#icallhimjoey

[vader-anakin]

JOSEPH QUINN

photographed by Matt Healy for Man About Town

#joseph quinn #jquinnedit #josephquinnedit #stcastedit #menedit #mensource #dilfsource #mancandykings #flawlessgentlemen #dailymenedit #userbbelcher #userisamy #usereri #userspree #tuserbritt #userallisyn #userashe #useraurore #icallhimjoey #usersavana #yeah okay but why????? ajdhshdshf

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot

Author’s note: this sort of came about after taking small little bits from several requests that i combined and then shaped into what i wanted for myself, and for a minute, i thought 'what if i don't make this one extremely self-indulgent for once' but then... why the fuck wouldn't i? so...

Wordcount: 2.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

One of those days.

You weren’t going to wait until you got home to ask Joe what pizza toppings he wanted. Not today. So you texted,

“peperoni or chicken?”

And it took just a few seconds for Joe to open Whatsapp and to reply.

“those my only two options?”

You didn’t have the mental capacity to even think of any other pizza toppings, let alone get into some banter over text with your flatmate.

“joe”

There were a million ways for Joe to have read that, to have interpreted that. Yet, he got the tone of it just right.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it”

No playing. Just quick solutions to problems of which Joe didn’t even really know what they were yet. Then another text from him followed, asking you the question you’d just sent him.

“peperoni or chicken?”

“chicken”

You remembered exactly when this pizza tradition started. Could pinpoint the exact date, time, and place.

“no i was wrong.” “peperoni”

The first time you and Joe shared a pizza as new flatmates, was when you’d gotten home one morning, still very obviously in the outfit you’d left in the night before. Joe had been cooking up some breakfast in the kitchen and had his jokes ready, already grinning to himself when he hadn’t even seen you yet.

“Well, well, well,” he called over his shoulder as you took a moment by the front door to just... breathe. You would’ve tried gathering yourself, but there wasn’t much to gather.

“I know you said the plan was to go out and celebrate Friday, but you didn’t mention anything about Saturday morning,” you could hear the joy in Joe’s voice, all chipper and lively. He’d very clearly had a great night’s sleep, unlike you.

Joe heard footsteps, and when they stopped in the doorway, he turned his head to look. Spatula still in hand, eggs just about ready in the pan in front of him.

“Look at what the cat’s drag–...” the comment died on his tongue. “Jesus, are you all right?”

Joe had expected a tired, sloppy girl to have walked in. One with messy hair, eye make-up all smudged and sort of drunk a little, still.

He’d been right.

That was exactly what he was looking at, which should objectively be funny. Hence the smile that still lingered on his face as his brow slowly furrowed in confusion.

“You look like the inside of a shoe,”

Joe tried his hand at humour, but it fell completely flat.

What he hadn’t anticipated, was for his flatmate to look quite so sad in reaction to his comments. So very drained of life. You’d obviously been crying and looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks.

For a moment you just stood in that doorway, looked a little dazed because, um, why were you going into your shared living space again?

You needed your bed.

Without answering Joe, and without even really acknowledging him at all, you took a shuddering breath and slowly turned back around, only to ignore Joe’s question and disappear into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joe quickly turned the hob off and rounded the island to go after you. He was too late though, stepping into the hallway just as your bedroom door closed behind you. The immediate guilt that followed his poking-fun carried him over to stand in front of it, just enough self-restraint left to not just open your door and walk in right after you.

You didn’t seem like you needed to be pissed off any more than you already were.

From just outside of your bedroom door, you heard a very faint knock, followed by Joe’s voice, asking if you were all right once more.

“Did– did something happen? What’s going on?”

All you managed to do was sigh, just loud enough for Joe to catch it.

“What happened?”

But you didn’t want to get into it.

“Do you– hey,” Joe called your name, waited for a second, in case you wanted to answer him, but then when you didn’t, he followed it up with, “Do you want some breakfast?”

And honestly, breakfast sounded nice. But so did burying yourself into your duvet for a few days, where no one would try to look you in the eye, and where no one would try to make you talk. Were you going to listen to your rumbling stomach that wanted some food, or to the rest of your body that just wanted to be horizontal?

