moth are incredibly striking.

–

Frizzy curls, blonde waves, floppy bangs. Citrus, smoke, and a puff of expensive perfume. Blue and hazel and brown. Sighs or moans, breathy or hoarse, stifled in throats or muffled against skin. Smooth— from one to the other and back again. Easy, leisurely exchanges. As near to effortless as it could be.

In the weeks following your first time with penetrative sex, group play has become open and fluid. Chrissy with Steve, you with Eddie, you with Steve, Chrissy with Eddie— you rotate positions and shift combinations of people with ease. It seems almost natural to feel Chrissy's lips on your neck while you kiss Steve, to wrap your fingers around Eddie's length as he licks Chrissy. You eagerly anticipate Friday nights, letting the promise of mutual pleasure carry you through your long work days at the pediatrician's office.

And you hadn't felt the sour bite of jealousy since that first time, either. You suppose you must be getting used to seeing Steve having sex with Chrissy, which is quite a relief. You didn't want to have to deal with those feelings escalating, dreading how it would impact your friendship with her and your group sex arrangement.

You and Chrissy have fallen into an easy rhythm when playing with your men. Sometimes you'll begin by cuddling with each other, giggling over something stupid one of them has said or a Tiktok video she'd sent you earlier that day. Sometimes you'll kiss Steve until you feel the brush of her waves against your cheek, and then you'll happily relinquish his mouth to find a different pair of plush lips instead. Sometimes you'll blow them, sucking Eddie's thick length for as long as you feel like until you pop off him to taste your boyfriend instead, letting Chrissy's lips take your place. Or you and Chrissy will work one of them together, tongues brushing as you lick-lick-lick at their heads until their cum paints two pairs of flushed lips, or perhaps your breasts when Chrissy pushes them together with dainty fingers.

Sometimes you'll kiss her, tasting her sweet mouth as you lay side-by-side with Eddie and Steve's faces buried between your legs. You'll swallow her moans, and she'll swallow yours, eyes hazy and skin damp as your boyfriends press their cocks inside you, happy to have someone's mouth on yours while you're being fucked. You don't directly pleasure one another, and neither do Steve and Eddie pleasure each other— it's a mutually agreed upon though unspoken boundary that none of you feel the need to cross. But you delight in Chrissy's pleasure and she in yours. And once, when she'd been splayed across your bed, waves hanging off the edge as Steve fed his cock into her mouth upside down and Eddie pumped his fingers inside her, you'd gone so far as to suck on her pert nipples, aroused by the sight of her being filled. She'd squirmed until she came, so quickly that time, keening around Steve's length. You hadn't minded because you knew she'd do the same; in fact, she'd seemed eager when Steve asked if you wanted to take her place afterward. But you'd never given an upside-down blowjob before, and it seemed incredibly intimidating after watching her. Plus, with everyone's attention on you, you knew you'd both be pressured to cum and probably unable to do so. You hadn't faked an orgasm since that one time with Eddie, and you didn't want to do it ever again. If it happened, it happened, and that would be great, but you just… didn't want to falsify your pleasure anymore. It was a small miracle that Steve hadn't noticed and confronted you about it, but you weren't going to question your luck.

This Friday night is a temperate evening in late April. The lingering bite of winter has passed, and your windows are thrown open, letting a mild breeze tickle your damp skin as Steve's tongue dips softly into your mouth. The ambient sounds of the city below— the low rush of vehicles, a distant horn, the echo of laughter and shouts from people mosying by— mix with the sound of Chrissy's airy moans as she straddles Eddie's cock, rocking on him, sharp hips cradled by his hands. Indirectly, you can feel her moving through the rhythmic push of Eddie's body as he lays flat on the bed. You can feel it because his nose is repeatedly nudging against your clit. You pull from Steve's mouth to lick your palm, returning to smoothly stroking his length, humming as Eddie's hot tongue dips inside you while you sit on his face.

Before group play, you'd been very self-conscious about this position despite Steve's enthusiastic propositions over the years. You'd been overly concerned with the size of your thighs, worried you would smother him with your weight. And despite his assurances that he'd be fine, that he wanted you to be on top of him, you couldn't get over your insecurity enough to enjoy it the few times you'd relented. But, slowly, you were becoming more comfortable with your body and with yourself. You'd become less hesitant to try something new, despite still being nowhere near as uninhibited as Chrissy is. Though you don't especially love the way she talks dirty, you do admire that she has the confidence to do it, and you find yourself sometimes trying to emulate her, if not in words, then at least in spirit. The first step to that, you'd decided, is to not automatically say no to positions you'd previously shied from.

And, oh, are you glad you hadn't said no to this. It's quite delicious to experience all of these sensations at once: Steve's long hard cock in your hand, slick with your spit; his full lips on yours, all minty and crisp; and Eddie's eager mouth on your pussy, broad tongue working you from clit to entrance. Couple that with the knowledge of the others' pleasure— the twitching of Steve's hips into your grip, the filthy murmuring of Chrissy behind you, the rumble of Eddie's groan against your slick flesh— and all the unrelenting stimuli combine until your belly begins to tighten, cinders sparking to flame. You moan against Steve's lips as Eddie tilts his chin, relishing the rasp of his stubble as it contrasts with the slick fire of his tongue now lapping at your clit. Your hand moves faster on the cock in your grasp, and Steve's breath deepens as your other hand joins the first, twisting as he thrusts forward into your strokes. Instinctually, without much thought, you begin to circle your hips, lightly grinding your pussy against Eddie's mouth. You whimper as Steve grasps your breasts, kneading them while you chase that building feeling inside you; your breath quickens with excitement and anticipation when Eddie moans, the sound hoarse and muffled into your wet heat, vibrations increasing your desire. "Mmm," you hum, a little crease forming in your brow as your hands drag along Steve's cock, pleasure running thick and sticky through your veins. It buzzes like alcohol, but headier, sweeter; not yet enough to get you to your pinnacle, but enough to make you feel really fucking good.

The sudden rasp of a calloused hand on your hip has your breath catching; you feel it snake up your side, dragging a slow trail of fire up your damp skin. The tenderness of the touch, the way it supports you as you rock your hips— instantly, the tension in your belly increases, and you start to move faster. Eddie moans again, fingers tightening against your waist, and you know that it's because he can feel you growing more excited. His eagerness fuels yours, and soon you're panting, lips pulling from Steve's as you focus on the sensation of Eddie's mouth on you. When you feel Steve's lips at your jaw, you realize that your grip has slackened, that your strokes have grown slower; you reengage your efforts, working Steve faster until you feel Eddie wiggle his face underneath you, lips searching for and then finding your clit.

You whimper as pleasure flares when Eddie sucks gently on your clit, breath shuddering as his fingers rasp tenderly over your waist, beginning to drag back down your side. Struck with worry that his touch might leave you, one hand leaves Steve to reach for him. You find his hand quickly, lightly caressing those limber fingers and ruddy knuckles in a silent plea for them to stay. You sigh as Eddie weaves his fingers with yours, his grip snug and steady as your hands press against your waist. You're burning with pleasure, muscles tightening, but as you join hands, you feel something else wash over you. The feeling is lush and verdant, blooming from that point of contact, but you aren't quite sure what it is.

"Hey," Steve murmurs, and your eyes open, darting over his face almost with surprise. He kisses you, warm and gentle, and your lashes flutter as he draws away. "Can we switch positions?"

"Really?" you ask, voice soft, neutral despite the brief flash of disappointment you feel. Unconsciously, your fingers tighten around Eddie's.

"Yeah," Steve replies, and you register the heat in his stare, the slight roughness to his voice from being worked up. "Yeah, baby, I can't wait anymore. I need to be inside you."

Despite your brief disappointment, you pulse as Steve voices his desire for you. "Okay, babe," you reply, kissing him before you lift one leg over to kneel to the side of Eddie's head. When you glance down at his face, you're struck hard by the sight of him: dark curls splayed across your duvet; brown eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, dark with desire; inked chest rising and falling as he pants, still rocked slightly by Chrissy's body; and, most of all, Eddie's lips, swollen and pink and glistening, chin wet from the slick of your pussy.

The sight is so erotic that you can't help but duck to him immediately, cupping his jaw as you capture those lips in a hungry kiss.

Eddie moans quietly into your mouth as you descend on him, and he tastes like smoke and spice and salty musk from the flavor of you on his lips. Your tongues brush lightly at first, but the wet heat of Eddie's mouth has you needing more almost instantly. You deepen the kiss, lips smacking, tongue seeking; one of Eddie's hands finds your jaw and the other cradles the nape of your neck as he kisses you harder, pressing up into you, also wanting more. You feel a light touch on the crown of your head, and it's not Eddie; you realize it must be Steve, stroking your hair as you and Eddie devour each other.

That slight rhythmic rocking of Eddie's body ceases; you hear a light huff and draw back from Eddie, eyes gazing into his for a moment until you glance down his body to see Chrissy sitting motionless on his lap, bow lips pursed, blue eyes clouded with a hint of petulance.

Steve's hand leaves your head. "Don't worry, honey," he soothes her, full lips crooked with a grin. "I'll take care of you, too."

Through your weeks of playing together, you'd noticed that Chrissy has a quirk: despite her typically bubbly nature, she seems to need at least one person paying attention to her at all times. It doesn't seem to matter whether that be you, Steve, or Eddie. As long as at least one of you is watching, touching, talking to, or pleasuring her— in the case of the guys— she is full of powdery-soft sweetness, bright eyes, and eager smiles. But if Chrissy feels that she's being overlooked, she'll make her displeasure known, usually by pouting or sulking until someone coaxes her back into contentment. Or, occasionally, she'll insert herself into the action to ensure she gets the attention she wants. Still, she never gets huffy or snappy, and she's otherwise so kind that it's easy to accept this quirk of hers.

Plus, the way you're rearranging right now… it's pretty ideal.

You find yourself arranged upon two pillows, one under your head and one under your butt. You glance past the valley of your breasts and soft stomach to see Steve kneeling between your spread legs; you widen them as he nudges closer, your calf hooking behind Chrissy as she kisses him. Her fingers play in the hair on Steve's chest as he guides his cock to your entrance. You hear Chrissy suck in a quick breath as Steve's hand disappears from your view, presumably to finger her while he fucks you.

It requires flexibility, deftness, and concentration, but Steve has already proven himself worthy of the task. He clearly takes pride in pleasing you both simultaneously, showing off his skills to you and Chrissy— and Eddie, to an extent, you suppose. You know Steve loves the way Chrissy praises him over his sexual prowess as much as he loves her talking dirty to him, and his resulting effort certainly benefits both of you.

Your eyes are drawn to pale thighs dusted with sparse hair as Eddie kneels beside your head, and they drag over the length of his thick cock as it bobs sideways over your face, skin slick and deeply, appealingly pink at the tip. As you feel one of Steve's hands grip your thigh and the warm press of his length against your entrance, your eyes flick to warm brown darkened to amber as Eddie stares down at you. This specific position is one you haven't tried yet, but you are nearly squirming with your desire to; your pussy is wet and throbbing, sensitive from Eddie's eager licking and the anticipation of Steve fucking you while you lavish Eddie's cock with your mouth.

You stick out your tongue, hips shifting as Eddie nudges closer to you. You reach up, fingers wrapping lightly around his base to keep him steady. And then, you lick a thick stripe up the underside of Eddie's cock as Steve presses inside you.

You moan into that first delicious stretch, chin tipping up, tongue wet and pink and supple as it drags across Eddie's length while Steve's long cock sinks deep into your pussy. You hear Steve groan as you envelop him, and Chrissy hums, moaning breathily as he starts to work you both. Steve begins to set an even rhythm— not slow, but not too fast or hard, just enough to jostle you slightly as you take Eddie into your mouth. He's hot as you lave him with your tongue, and you register a musky taste as Chrissy says cheekily, "Can you taste me on his cock?"

"Mmm," you hum absently, eyes locked on Eddie's face framed by dark wild curls as those plush lips part in a slight groan; you relish his reaction as your sound vibrates against his sensitive head. You bob to take him deeper, sucking slightly harder as you watch him bite his lip. The angle is a little awkward, though it doesn't make you less enthusiastic as Eddie starts to move his hips with the rhythm of your head— gently, lightly, just enough for you to reward him by slipping the hand around his base downwards to cup his balls. You know he likes that, and you're pleased when his teeth release his lip so he can grin down at you.

Distantly, you hear Chrissy speak again, though this time, it's not directed at you. "You're quite the multitasker, Steve. I'm impressed. Stretching me open so well while you fuck her little cunt." As Steve hums in approval, you change the angle of your head, lightly kneading Eddie's balls as he thrusts lazily into your cheek. Fire smolders low at the feeling of Steve's cock in your pussy and Eddie's in your mouth. You moan, a slight, breathy sound, tongue playing against Eddie's length as you watch him reach for your face, dark eyes intent as his calloused thumb gently swipes at the corner of your mouth and chin to wipe away your spit for you. And you feel it again— that verdant, lush feeling that spread when he held your hand. As it blooms down to your belly, the moth wings flutter, beating a frenzy while Steve starts to fuck you faster, cock reaching deeper, hips pounding harder against your spread thighs.

You pull off Eddie then, fingers stroking over his length slick with your spit; you work him with your hand as you lick along his underside. And you really fucking love this— you love the way your body is shaking with the force of Steve's thrusts as you play with Eddie's cock, as you hear that smoky voice groan when you lick down to Eddie's balls, sucking one and then the other into your mouth. It's your fantasy come to life, and you whimper, pleasure flaring as you realize it, face flushing down your neck to your chest as your body rocks. You can hear Steve and Chrissy exchanging filthy words, but you register it only distantly as your breasts bounce with the force of Steve's pounding. You whimper again, muffled around Eddie's balls, the sound stuttering as Steve fucks you.

"Shit." The sighed word is louder by proximity but said more quietly than Steve and Chrissy. You realize then that your eyes are closed, and they flutter open as you release Eddie's balls to lick up his cock again, moaning breathily until you realize he's staring intently at your bouncing breasts.

You hadn't really been thinking about what your body looked like until you now register the intensity of Eddie's stare, and you feel a flash of insecurity. Your breasts aren't small and perky like Chrissy's; when you get pounded like this, they shake and jiggle, and so, to an extent, do your soft stomach, your thighs, and your ass. You haven't retracted your tongue, but your expression starts to crumple into hesitance until Eddie husks, "Fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea how gorgeous you look right now." He's muttering quietly, smoke voice rough with desire.

Your belly flutters at the praise, at the fact that Eddie has chosen to speak so quietly. Because it means that he's only really interested in you hearing him. Not that it's a secret, or that he doesn't want the others to hear him, but that he only really cares that you receive his words. Pleasure twists, burning hotter as you lick up and down his length again before wrapping your lips firmly around his head. He exhales sharply, like a sigh of appreciation. "Christ."

And as you feel the way Eddie's words affect you, always desirous for more of Eddie's reactions, too… caught in the pleasure of this moment taken straight from your deepest fantasies… noticing how Steve and Chrissy are still talking to one another, and thus distracted…

And with that tendril of green peeking through the earth at the bottom of you…

You decide to try something. You decide to tell Eddie the truth.

You pull off his head, replacing your mouth with your hand to keep stimulating him. And you murmur against his heated skin, voice soft and stuttering with the impact of Steve's hips. "I really like sucking your cock, Eddie."

As you see how his brown eyes widen and deepen, eyebrows jumping in surprised pleasure to hear you talking to him, you get the reaction you desire. "Yeah?" That smoke voice is nearly a purr, deep and sensual, sinking into the pit of your belly to smolder there. "You like it?"

"Mmm-hmm," you confirm, staring up at him as you lick his slit. You keep stroking him intently as you think about what you want to say next. And you feel a little shy, but Eddie's looking at you with such heat that you add, voice barely more than a whisper, "I want you to finish in my mouth."

Your eyes stay locked on Eddie's face, hips squirming as he murmurs back, "Of course, sweet girl. I'll give you all my cum."

"Mmm," you moan, pleasure flaring as you burn hotter, brighter at his promise and his praise. A little louder, you say, "I wanna swallow it."

"Oh, fuck," Eddie groans, head tilting back as his hips jerk forward against your lips. And it's like as soon as you've voiced it, you need it— you need to taste the salty tang of his warm seed in your mouth, to see the flush of his cheeks, to hear the sound of his voice as you bring him to completion.

You move your hand faster, lifting your head so you can bob on Eddie's length, taking him as deep as you can from this angle as Steve keeps fucking you evenly—

And then Steve's hips impact you hard, jolting your body as he groans deep in his throat. His rhythm stutters as he twitches inside you, pressing deep as he fills your pussy with his cum. But Eddie is fully in your mouth, and you didn't realize Steve was about to cum, so your teeth scrape against Eddie's sensitive head.

You hear him hiss as he winces, and you pull off him immediately, brow crumpling in remorse. "I'm sorry!"

The guilt fades as Eddie cups your head, calloused fingers gentle as his thumb rubs soothingly against your cheek. "No, it's okay," he says quietly. "I'm fine." You make a small sound as you lean into his touch.

Steve is pulling out of you, but you're cupping your smaller hand over Eddie's, turning your face and kissing his palm softly. Steve is pressing Chrissy down to the bed, but Eddie is watching you, sighing as you take him back into your mouth. Steve is telling Chrissy how unbelievably sexy she is, but you're looking up at Eddie's plush lips as they part in pleasure, the pleasure you're giving him. Chrissy is moaning, high, feminine, and loud as she gushes around Steve's fingers, but Eddie's dark eyes don't leave yours, not once, not even for a second.

And as Eddie starts to twitch in your mouth— as his brow creases, dark eyes now desperate, hips rocking forward, pale quartz chest heaving under inked armor— you release him from your lips, gripping him tightly as you drag your fist over his thick length, over that spongy head flushed a deep pink, and you ask, "Will you cum for me, Eddie?"