“Some scrambled eggs? Piece of toast?” 

You milled it over in your mind.

“Or, I could make you something else? You want some yoghurt? With some berries in?”

Joe tried. Was actively trying. But it didn’t seem to work, just didn’t seem to do the trick. It stayed silent on your side of the door.

“Some pizza?”

And it was meant as a careful joke. A hopeful small little thing to at least lift the mood, if nothing else. If you were even still listening to him at all, that was.

He was about to tell you that he’d be in the kitchen if you needed anything, that you could just let him know. No worries if not. But then he heard rustling. Stumbling footsteps, followed by your bedroom door slowly opening.

“Hey,” Joe cocked his head to the side at the sight of you, his eyes all soft, forehead crinkled with worry. “I’m sorry.”

You looked right past him.

“What... what kind of pizza?”

You focused on the important things instead. Didn’t really care to acknowledge Joe’s apology.

“Well,” Joe tried to hide his smile as he looked down at his feet before stepping aside and holding an arm out, inviting you to walk ahead of him, making your way back into the living area. “I think there’s a few to choose from in the freezer.”

You’d shared a pizza that morning, you sat at one of the stools of the kitchen island, and Joe stood on the side. He hadn’t asked you any questions then, but instead had just tried his hand at light conversation until suddenly, halfway through a slice, you’d started sobbing.

And it wasn’t like you and Joe had never hugged before.

But you’d never been hugged by him like that before.

Where Joe instantly dropped his food and stepped closer to fold arms around you. Where Joe got an arm around your head to press your face into his chest whilst the other curled down around your shoulders that pressed your chest into his stomach. Where he decided he wasn’t going to be the one to pull back first, and so you’d just embraced like that for over half an hour.

He hadn’t asked you any questions.

Not when you cried.

Not when you’d stuttered through breaths as you tried to recollect yourself after.

Not when you eventually pulled back and reached for another bite of now-cold pizza.

Not when you then silently frowned at the hardened cheese and softly sighed to yourself.

Not when you did eventually retreat back into your room but came out just a minute later and asked if Joe had any plans that day.

Even if he did have plans, Joe knew that he’d cancel them all for you.

“Want to rot on the sofa with me? Watch films all day?”

And you hadn’t meant to fall asleep all sagged into his side then, but you had. And Joe had played with the ends of your hair until the warmth and comfort had pulled him into a nap as well.

You’d never talked about what had happened then, why you had been so sad, because you didn’t need to. It was nice that Joe hadn’t asked for you to explain why you’d cried, and instead had just comforted you until you managed to smile for him again.

Joe thought that maybe, if you wanted to tell him, one day you would. But he didn’t need to know why his flatmate was sad when she was. He was happy just being there to help and fix it.

And now, here you were. Two flatmates who shared a tradition of having pizza and watching a film when you’d had a bad day.

And today had just been... long. Hard. Frustrating. You didn’t want to get into all the things that had nearly pushed you over the edge, and you were glad that you didn’t need to.

Joe didn’t ask questions. Never did.

Just went to get you the peperoni pizza you’d asked for.

Would cuddle you on the sofa all night if that was what you wanted.

It was what he wanted, anyway.

He was well aware that none of that was normal though.

You were flatmates.

If Joe referred to you in conversation with a friend, with a family member, or even with a stranger, you were his flatmate. The girl that he shared the living area of his flat with. The pantry, the fridge and the freezer. The coat closet by the door. A letterbox downstairs by the entrance.

Flatmates.

But if someone were to ask you if you and your flatmate were friends too, you’d tell them yes of course. You shared dinner more often than not. If you had friends ‘round, Joe would hang out too. And vice versa.

Normal.

Just normal friendly flatmates that also knew each other’s parents by their first names, but you know, those things sort of just came with sharing a living space together, right?

And no one ever really thought there was more to you and Joe, anyway.

Why would they even assume?

You dated other people. Went on regular dates with different men. Other guys. Would even sometimes sit and watch a film with someone, and Joe would join you for a little while. Have casual conversation with whoever you’d invited over.