Eddie moans, tight and high. "Fuck, yes—"

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to catch the first hot rope of Eddie's cum as his mouth falls open, and the sound he makes shoots straight down to zing into your pussy. Your thighs tighten, Steve's release squishing between your legs as you watch Eddie reach completion. You devour every second of his orgasm— the way his eyes scrunch shut, the pink flush of his cheeks and how it spreads down his neck; the way he grips the headboard, ruddy knuckles turning white as you continue to stroke him; the way he moans out his release, long and tight, hoarse and high, uncontrolled as he paints your tongue, your lips, your chin. You feel a thrill at the indulgence of it: cum in your pussy that leaks sticky between your thighs, cum on your face that drips warm and thick onto your breasts.

Heat coils and pools low as Eddie's brown eyes blink open, hazy and sated. You lick him off your lips as he looks down at you. His eyes widen, and he seems almost awed as he sees the state you're in: hair mussed, lips flushed and swollen, a mess of his cum on your skin. But you don't feel the need to hide under the weight of his stare; instead, you take his head into your mouth, cleaning the salty tang from his slit. And when you do that, Eddie makes the most delicious sound. It's tiny, slight, but you hear it nonetheless: his lips press tight, his brow creases, and Eddie whimpers.

He sounds pitiful, nearly pathetic, and as you register it, two things happen.

One, fluttering moth's wings burst instantly in your belly, beating up to your ribcage, trapped behind it as you release his tip with a gasp.

And two, you see it again: that pink on Eddie's black and white, spreading as he holds your gaze, looking almost like he wants to glance away, but he can't. That blush isn't heat from his arousal; it's not sex flush. It doesn't look exactly like embarrassment, either. It's something else. Something that reminds you of the gentleness you sometimes see in his eyes.

Thin arms wrap around Eddie's shoulders, hugging him from the side as Chrissy happily nuzzles his cheek. Her strawberry-blonde waves are touseled, but they still look silky when she turns her head to glance down at you. "Oh, you already came? I wanted to watch." Chrissy sounds disappointed until her gaze dips lower. Her eyes brighten then, arms tightening around Eddie's shoulders as he glances at her. "Ooh, you really made a mess of her pretty tits, didn't you? You're so sexy, baby!" She smiles, and you watch Eddie crook a grin back as the mattress bounces on your other side.

Steve flops down next to you, sighing contentedly as he runs a hand through his damp bangs. "Damn, that was really fucking good—" He glances at you then, brows shooting up. "Oh, shit, babe, you're a mess."

There isn't any judgment in his voice, just surprise as his eyes dart over your chin and breasts; before you can respond, Eddie jumps in. "I can get her a towel," he offers quickly, and you glance up to see his hands on Chrissy's arms, pulling them from around his shoulders as she pouts.

"Nah, man, it's fine. I got it." Steve's reply is easy and casual, and he flashes you a grin before he gets up. Though you'd all learned quickly that towels in bed were a must, the one you had prepared has been thoroughly saturated by the intensity of Chrissy's squirting orgasm.

The soft smacking of lips draws your eyes automatically, though they dart away from the sight of Eddie and Chrissy kissing as you watch the bathroom doorway instead, waiting for Steve to return as the cum begins to cool on your skin.

He reemerges soon enough, hazel eyes fond as he brings you the towel. Your gaze drags over powerful shoulders, a solid torso, the thick brown hair on his chest almost furlike before it trails down his belly to end in a neat trim around his now-soft length. The mattress dips again with Steve's weight, and you're appreciative as he wipes you gently with the towel— first your lips and chin, then your breasts, and then between your legs.

"Thank you," you say, smiling softly as Steve drops a kiss to your bent knee before propping himself up on an elbow beside you. You feel a shift behind you as Eddie and Chrissy leave the bed, presumably to go clean themselves up.

You draw your fingers through Steve's bangs, smile growing as they flop back into his eyes again. "No problem, babe," he says warmly.

But when Steve pecks you briefly on the lips, settling his head against his pillow with a contented sigh, you find your hand automatically reaching behind you, searching along the duvet. You're looking for the man who'd knelt before you, for those pale thighs dusted with sparse hair, forgetting for a moment that he's already gone.

It's been quite a while since you've stepped foot into the old cinema on Fourth and Main, but it seems nothing has changed in your absence. The carpet is still that dingy pattern from the mid-nineties, the air smells of age and synthetic butter, and they still have those oversized cardboard cut-outs displayed near the entrance. You beam as you see the ones depicting two giant blue people, pulling Steve eagerly along as he chuckles at you. Standing in front of the pair of giant blue people is a pair of regular-sized people in their casual best: a metalhead swathed all in black— sweatshirt, ripped jeans and all— and a former cheerleader adorned in soft pastels, complete with fuzzy slippers and a chic oversized sweater. You're all dressed a little warmer than the weather requires in anticipation of the frigid air conditioning the theater always seems to be pumping, regardless of the time of year.

Your thick cardigan flops loosely against your thighs as you bound over to them, eyes darting from one face to the other: from Eddie's eager brown eyes and bright grin to Chrissy's baby blues and fond smile, bow lips only slightly pinched as you stop in front of them. Her displeasure has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the movie you're going to see; she doesn't share the same love of fantasy you and Eddie do. But Avatar: The Way of Water is the first big fantasy movie that's graced the big screen in what feels like forever. You'd been awash with childish wonder in the age of Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Lord of the Rings , and this release conjures an echo of that feeling. You're buzzing with that same youthful exuberance you'd felt seeing those films as a kid, and you see that same energy echoed in the frenetic bouncing of Eddie's knee, the edge to his manic grin.

"Hi!" You chirp, throwing your arms around Chrissy first, scrunching your shoulders as she squeezes you back.

"Hey!" She smiles wider at you, eyes extra blue with fondness as you release her to hug Eddie next. You can feel his excitement in the way he squeezes you tighter than usual, and your back bends with the force of his lean. You chuckle against his hood, and he only lets you go once you pat his back to ask for mercy. Steve joins you in greeting your friends as you ask if they've been waiting long.

"No, we basically just got here," Chrissy says with a light sigh. Her voice is wheedling as she throws out one last-ditch attempt: "Are we sure we don't wanna see Megan instead? It's playing at the same time; it would be so easy to switch since we haven't gotten the tickets yet…."

Eddie looks pained as he shifts on his feet, eyes locked on Chrissy's face, which is now puppy-dog soft in an effort to coax him. "Babe,” he says imploringly, “we’ve already talked about this, and we agreed…."

Chrissy pouts up at him, adding another chink in his resolve with her sweet voice. "It did better on Rotten Tomatoes, too."

Eddie looks helplessly around at the rest of you, relinquishing the decision to you and Steve in his silence. Your shoulders fall; you knew Chrissy didn't want to see this movie, but you hadn't realized she was so vehemently opposed. And you know Steve isn't really interested in it either. He's basically in the same boat as Chrissy— just going along with it because he knows it's something you want to see.

Though your eagerness begins to edge into disappointment, you feel yourself already swaying with the invisible pressure of their preferences. You open your mouth to relent, but Steve answers first. "Yeah, but it still did well, and I've heard good things from people at the office," he says, relaxed and casual. "The first one was a huge hit. I think it's worth checking out."

At Steve's resistance, you see Chrissy resign herself. "Okay, fine," she says through a final, heavier sigh before looking up at her boyfriend. "Can we take a selfie with the blue people, at least?"

"Of course," Eddie says quickly. As they take their photo, you wrap your arm around Steve's, smiling against his sleeve as you feel him lean into the press of your cheek. You're grateful that he'd stuck up for your choice even though you know he'd probably rather see Megan too. You communicate it silently in the softness of your eyes as you look up into Steve's boyishly handsome face, and you feel a gentle flutter as he smiles back at you, full lips stretching in a crooked grin.

"Okay," Chrissy says, and her expensive perfume wafts over you as she draws closer. You release Steve as she asks, "Can you guys go get the tickets?"

"And the snacks?" you add, shooting a hopeful glance at Steve as Eddie flanks him.

"'Course," your boyfriend replies, and together, you and Chrissy watch them lope away. You let her pull you toward a bench near the wall to wait.

"Help me pick a filter!" You lean in as she holds her phone between you, opening up the Instagram editor. The picture is a low-angle selfie with Jake and Neytiri in the background; Chrissy is winking, and Eddie has his tongue stuck out in that characteristic way of his. A tiny fond smile tugs at your lips as you watch the shadows of his face transform, changing in depth and hue while Chrissy tests the different filters. "What about this one?" she asks, angling the phone to you at the same time that a text-message notification appears at the top of her screen. It's a message from her mom.

And you aren't trying to look, but your eyes are drawn to it automatically, scanning the text before Chrissy can dismiss it with a hasty swipe. "I've had it with you, Christine. You just do whatever the hell you want. You have some nerve using us and our money and still—

It's over in a second, but you're left reeling with the unintended intrusion. Your eyes dart to find Chrissy blinking rapidly, expression blank. Sympathy pangs high in your chest, aching in your throat. "Are you okay?" you ask quietly. You watch her chin twitch, and then Chrissy's smiling at you with those bow lips, revealing charming, slightly crooked teeth beyond.

"Of course! It's— I'm fine," she replies quickly, eyebrows tugged into an exaggeration of brightness, a mask she's wearing to convince you. But Chrissy's blue eyes are too expressive, and you know her too well now. She can't conceal the dimness there.