Normal.

What wasn’t so normal was that the second it would just be you and Joe, you wouldn’t hesitate to touch if you wanted to touch. Wouldn’t hesitate to find him, wherever he’d be, and sling your arms around his stomach from behind, just to hold him for a minute. Would wait to get comfortable on the sofa until Joe would join you there and you’d wait for his arm to find its way around you before you’d settle in.

You never talked about it.

It was just what it was like. You were close. The affection was just a natural thing between the two of you. It didn’t need any words. Any explaining.

But Joe knew you both understood that this could be interpreted very differently through other people’s eyes.

It’s why you kept referring to each other as flatmates, and why you weren’t like that in front of other people.

Which was fine.

You lived together.

There was plenty of time without other people there.

When you walked into your flat that evening, the promise of a shared peperoni pizza combined with the contrasting warmth that immediately made you feel uncomfortably hot in your coat, was nearly enough to bring you to tears.

“Joe?”

“Hey, bad news,”

Oh no.

Joe appeared at the other end of the hallway.

“They didn’t have any Sprite left, so I got you a Fanta.”

You let your shoulders drop and let your head fall to the side in relief. That was hardly bad news. You didn’t love Fanta, but the bad news revealed Joe had gone out to get a pizza instead of throwing a frozen one into the oven.

“Fanta’s fine.” You smiled. Joe easily copied it.

“Good, okay. Now,” Joe continued, suddenly his face all serious again as you took your coat off and toed your shoes off. “I know that last time, I got to pick a film, so technically it is your turn... but, I’ve already chosen something to watch, and I did go out to get us the largest peperoni pizza London has to offer, so...”

You stilled and gave an exaggerated sigh, all mock frustration, because you honestly didn’t give a shit. If anything, it was nice that Joe had made the choice for you, seeing as you didn’t really have the mental capacity for any decisions right now. If it had been left up to you, you’d hav been scrolling through Netflix for at least half an hour until settling just to watch some celebrity panel shows on Channel 4.

“No sprite and I don’t get to choose the film?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe was trying stupidly hard to hide a smile.

You blinked at him a second.

“You’re not sorry.”

“No I’m not. You made me go out and it’s fucking freezing outside today.”

You made your way over to your bedroom to get changed, and just before disappearing, you said, “Cool way of letting me know you’ve not left the flat all day.”

Like Joe’s hair hadn’t told you as much already.

You wished your job would let you work from home too. Although, with Joe spending weird stretches of time just sitting around and reading, you didn’t think you’d get much work done. Would probably be a bit weird if you logged onto a zoom meeting from your spot on the sofa, half of Joe in frame.

“I did leave the flat! I just said!” Joe argued, leaving you to get into a more comfortable outfit.

You grinned to yourself.

Joe was an idiot.

In an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of joggers, you joined Joe in the living room where you found a large pizza box on the coffee table, two cans of Sprite next to it.

Sprite.

“Surprise.”

Joe had lied.

Then you looked at the TV screen, paused at the title of the film Joe’d chosen and, fuck all the way off, did he want you to cry?

“I know it’s not your genre...”

It was. It absolutely was. It wasn’t Joe’s genre, though. “But I promise you’ll like it.”

You didn’t know if you wanted to hook an elbow to his jaw or squeeze your nails into his cheeks, but you needed to do something to get this surge of emotion out.

You opted for swearing at him instead of physical violence.

“I fucking hate you so much right now,”

“Yea?” Joe sat down, pressing play on the remote and reaching for the throw blanket. “Come hate me over here.”

And so you did.

Sat down next to Joe, thigh to thigh, and let him sort the blanket so it covered the both of you before leaning over to grab the pizza box.

The heat coming from the pizza quickly found your legs through the blanket and through your joggers. It was a stark comparison to how cold your fingers still felt from your trek home.

You rubbed them together as Joe opened the pizza box and, shit, that looked good.

“You cold?”

“Just my fingers,” you replied, already putting both hands to use, ripping the pieces of crust that hadn’t been cut properly and lifting a slice out of the box.