You consider asking her again or making an attempt at comforting her. But you abandon the thought quickly— you don't know the situation, and she's never spoken about her parents with you, so any attempts would come off clumsy at best. You nod, conjuring a small smile, but you don't feel right doing nothing, pretending it hadn't happened. So you reach out for her hand where it's fisted on her leggings. It's a silent show of support, a gentle overture that you hope helps.

After a moment, Chrissy loosens her fist, turning her hand and weaving her fingers through yours to squeeze you tightly. And you feel fondness bloom to mix with the sympathy when you look at her face again and see the relief, the gratefulness there. "I think that's a good choice," you tell her, nodding your chin toward the filter she's chosen.

"Me, too," Chrissy says warmly, pulling her fingers gently from yours so she can add a caption and post it to her story. She occupies the rest of the time showing you her Instagram photos, and you coo and fawn over them, knowing she's using it as a distraction from her earlier sadness. There are some of her and Eddie, some depicting herself in yoga poses, some with her and a group of girls you don't recognize in various locations— a winery, a farm in the fall, and a countless variety of bars. "This one is my favorite," she tells you happily, tapping on a photo of an aggressively-sleek electric guitar, shining red and slung around her body. Her hip is cocked with attitude, dainty fingers thrown high in a 'rock on' gesture, face scrunched with her tongue poking out.

"It's super cute," you say, noting that others seem to agree; the post has more interaction than many of the others, though they all have dozens of likes, some approaching hundreds.

The guys rejoin you then, and you eagerly accept the cup Steve passes to you. He has a large bucket of popcorn wedged under his other arm. "Cherry coke?" you confirm, grinning as he huffs familiarly.

"Duh," Steve says playfully, and Eddie nudges him with his elbow.

"C'mon," Eddie says through his teeth, which are already clamped around a cherry-red Twizzler. "Chris's leaving us in the dust." You lean around Steve to see her leading the way into theater number three; she spins around when she notices you haven't followed, painted fingers working open her miniature bag of Skittles.

You trot after Steve as he follows Eddie, and Eddie follows Chrissy. You're soon plunged into dimness, surrounded by the rustling of other moviegoers hushed under the pre-movie reel depicting some actor interview. You realize then, as you gaze at Steve's back, that you want to voice your thankfulness for what he'd done for you. You draw close, fingers brushing against his wrist as his hand swings back; when he notices, he glances over his shoulder at you, hazel eyes warm as he wraps his hand around yours.

"Thank you," you murmur, pausing at the end of the aisle to lift on your toes and kiss Steve's cheek.

Steve seems pleased but confused. "For the snacks?"

"No. Well, yes," you chuckle. "But no. For sticking up for the movie. I know you didn't really want to see it."

His face softens then, eyes alight with the glow of the movie screen. "Of course," he replies fondly, kissing your forehead. You smile big, shuffling eagerly after him as he sits next to Eddie. You flop into your own rickety seat, depositing your cherry coke into the arm holder as you wiggle, trying to find a comfortable position. The cushions are worn near threadbare, but you're too excited for what's coming to care.

Your excitement bursts out as you lean forward, looking across at your companions to tell them eagerly, "So I read this crazy thing about the first Avatar movie the other day. Apparently, James Cameron spent, like, millions and millions of dollars creating a soundtrack because he wanted it to sound like nothing anyone had ever heard before, with new time signatures and stuff. But then, because they were so successful at making it sound alien, Cameron decided it was too strange to include in the movie. So they scrapped the original soundtrack and made a more traditional one that they thought audiences would like better."

Steve nods slowly, like he doesn't entirely know what you're talking about but is impressed with your knowledge. "Shit," Eddie says, "that's—"

Chrissy leans forward. "That sounds super weird. I bet no one would've seen it if they kept it."

You shrug, replying lightly, "Yeah, I think that was the whole idea around changing it."

"That would've been cool, though." Eddie bites off the end of his Twizzler, chewing as he waves it in the air. "Like, here's this film that Cameron'd been waiting to make for years since the technology wasn't good enough to actually do it before 2009. So it's ground-breaking with its visual effects and also with it's fuckin' weird-ass soundtrack?" He grins. "Would've been a pretty ballsy move if they'd gone through with it."

"I guess." Chrissy tilts her head before pushing back, though her voice is without bite. "But when people go to the movies, they expect a certain thing. They want to actually enjoy their experience. So to do something totally unexpected…." Her eyes brighten as she thinks of an example. "Oh! It'd be like if you went to a Yung Gravy concert and this guy—" she motions to Eddie with her nose scrunched up, "came out. Huge letdown."

As Chrissy motioned to him, your eyes had darted to Eddie's face. So you see the split-second right before he smirks that it changes. It's minuscule, a minute twitching of his muscles, the briefest flash of something behind his eyes. And the theater may be dim, but you know what you saw.

Eddie chuckles dryly. "Yes, Chris, we're all fully aware you hate metal."

"Well, I'm just saying…" she defends, eyes darting around the group before landing on you. "You know what I mean, right, y/n? Not what I paid for!"

You know she's waiting for an answer, eyes locked expectantly on you. You swallow, only one split-second to decide how to respond: say what you really think or say what she wants to hear.

What you want to say is, No. I don't know what you mean, Chrissy. Can't you see you've hurt him? You thrum with your desire to push back, pressure building in your chest as your words beat against your breast, wanting to escape. But under the weight of Chrissy's bright blue gaze, those words stick in your throat, and you can't quite bring yourself to look into her face and argue so directly with her. Still, as your eyes dart to wild curls, the pale quartz of Eddie's blank face, and the dark ink of his eyes, neither can you bring yourself to agree with her.

So you don't say anything.

There's a long beat of uncomfortable silence before Steve interjects, joking to try to break the tension. "She can't relate— put her Spotify on random lately, and you'll hear T-Swift and Sleep Token one after the other."

Chrissy wrinkles her nose. "Who?"

Steve chuckles once, a little awkward. "Nevermind."

Chrissy shrugs, unbothered as she pops a handful of Skittles into her mouth.

The lights dim fully then, fading slowly into darkness as the first trailer begins. You feel the vague thrum of pressure behind your ribcage fade, the wrinkle eventually smoothing from between your brows as you watch it. You find yourself distracted, however, as you hear in the murmured, nearly one-sided conversation Eddie is having with Steve, how he's bemoaning that Lord of the Rings was the last good fantasy movie franchise.

"What about Harry Potter?" Steve and Eddie glance at you as you lean over Steve's lap, conscientious about keeping your voice down, so you don't disturb everyone around you.

Eddie scoffs. "What about it? In no way does it compare to Lord of the Rings. They're not even in the same league." His voice is louder than yours, and you narrow your eyes, dropping your volume pointedly.

"Well, are you counting The Hobbit as part of the franchise? 'Cause those movies are total trash in comparison. I mean, I'll be the first to admit that the original trilogy is a masterpiece—"

"See?" Eddie interjects, triumph in the crook of his lips.

"But," you add, punctuating the word with a pointed finger, " The Hobbit trilogy totally falls short. Drags the whole ship down with it. It bombed so bad that I'd argue it's almost an equalizer."

Eddie sighs sharply, tugging on his dark curls as he leans further over Steve's lap toward you. You ignore how Steve is beginning to look disgruntled as you both crowd into his space; you're too invested in the argument to care. "I mean, look, the problem with The Hobbit is—"

"Dude." Steve's whisper is harsh with exasperation as he eyes Eddie. "I don't wanna be stuck in the middle of this the whole movie. Just switch seats with me."

Steve and Eddie stare at each other for a second before Eddie shrugs, unfolding himself awkwardly so he and Steve can maneuver around each other. Your bucket seat shudders as Eddie falls into the chair beside yours, leaning intently over the armrest as if he'd never been interrupted. "The problem with those movies is, The Hobbit is a children's book. So not only is there less plot, there's also a lot more, like…" he waves his hands around as he speaks, "whimsy in it. And they kind of leaned into that whimsy, but they didn't go far enough. They were still trying to make it epic, so tonally, it was just a confused mess."

You nod eagerly as he speaks, eyes locked on bright brown. "No, I totally agree with you on that. They also never should've stretched it to three movies. Should've kept it to two at the most."

Eddie grins crookedly, rubbing his fingers together in front of his face as he leans back in his seat. "It's all about the money, darlin'. That's all it's ever about."

You huff a chuckle. "Yeah, really."

You lapse into silence for a moment, but when you look at Eddie again, you're reminded of that brief flash of hurt you'd seen on his face earlier. He seems fine now, but it's needling at you: the insistent desire to check on him.

"Hey," you say quietly, and he glances at you curiously. "Um… are you okay?" His face goes blank, and you rush to explain, "I just mean, I thought that maybe… when Chrissy said—"

His brow crinkles immediately. "Uh, yeah," he replies, cutting you off, words whip-sharp— not harsh, not angry, but decisive. Dismissive. He chuckles once, looking perplexed as he glances away at the screen. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

You blink at him, a little taken aback by his change in demeanor. "Okay," you say, voice small, nearly regretful to have said anything.

Silence settles between you, and you realize that you haven't been paying attention to the last two trailers. You take a sip of cherry coke, sweet fizz bursting on your tongue as you turn your eyes to the screen, watching until you hear that smoky voice murmuring close by.

"You know, I've got a tattoo of Sting." He's leaning casually back in the seat, twirling the end of his uneaten Twizzler-half as he watches the screen. "That's Frodo's elven blade," he adds when you remain silent, brown eyes flashing briefly toward you. They're gentle now, almost rueful, and you recognize the comment for what it is. Not quite an apology, but certainly an olive branch.

"I know what Sting is," you say, smiling as you draw his attention with your reply. "And I'm not surprised. You have, like, a bajillion tattoos."

Mischief suddenly fills Eddie's face. "Where do you think it is?"

You eye him, taking a cue from the sudden glint in his expression. "Probably on your ass," you say baldly.

Eddie barks a sudden laugh, harsh and loud, and the sound draws the irritated gazes of nearly everyone in your immediate vicinity. You shush him frantically, hand fisting in the soft material of his hoodie as you lean in. "Shut up!" You hiss, but there's no malice in it; laughter curls at your lips, begging to be released, and you see the mirth on Eddie's face as he ducks closer to you, dark curls tickling your cheek.

His reply is a whisper tinged with suppressed chuckles, quieter than you've ever heard him to compensate for his outburst. "Don't you think you would've noticed by now if I had a tattoo on my ass?"

You snort, whispering wryly back, "I don't spend all my time staring at your ass, Eddie."

His eyes are wide and innocent. "Oh, you don't? That's too bad."

You know it's bait, but curiosity wins out. "Why's that?"

"'Cause that would've made us even since I spend a good deal of my time staring at your ass."

Eddie smirks charmingly as he flusters you; you feel your cheeks heat, flush prickling insistently under his wolfish stare. You release his hoodie, leaning back as you resist the urge to squirm with the sudden flare of moth wings. He seems content to let you go, tipping up his chin, looking rather pleased with himself when you sneak a quick glance at him.

A slow, dawning comprehension comes upon you as your eyes run over his profile. You realize that Eddie's black— his sharpness, his wit, his wolfish smiles, the leather and chains and ink he cloaks himself in— are almost like a guard, an armor he wears to keep his gentle white from showing. Still, that gentleness can't help but peek through sometimes. Because you think, at his core, Eddie is a genuinely kind and caring man. You think there's a softness to him that he seems to want to keep hidden.

It makes you wonder why he feels he needs to do that.

Your ruminations are interrupted by the jaunty little 'silence your phones' clip that signals the movie is about to start. You snuggle down into your seat, eyes rapt on the screen as the opening scene begins.

The experience is precisely what you'd hoped for: visually stunning, delightfully nostalgic, an opportunity to re-experience that sense of childhood wonder that so often becomes lost in adulthood. And Eddie proves himself a delightful seat partner. You can see why Steve had eagerly switched places with him since you know most people would likely find Eddie's running commentary irritating, but his boyish excitement is so adorable that you don't mind. You glare at him playfully when he steals sips of your cherry coke, pretending to pout until you feel your cheek poked by the end of a Twizzler he offers in recompense.

"Damn," Eddie murmurs close, conscientiously quiet now that the movie has begun, and you resist a shiver as his warm breath puffs against your ear. "Those are some impressive dreads. Maybe I should get dreads."

You huff amusedly, eyebrow crooked skeptically as you glance at him. Your breath catches with how close his face is— close enough to count every long eyelash that frames those eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you've ever seen. You gather yourself to reply, "No, Eddie. No dreadlocks."

His eyes dance, darting between yours as his plush pink lips pull into a crooked grin. "What," he whispers, "don't think I could pull it off?"

You swallow thickly, moth wings fluttering as he stares at you so intently from such a close distance. This certainly isn't the first time you've been this close to Eddie— you've kissed him countless times in your apartment. But this is different. You're in public, sitting in a crowded movie theater, so the setting is, objectively, less intimate than laying side-by-side on your king-sized bed. But maybe that's what makes it feel so intimate— that you aren't here to swing with him and Chrissy and Steve, to engage in daring acts of sexual debauchery. You're here to do something totally commonplace: watch a movie you'd been looking forward to seeing. One that you're now experiencing together with him.

"Nope," you whisper back, grinning so he knows you're teasing. Your eyes scan Eddie's disheveled curls, and impulsively, you tug on one as you add playfully, "Plus, I think the eighties mullet suits you."

When he doesn't reply, your eyes dart from the lock of hair in your grasp to his face, and you find him with his lips twisted against a broad grin, one cheek dimpled charmingly, brown eyes bright. Wings flutter again and the feeling is intense enough that you have to look away.

Avatar: The Way of Water has a run time of one hundred and ninety-two minutes. That's just over three hours. And during the course of those three hours, as you see the wonder overtake Eddie's face as the light from the screen plays across his pale quartz skin, feeling that same sense of wonder inside yourself; as you sip your drink, passing the cup to him and accepting Twizzlers without a second thought; as Eddie smiles at you when your darting eyes catch, and you smile automatically back, something continues to grow at the very bottom of you. That tendril of green sprouts taller, straightening as it reaches for the light that shines in beautiful brown eyes. With each tiny brush of those callused fingers, leaves begin to bud, unfurling soft and fragile. Collecting that brightness, using it to feed your roots, to nourish you, so that you can grow strong.

So that you can finally thrive.

Suddenly, you want to lift the armrest that divides you and press yourself against Eddie's side, to burrow into the plush softness of his thick hoodie. You want Eddie to wrap his arm around you, to hold you close, to envelop you in his warmth, in his scent, in the smoke of his voice. You want to stroke your fingers along the back of his hand, to feel the roughness there and the smooth metal of his rings. You want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, to shove your nose against the musk of his skin, to feel the tickle of his curls against your cheek.

A poignant yearning fills you as you want, you want, you want—

"Want some popcorn?"

There's a bucket half-filled with popcorn hovering over Eddie's lap, and your eyes dart to hazel and a swoop of artfully-disheveled bangs. Mutely, you shake your head as Eddie takes a handful, shoving it in his mouth as your boyfriend settles back into his seat. You watch dainty fingers dip into the bucket, the sway of Chrissy's strawberry-blonde hair as she leans forward, blue eyes locked on the screen as she absently presses popcorn past those bow lips.

A pang of annoyance curdles in your stomach; a thought blooms, sudden and violent.

You wish Steve and Chrissy weren't here. You wish it was just you and Eddie.

Almost as soon as it comes, that pang of annoyance leaves you; you balk at the thought immediately. You lift your head from Eddie's shoulder to glance again at Steve— Steve, your boyfriend of three years, who'd fought for you to see this movie even as he yawns widely now, eyes dull with boredom. What's wrong with you? How could you think that? The sticky tar of sinking guilt weighs on you, and you settle back into your seat, retreating from Eddie's warmth.

He glances at you briefly, but you avoid his gaze, eyes locked instead on the screen. But you aren't really absorbing anything, caught up in the sudden realization that, in the course of these two months of group play, double dates, and late-night texting, something has finally caught up with you.

You have a crush on Eddie.

The realization twists you up in its grip, unable to be ignored now that you've acknowledged it. And when the theater lights finally rise, conflict rages within you, tumbling with the thick guilt and the flutters you can't help but feel when Eddie's hand brushes incidentally against the small of your back as you leave the theater.

You school your face into neutrality as you wrap your arm around Steve's, clinging to him tightly as soon as he's discarded the empty bucket of popcorn. You paste on a smile as you say goodbye to Chrissy, guilt panging at the soft kindness in her eyes as she acknowledges, "That was actually better than I thought it would be! I'm glad we went."

"Yeah, I liked it," Eddie says, plush lips crooked with a grin.

"Good," Chrissy says, warm and fond as she smiles up into his face.

You hug her tight, and though you hold on for a beat too long, she just sighs against you contentedly, none the wiser that the strength of your embrace is due to that oozing sense of guilt inside. You're both dreading and longing for Eddie's goodbye hug as you lightly wrap your arms around his shoulders. Despite yourself, you relish the contact as his arms close around you, warm hands rubbing briskly along your back, and your neutral expression crumples as you feel his lips press briefly against the side of your hair. You barely manage to school your face again before pulling away, flashing a quick smile as you decisively take your boyfriend's hand.

And as you leave the theater with Steve, you glance back only once at the man dressed all in black, watching him lope away until the urge to retreat from the sight overtakes you.

The sticky tar of guilt spreads within. It shades your growth, oozing down into the earth at the bottom of you, trying its best to wither your roots.

The thing about the human psyche is that it'll do whatever it can to protect and preserve its sense of self. Humans cannot live forever with guilt; it must be resolved somehow. And, in your case, your guilt will do one of two things.

It may smother that fledgling growth inside you. In that case, your feelings for Eddie will weaken until they finally wilt away. Or you will tell Steve that you no longer want to swing with Eddie and Chrissy, thus nipping the problem directly in the bud.