Joe did the same, and then when he saw one of your hands lower down, he was quick to grab it, encasing your cold fingers into his large palm.

The act of being upset with him for being nice faltered, and you smiled at Joe as he smugly grinned whilst he chewed.

See, had someone else been there with you, you’d have gotten comments. If not jokes, at least you knew you would’ve gotten some judging looks. Some questions later, about what was going on between the two of you?

Nothing was going on between the two of you.

Just warm cuddles and comforting touches, which was fine when it was just you and Joe.

So what if Joe held your hand whilst you ate pizza and watched a romantic comedy together?

So what if a piece of peperoni was about to slide and fall to your chest, but Joe saw and got it just in time, and you thought he was going to pop it into his own mouth, but then instead he held it up in front of you and waited till you ate it from his fingers?

So what if, after finishing the pizza, Joe planted his feet on the coffee table and pulled you into his side a little? Grabbed your arm to lay over his stomach? Ended up with both arms slung around, his own fingers locking on your back to keep you in place whilst you watched actors older than the both of you act as if they were in their early twenties still?

Life was just more comfortable when it was filled with good snuggles, you and Joe both agreed.

But you never talked about it.

You were just close.

No questions asked.

Flatmates. Friends. Just, close.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey

[hellfiremunsonn]

@icallhimjoey just awoke something in me to write for Joseph again by reading their newest fic. I don't even know what but I know I need it.

#hellfiremunsonn personal #Joseph Quinn #icallhimjoey

[joesquinns]

Not Joseph Quinn and @icallhimjoey being on a race today about who is going to finally end me for good….

Listen you two…this is not…fair

#personal #icallhimjoey #joseph quinn

[dirtyeddietini]

i was sent here to tell you that you're gorgeous 💖💖💖

YOU’RE SO CUTE😭😭

#@icallhimjoey LOOK WHAT YOU DID #making me cry

[carolmunson]

the boy is mine | masterlist

an ongoing collection of ficlets and blurbs by writers of the eddie munson x reader fandom using the same prompt. if you wanna take a crack at it, the guidlines are here!

the boy is mine (luna's edition) by @abibliophobiaa the boy is mine (bluey's version) by @blueywrites the boy is mine (bug's edition) by @munson-blurbs the boy is mine (jo's edition) by @jo-harrington the boy is mine (gab's edition) by @vvitchwords the boy is mine (powder's version) by @powderblueblood the boy is mine (leah's edition) by @eiightysixbaby the boy is mine (taylor's version edition) by @superblysubpar the boy is mine (ziggy's edition) by @trashmouth-richie the boy is mine (roe's version) by @hellfire--cult the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @rehfan the boy is mine (dalia's edition) by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple the boy is mine (cheese's edition) by @br0ck-eddie the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @writinginthetwilight the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @bangaveragewhitewine the boy is mine (claudia's edition) by @jamdoughnutmagician the boy is mine (v's version) by @lonelysatellites the boy is mine (red's version) by @corroded-hellfire the boy is mine (h's version) by @be-ready-when-i-say-go the boy is mine (the wheels edition) by @wheels-of-despair the boy is mine (emmy's edition) by @upsidedownwithsteve the boy is mine (kittie's edition) by @mrsjellymunson the boy is mine (rose's edition) by @rosebudsgarden the boy is mine (viv's version) by @vivwritescrappythings the boy is mine (z's edition) by @uglypastels

the boy is mine (shiv's version) by @justmyheart the boy is mine (iona's version) by @eddiethefreakkmunson the boy is mine (hope's version) by @hopeluna the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition) by @eddiessluttywaist the boy is mine (chloe's version) by @doomsdaybby the boy is mine (meg's version) by @courtingchaos the boy is mine (betty's edition) by @bettyfrommars the boy is mine (icallhimjoey's edition) by @icallhimjoey (rpf edition) the boy is mine (carol's edition) by @carolmunson the boy is mine (belle's edition) by @angelgirlworld222 the boy is mine (jade's edition) by @jadewritesficshere the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @rip-quizilla the boy is mine (manda's version) by @manda-panda-monium-writes the boy is mine (desi's edition) by @lilmissdoomandgloomfics the boy is mine (hdyagimr's version) by @howdidyouallgetinmyroom the boy is mine (mar's edition) by @serasvictoria the boy is mine (sienna's version) by @belokhvostikova the boy is mine (call-me-eds edition) by @call-me-eds