Yet there’s still the other possibility: that your growth may survive, too sturdy to be smothered by that oozing tar. In that case, you will reason that Steve is happy— happier than you've seen him since he'd gotten that promotion at work over a year ago. You will reason that you've both gained two close friends, good friends who are good people, whose company enriches your lives. You will reason that you are mature enough to separate feelings and lust, to compartmentalize so that all of you can continue enjoying your sexual encounters together— the same way you'd controlled those feelings of jealousy. And you will not reason this, but somewhere, deep down, you will know it: that being close to Eddie feels too good for you to stop.

Your leaves are delicate, and that green stem has just uncurled. But your roots are deep, long-nourished by light and ink-black charcoal.

It takes startlingly little time for the tar of your guilt to dry and crumble to dust.

It's another Friday night, not long after your trip to the movies. You're crowded around the tiny bar table, head swimming from the celebratory shots you'd taken with the other girls— two of Chrissy's friends, who'd come with you all for drinks after the charity fundraiser Chrissy had helped organize for the yoga studio she teaches at. One of them is telling a story, something about the results of the rose ceremony from this week's Bachelor episode. You're trying to listen, but your eyes can't stop flicking to black and white. You burn for the moment you will finally leave this place, for when four pairs of feet will shuffle through your front door, kicking off shoes and tugging off clothes on the way to the bedroom.

You've never seen Eddie dressed like this before, and you must admit, it's doing something to you.

He's still wearing those tight black jeans, the wallet chain, and the dark boots he's so partial to, but his shirt is uncharacteristically formal. It's a white button down, worn untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, two buttons now popped at the collar to reveal a peek of that dark body armor across his chest. The ink snakes down his forearms, tendons stark as they run below the leather bracelet strapped around his wrist. Your gaze trails across ruddy knuckles, chunky silver rings, and those limber fingers that run along the edge of his whiskey glass, silently reminding you just what he can do with them.

And then there's his hair.

You've seen Eddie's curls frizzy with rain, damp with sweat, loose around his shoulders, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck. But you've never seen him with a ponytail— hair scraped back along his skull, curls a thick cascade, short pieces dusting his sharp jaw, the silver of his earrings winking at you in the light. He looks utterly delectable.

Fuck, you want to devour him.

It's such sweet relief when you finally agree to call it a night and burst from the bar's front doors. This early May evening may be mild, but it's still enough to cool your burning cheeks as you stumble to your Uber, crammed into the back seat with Chrissy and Eddie as Steve takes shotgun. Giggles abound— from you and Chrissy, not so much Eddie— during the short trip back home, warm and resonant like the alcohol crawling through your veins.

You suppose you've had more shots than you'd realized.

Car turns to elevator turns to hallway, and then you're home, staggering through the threshold as you shed your heels, practically vibrating with anticipation as the others join you.

And then there's the bed, with its soft duvet and fluffy pillows begging you to sink into them. You're dragging your dress over your head as the mattress dips and more bodies join yours, and you emerge from the fabric to see Chrissy in her black bra and thong, Steve dressed down to his furry chest and tight blue jeans, and Eddie in his loose green boxers, limber fingers working the buttons of that white shirt open.

You shuffle closer, burning anticipation settling to a comfortable simmer now that you're all finally alone together. You smile fondly as you wrap one arm around Chrissy's back, leaning in as her dainty fingers find your waist. Her mouth is sharp with alcohol as you open your lips, pink tongues darting teasingly, equally interested in tasting one another as you are in putting on an enticing show for your men. You smile into the kiss as you hear their groans, and Chrissy's hands trail tantalizingly over your waist, cupping your breasts over your bra. She pushes them together, pulling her mouth from yours so you can press your cheeks close, gazing heavy-lidded over at your men.

They're both down to underwear, lean pale quartz beside tanned solidity, lounging comfortably back against your pillows as they watch you. Eddie's arm is slung casually around Steve's shoulders, hair freed from the ponytail now as Steve's temple leans against his, one leg bent, the other hanging off the bed. You and Chrissy continue to gaze at them, cheeks nuzzling, her hands kneading your breasts until your boyfriends glance at each other, knowing what you want.

You suck on your bottom lip as you watch Eddie and Steve kiss, muffling a moan in your throat as their mouths open wide, tongues dipping inside, strong jaws working as their faces press close. They know you and Chrissy love watching them kiss, and they oblige you easily now, reaping the benefits of how worked up you both get from the sight. Chrissy's hand leaves one of your breasts to turn your chin, kissing you again for a little while as you listen to the soft smacking of Eddie and Steve's lips. You're still hazy with alcohol, drunk on wine, tequila, and the low rumble of masculine moans that shoots straight down to throb in your pussy. Your desire quickly grows insistent, burning low in your belly; as you squirm with it, thighs tightening to try to bring relief, Chrissy nips your lower lip cheekily before letting you go.

You turn intent eyes to the men before you, to the columns of their necks that seem to beg for your mouth to nip and suck and mark them up with pretty bruises. You have two choices. You could choose the tanned one, nape dusted by the touseled brown waves of Steve's hair, solid and powerful. He's right in front of you; all you'd need to do is shift forward on your knees, and you'd reach him. Or, you could choose the pale neck, framed by Eddie's long dark curls, angular and corded. He's farther away; you'd need to cross in front of Chrissy to reach him.

The choice is simple.

Eyes locked on pale quartz, you clamber sloppily past Chrissy's folded legs and drape yourself across Eddie's chest to reach his neck. The first contact of your lips against that warm column has you sighing in relief, trailing open-mouthed kisses up to that spot just beneath his ear. You can feel Eddie's jaw working as he keeps kissing Steve while you suck on his throat, and when you nip him playfully, you relish the moan that rumbles low in his throat, vibrating against your lips. Insistently, you work him until he finally breaks away from your boyfriend; as soon as his mouth is free, you're swooping in, capturing kiss-swollen lips, swallowing his moan as he opens for you to dip inside.

Eddie always tastes a little spicy, no matter what else has been in his mouth— alcohol, Twizzlers, Steve's tongue. It's this tantalizing flavor that you now associate with Eddie, and you search for it with your own tongue, kissing him deeply until he's wrapping his arms around you. More uninhibited than usual, thanks to those tequila shots, you feel a flash of mischievousness, acting on the impulse before you can think better of it; you tip to the left, dragging Eddie down flat onto the bed with you. You feel him chuckle into your mouth, and your lips curl in a smile, legs tangling with his as soon as you're both sideways, pressing close to the heat of his skin.

Eddie leans eagerly into your kiss, one arm trapped underneath you, the other trailing lightly over your back. You reach behind you to snatch him by the wrist, nearly straining a muscle in your haste to unwrap his arm from around you; boldly, you drag his hand down, pressing his fingers against your pussy over your panties.

He breaks the kiss then, plush pink lips crooked with a sensual grin as he murmurs low, "Eager tonight, are we?"

"Mm—" you whimper at the heat in his smoky voice, the light flush that already stains his cheeks. You lean toward his ear, and his lips brush your sensitive neck as you whisper your drunken admission. "You looked sexy in that shirt. With your hair tied up."

Eddie's breath puffs against your throat, and you tip your chin, leaning into the warmth of his lips as he murmurs, "Don't think I didn't see you watchin' me all night, sweet girl."

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you giggle, biting your lip as his mouth presses to your neck, kissing softly, teasing you with the tip of his tongue. "Mm," you whimper again, wedging your hand beneath the waistband of his loose boxers. Your fingers brush the dense hair there, caressing it lightly as Eddie's hand dips into your panties. As one of his fingers presses between your folds to seek your clit, you grasp him, pulling until he pops from the fabric, head brushing red-hot against your abdomen. You stroke him once, then again as his finger teasingly circles your clit, catching the cinders in your belly aflame.

You press your hips into his touch, seeking more, but Eddie's finger retreats, brown eyes dancing with his tease as he goes back to touching you lightly. Well, two can play at that game. You nudge your nose against Eddie's, fingertips trailing to his tip, smiling slowly as you draw one fingernail feather-light across his slit.

His reaction is immediate— Eddie groans, his chest rumbling against yours as he bucks into your touch. You gasp as his finger dips abruptly lower, firm and decisive, hooking into your entrance without warning. It's a teaser for later, a little appetizer compared to the delicious stretch of Eddie's thick cock, but you hum nonetheless, pleased to be touched by him.

Eddie moves his finger, pressing as deeply as possible from this angle. "You know you make me crazy when you do that," he murmurs quietly against your lips.

"That's kinda the point," you tease, voice breathy as he continues to finger you.

Eddie's manic smile lights his brown eyes from the inside. "Mmm," he hums approvingly before kissing you hard, tongue stroking yours as you moan into his mouth. You work each other for a while until you feel the bed shift beside you, considerable movements that draw your attention. You peer over Eddie to see that Chrissy and Steve are rearranging themselves: Steve's now lying flat, hazel eyes wide and eager as Chrissy crawls down his body. His hands find her hips as she ducks her head, taking him into her mouth as her pussy descends on his lips.

Eddie glances over his shoulder briefly, pale neck stretching and inviting your lips. You nose beyond the curtain of his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. When his chin nudges gently against your brow, and his hand finds your cheek, you sigh, leaning into his touch as he draws back to look at you.

"Hey," he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear, "would you wanna try being on top? Would you like that?"

You blink, fighting your instinctual answer: no, you would not like that. It's a lot of work to squat and move that way for very long; your legs always start burning almost immediately, it seems. Plus, you feel very exposed on top, like your partner can see every jiggle. Your gaze darts between Eddie's calm brown eyes; you're torn between the desire to reject the idea outright and your slowly-burgeoning openness.

Eddie seems to sense your hesitation as his face, which was already soft, softens even further before he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. His thumb rubs against your jaw, soothing you. "You don't have to say yes," he says, low and reassuring. "But when you're on top, you can go as fast or slow as you want. You can grind down on me. You'll be in control; it'll make it feel good for you."

You'd never thought about it that way before. Still, you hesitate, admitting, "I don't know if I can squat for that long."

Eddie's eyebrows crinkle, and you aren't sure if it's in confusion or sympathy. "You don't have to squat, sweetheart," he whispers. "You can just sit on me."

You blink again, cheeks pinking. "Oh." It's a little embarrassing that you'd never thought of that, but Eddie's face is free of judgment as he waits patiently for your answer. And you suppose, with that clarified, that there's no real drawback if Eddie's to be believed. As fast or slow as you want, riding Eddie's thick cock… you feel a tingle as you think about it, pussy pulsing around his finger that's still inside you. You watch him lick his bottom lip as he feels it, and your excitement increases.

You're already near to accepting when Eddie adds, finger stroking you gently inside, "And I'll let you know when I'm about to cum so you can pull off me."

You imagine Eddie flushed beneath you, husky voice tight as he stares into your eyes and tells you, 'I'm gonna cum, sweetheart—'

A thrill races through you, and you can't suppress your whimper as those moth wings flutter wildly at the thought. Eddie's arm underneath you tightens, lips finding yours before you can answer. You moan into his eager mouth, and Eddie kisses you breathless until you pull away to gasp, "Yeah— yes. I wanna be on top."

His eyes brighten, and he kisses you one last time before dragging your panties from your hips. You work his boxers down, wiggling to assist him as you both chuckle, your mutual hastiness more of a hindrance than anything. Your bra follows, and soon enough, you're both bare; Eddie lays down flat on your bed, guiding you to sling a leg over his narrow hips.

You register the wet sounds beside you, glancing briefly to see Chrissy's head bobbing between Steve's legs and Steve's hands squeezing her ass as he eats her out. But your gaze quickly returns to the man beneath you: dark curls splayed against your duvet, eyes warmed to deep amber, pupils blown wide as you reach behind you, fingers searching blindly for his cock. You hold it up straight, squirming to find the right angle, and you watch Eddie swallow thickly once his head notches between your supple folds. His hands settle on your hips, raspy and warm as you take a deep breath.

And then you begin to lower down onto him.

Over the many weeks, you've grown used to the tight press of Eddie's cock, shorter but thicker than Steve's. Still, this angle renders that delicious slide even more intense, and you clamp your lips against a desperate whimper as you feel him stretch you open. His thumbs brush light circles against your lower belly to encourage you as you sink onto him. "Just go slow, sweetheart." Eddie's voice is hoarse but soft with concern as you engulf him, and you sigh, wings fluttering as you obey; you pause until the pinch fades. And then you sink down, and down, and down until you're flush with the dark snatch of curls at the base of his cock, which press deliciously against your swollen clit.

Eddie's inked chest rises and falls, head tipping back as you take him to the hilt. "Just move when you're ready," he says.

But Eddie doesn't know you're already ready.

You move your hips experimentally, breath catching as his thick length shifts inside you. His hands encourage your movements, kneading your hips as you test out what you like— rocking back and forth, making small circles, lifting up slightly to fall back onto him. Eddie provides gentle guidance until you discover what works best: a quick shifting of your hips, angled to press against your front wall, with just a bit of lift to feel the slide of his hot thickness within you. Your movements grow bolder, more confident— longer, faster motions that pique your pleasure. And you hear that low rumbling moan again as Eddie's plush lips part, dark eyes like liquid heat as he watches you. "That's it, pretty girl," he murmurs, and his smoky praise coils tight in your belly, stoking both your desire and those fluttering wings.

Normally, being pinned with such an intent stare while you're on top— unable to keep your breasts from bouncing, nowhere to hide how your stomach is soft and your thighs are bigger than your partner's— would overwhelm you with self-consciousness. But Eddie's looking up at you with such desire that, in this moment, you feel as pretty as he says you are.

Eddie's next comment is considerably less smooth. "Christ, your tits are just—" Eddie exhales sharply as if in disbelief, and his lips tilt in a goofy grin.

You quirk a brow, prompting him dryly. "Just what?"

"Just, like… shit, I dunno. I just wanna bury my face in 'em." Eddie drags his hands up your body to cup your breasts, squeezing lightly before squishing them together.

He watches how they move in his grip with such awestruck delight that you can't help but laugh, hips slowing as you're overcome with your amusement when he wobbles them playfully. "You laughin' at me, y/n?" Eddie huffs, though his eyes glint with mirth.

"No." You blink at him innocently, but you can't help yourself. A tiny smirk spreads as you say, more sensually, "I'm fucking you."

Eddie's eyes go wide, darkening immediately. "Hmm," he hums, hoarse and low with approval. He grins wolfishly, murmuring, "Yeah, you fuckin' are."

Your pussy pulses as you inhale his words, letting them fill you, rich and heady. Your hips move faster on Eddie's thick length, and you bite your lip when his thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking lightly, sparking pleasure that flares into flame inside you. You'd already realized that Eddie is vocal in bed— well, he's vocal all the time, really. But not only is he often humming, and moaning, and groaning out his pleasure; he also enjoys talking to you, watching the way his words affect you, how they build your pleasure. And you're learning that your words can do the same for him— that it's not just your body that can elicit the reactions you desire in Eddie.

And you want that now— to talk to Eddie the way he talks to you, to bring him pleasure through the silky caress of your voice. You glance to your right as you rock on Eddie's lap, feeling a little hesitant with Steve and Chrissy right next to you, especially Chrissy, who always seems to know exactly what she wants to say. But they're moaning into one another's skin, mouths occupied, bodies rocking in pleasure, eyes closed as they lavish one another. They seem adequately distracted— like they're too caught up in their own activity to notice what you're saying. And as you look down at Eddie again, your desire to increase his pleasure allows you to push past your hesitance.

You swallow, chewing on your lip as you consider what to say. When you finally decide, your voice is a little timid, but you're proud it doesn't shake. "Am I making you feel good?"

Eddie's husky groan is instant. "Yeah, sweet girl. You feel so good."

You whimper as his response coils your pleasure tighter, making you burn hotter. You watch his head tip back to reveal the pale cords of his neck, plush lips parted, the rise of his chest deepening as he hears your sound; he drags his hands back down your body, clutching at your hips, hot fingers pressing into your flesh. Yes. You sigh, brow creased pleadingly as you stare down at Eddie, needing more of his reactions.

You're a little less timid now. "Mmm. You like being inside me?"

Eddie's fingers tighten even further; his voice is suddenly tight too. "Shit, yeah, I fuckin' like it."

As he clutches you, you feel his legs shift beneath you, and your eyes widen in alarm, perch suddenly unsteady. But then his hips are thrusting, matching your rhythm, the quick drag—slide—lift—fall that now presses his cock deliciously harder into your pussy. You whimper again; pleasure flares as you glance behind you to see that Eddie has planted his feet so he can fuck up into you. He holds you securely, and you relax into his support, letting the flames build as you move together.

Your breath comes quick, pleasure twisting with the anticipation of what you will tell him next. Your voice is silky as your words flow from your lips. "I'm so wet. You make me so wet."

Eddie groans, deep and low in his chest at your admission. And it's true— you can feel your slickness increasing, his cock gliding more easily as you fall heavily down onto him, clit dragging against his coarse dark curls. You're growing hot, muscles beginning to tighten with fatigue, but you barely notice— you just want to keep chasing Eddie's reactions and the feeling that's just starting to tingle low in your belly.

Your voice almost doesn't sound like you— it's breathy, airy as you caress him with more of your silk. "I wanna be a good girl for you."

"Fuck—" Eddie grunts, words tumbling from his lips like they're racing to reach you as quickly as they can. "You're so good for me, sweetheart. Shit, that's it, you're taking me so well."

You're both moving faster now; Eddie's hips are slapping against your ass, and your breasts are bouncing, but you aren't thinking about that at all. All you're thinking about is how the press of his thick cock increases that tingle and brightens the flame within you. Genuinely, without trying, you say, "Feels so good, don't stop—"

Eddie's hands shift on your hips, grabbing tighter as he fucks up into you a little harder; you moan, chest heaving with deep breaths. And as that tingling grows more insistent, you want something to hold onto, to anchor you. So you clutch at Eddie's hands, wedging your thumbs underneath his palms, holding on tight to him. Eddie moans as he looks up at you, face flushed, bangs sweat-damp and beautifully soft against his forehead. You whimper, skin heating, tingling pleasure swelling in your belly, building gradually toward that familiar precipice you've only ever reached alone. And if Eddie would just keep moving like this, looking like this, doing exactly this, for just a little longer…

There's no affectation in your voice now— you're just raw, just genuinely needy for him.

"Please," you beg, "please, don't stop, Eddie—"

"Oh shit, fuck—!"

And that's the only warning you get before Eddie starts to cum.

You gasp as you watch his brow pinch; his mouth falls open as the cords of his neck stretch, and his hips press up into you tightly, no longer moving. And as you feel Eddie's dick twitch violently inside you, you burst with wings that beat up through your belly to your chest, fluttering so wildly you're left reeling.

You don't make any attempt to move off of him. You can't. You're frozen, rapt, attention honed to the feeling of Eddie's hips collapsing to the bed underneath you, to the way his muscles quiver with his release, to the noises he makes as you instinctively grind down on him, to the warm flood of the seed he fills you with. Eddie whimpers and moans, tight and high, and you don't realize it, but you're whimpering, too— crying out your yearning in a sound that approaches harmony.

The moment is just as breathtaking, just as captivating as you'd imagined it would be.

When the twitching of Eddie's cock finally stills inside you, you're both left silent, breathing heavily, hands still nearly intertwined against your hips as you stare at one another wide-eyed. Your sexual pleasure has begun to fade, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is how Eddie is looking at you, how you're looking back at him. Hesitant. Tentative.

Pink on black and white. Green from the bottom of you.

"Dude—!" The harshness, especially after the almost spell-like silence that had settled between you and Eddie, makes you jerk with surprise, adrenaline spiking in your chest. Your stomach swoops as you register Steve's face— nostrils flared, brow snarled low over thunderous hazel eyes locked on his friend. "What the actual fuck?"

Your eyes dart between them, wincing as Eddie's face blanches and his eyes go so wide as they meet your boyfriend’s gaze. "I—I'm sorry," he stammers, wrenching his hands from under yours as if he's been burned. "Fuck, I'm—" The pale of his face slowly fills with bright, furious red. "Shit—"

Eddie drags his palms harshly over his face, shoulders scrunching toward his ears. "I'm so embarrassed," he muffles into his hands, leaving them there as if in a futile desire to hide. Your heart is hammering, panging with compassion for Eddie's distress just as much as it's thundering with the oppressive tension of this moment. Steve is so angry— angrier than you've seen him in a long time. Maybe ever. Because there were only two rules— two rules that you'd all sworn never to break.

And Eddie has, very flagrantly, broken one.

You look at Steve, wide eyes pleading, voice soft. "It's okay, Steve," you say, trying to diffuse the tension. "He didn't mean to. It was just an accident."

Steve glances at you but doesn't reply, lip twitching as his gaze quickly flicks back to his friend.

Eddie finally pulls his hands from his face. His bangs are mussed, brown eyes heavy with remorse as they dart almost reluctantly to Steve. Voice hoarse, cracked. Sincere. "I'm so sorry—"

"Yeah, you said that," Steve snaps, and your insides twist into knots at the uncharacteristic edge in his typically-smooth voice, the tension in his brow, the hardness of his handsome face.

After a moment, Steve exhales harshly, both hands carding roughly through his hair; you can tell he's struggling with himself, fighting to keep under control. And as you're washed with the radiating force of his ire, feeling helpless to ease the situation, your chin begins to tremble; you avert your eyes as they sting with the sudden prick of tears.

You know it's not your fault, not really. But you can't help but think that if you'd just gotten off when you felt Eddie start to cum, just moved, just done something— all of this could've been avoided.

The mattress dips beside you, and a soft arm wraps around your back. "Don't be mad, Steve," a powdery-soft voice says, calm and mild. A tender hand runs over your hair, soothing the sting of your tears before they can fall.

Steve sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face as Eddie had. He looks at you then, expression no longer hard, staring silently for a moment before he speaks. "It's fine," he says, voice utterly devoid of feeling. "Just go get cleaned up."

Not wanting to linger for even one more second, you hastily pull off Eddie's still-hard length, and Chrissy releases you as you clamber off the bed. You bite your lip as you retreat into the bathroom, feeling Eddie's cum trickle down your leg, still warm.

The closed door buffers you from the coldness of your bedroom, allowing you space to process what just happened— Steve's fury, Eddie's embarrassment, and most of all, the feeling that had bloomed within you when Eddie filled you with his release. You retrieve a towel, carefully wiping yourself, eyes avoiding the sticky mess that smears the cloth. When you examine your feelings, you're left feeling torn. Because you're acutely aware that Steve's upset, and his distress upsets you. But you're also acutely aware that the way you'd felt when Eddie came inside you was unmistakable.

You'd loved it. You'd loved every single second of it.

You clean yourself thoroughly, wavering for a while, hesitant to emerge and find that the situation has devolved in your absence. It's been quiet— no yelling, which is a good sign, but you can't be sure. Still, eventually, you can't delay it anymore, so you crack the door, chewing on your bottom lip as you emerge.

Steve is alone, sitting on the end of your bed, still naked. His head is bowed, but he glances up when he hears the bathroom door creak open. Tension releases when you see Steve's hazel eyes are now clear as he stands to meet you halfway. When he enfolds you in a soft embrace, you lean into him, brow pinching.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"No," Steve says firmly, arms tightening, holding you securely. "I'm sorry, y/n. You didn't do anything wrong. I know it was an accident. It happens." You release a shaky breath as his broad palm finds the back of your head, stroking slowly as he murmurs against your forehead. "I'm not mad at you," he says quietly, and the reassurance brings sweet relief.

Still, you have to ask; your voice is small when you do. "Are you mad at Eddie?"

Steve's answer comes slower this time. "No," he says eventually, almost begrudging, yet still honest.

You release the rest of your breath, hugging him tighter. "I love you," you say, muffled to the fur of his chest.

You feel Steve's cheek against the top of your head. His voice isn't muffled, but it's quieter than yours. "Love you, too."

–

Your phone always buzzes past midnight, usually closer to one most days. But tonight, when it does, it's only half past eleven.

You've just come out of the shower, skin scrubbed free of sweat and cum, steam hanging heavy as you comb the tangles from your hair. The bzz-bzz against the bathroom counter immediately draws your eye, and your heart thumps at the name on your screen. There's no message text— just a tiny colored box that loops through a two-second animation.

You pull the towel tighter around your damp body and swipe the message open.

It's a gif, which is already entirely out of the norm for Eddie. But what makes you stare, face contorting slowly in a combination of deep incredulity and begrudging amusement, is that the gif depicts one of your favorite artists in her early years: Taylor Swift, donning black glasses as she holds her hand-drawn sign up to the windowpane with a little lopsided pout. The sign says 'Sorry' with a frowny face.

As Taylor pouts at you again and again, you bite back a hysterical giggle. It's the most utterly absurd 'apologies for cumming inside you when I wasn't allowed to' message that you could imagine— not that you have any experience on the matter.

And, honestly? It's kind of perfect.

Your lips pull into a broad, eye-crinkling grin as you tap-tap-tap your message back. 'Here is your penance. You must listen to this in its entirety and render your verdict,' you write, sending the link for Bejeweled— the most anti-Eddie song you can think of from Taylor's newest album.

You go back to untangling your hair after you send it, already formulating your reply as you anticipate hearing back from him almost instantly, figuring he won't actually listen to it. But you have time to moisturize your face and arms before you hear your phone buzz again.

You swipe hastily with a knuckle, too impatient to wipe off your hands. Your eyes scan the message, and you huff, shaking your head as you read it. 'Catchy as fuck. I like the part where she says 'diamonds in my eyes' real slow on the offbeat.' And he's given it five diamond emojis out of five.

You're torn between amusement and sympathy at the over-generosity of his rating. You wipe off your fingers so you can reply. 'I know in truth that song burned your poor bard ears. But I appreciate your earnest appeal for my sympathy.'

You keep your phone in your hands, watching the dots linger on the screen for a long time before it finally comes through. 'You got me. I really am sorry, y/n. Hope Steve isn't mad at you.'

'He's not,' you assure Eddie. 'I asked him and he said he's not mad at you either. He knows it was an accident.'

'Thanks.' There's a pause, and then, 'Hope you're not mad at me, either.' Moth wings flutter, and you bite your thumbnail as you stare at the message for a moment before replying.

'It's really okay.' You pause before you hit send, twisting your lips against a smile as you add, 'Kind of flattering, actually.'

Eddie's response makes you giggle. 'Quit teasing me. You're gonna make me blush.' He's made it too easy; you can't resist.

'You mean again?' you ask, adding a winky face.

An 'ugh' follows— all caps, punctuated with a period. You beam with delight, typing out your laughter before conceding. 'Sorry, couldn't resist. Okay, going to bed now. Night!'

You set down the phone to brush your teeth, glancing as it buzzes one final time. But you look back, eyes lingering once you register Eddie's final message. 'Sleep well, sweet girl.' You can nearly hear him say it; can nearly feel the rasp of his hand on your cheek as his smoke whispers against your skin.

And as you snuggle down into your bed that night, your mind conjures the ghost of curls that brush your cheek, kissing you softly as you peacefully succumb to sleep.

#TKYM #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #chrissy cunningham

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