#the boy is mine challenge #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction

[ghost-proofbaby]

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

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

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

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #if it's bad do not tell me #stranger things

[seatnights]

Who are some of your favorite fan fiction writers?

i spent hours to collect usernames of authors i enjoyed reading from, and i’m sure i missed some, but i tried.

are u ready for this?

authors you SHOULD support:

oneforthemunny / icallhimjoey / jamdoughnutmagician / rosebudsgarden / willowsgri / joequinnisgod / eddiemunsons80sbaby / chrrymunson / eddiemunsonswhxre / lonelysatellites / loveshotzz / usedtobecooler / carolmunson / upsidedownwithsteve / sherifftillman / spicysix / emsgoodthinkin / retrobutterflies / tiannasfanfic / athena-writes-i-guess / shesinchargeareyoukidding / cooliestghouliest / singularattitudeofasafetypin / babybluebex / quinnyfairy / moonchildquinn / i-me-mine / luveline / myosotisa / silent-stories / blueywrites / steviesbicrisis / munson-blurbs / ficsbypix / lovejosephquinn / eddieschains / prettyboyeddiemunson / eddieandbird /pleasantlycrazyworld / corroded-hellfire / trashmouth-richie / justmeinadaze / mopeymopeymouse / munsonslilbunnie / keeponquinning / gatorstillman / allthingsjoeq / jadeylovesmarvelxo / mysticmunson / sugarsblurbs / taintedcigs / gag-me-munson / gravedigginbbydoll / ratskcoreddie / andvys / manicpixiedreamcurl / thruheavenandhighwater / joejoequinnquinn / munsonsreputation / upsidedownmvnson / hellfiresmaster / elightysixbaby / eddiessluttywaist / littledemondani / choke-me-eddie / eddiemunsonsmum / eddiemunsonfuxks / pinkrelish / hllfireclb / indulgence-be-thy-name / wheels-of-despair / hellfiremunsonn / filthyjoetini / ghost-proofbaby / havecourage-darling / forever-rogue / queenimmadolla / josephfakingquinn / roanniom / bimbobaggins69 / songforeddiemunson / munsons-hellfire / honey-flustered / eddie-van-munson / storiesbyrhi / lovebugism / neonghostlights / harrywavycurly / chestylarouxx / courtingchaos / galaxy-siren / harringtons-cupid / hard-candy-writing / wroteclassicaly / raccoonboywrites / dr-aculaaa / palomahasenteredthechat / palomahasenteredthechat / forevermoreharrington / corrodedcorpses / strangerquinns / sunnythevampireslayer / lesservillain / stevenose / eddiesxangel / stveharringtn / spookysteddie / keeksandgigz / darlingsfandom / her-power / idkidknemore / francisquinn / inkluvs / ashwhowrites / hellfire--cult / succubusmunson / v8mpstamp / stevieswhore / munsons-maiden / rustboxstarr / corrodedseraphine / reidsbtch / lexlec / katiemcrae / the-unforgivenn / keerysfolklore / appocalipse / familyvideowithsteve / tiannamortis / joekeeryswife / bettyfrommars / cinemamunson / munson-mjstan / teddyeyeseddie / lofaewrites / mediocredreams / leasstories

OK SO

here we have 137 authors, i didn’t tag anyone cuz i would probably have disturbed half of the fandom, sorry if it’s more difficult this way, but i hope i could help you a bit.

obviously, there’s no order of preference of any kind, and i tried to put as many authors as i could but i know i’ve missed someone. if i did, i’m deeply sorry, it wasn’t on purpose and i have nothing against you! if you wish you can message me or slide in my ask and ill add you immediately!

now, i’m a bit tired after all of this, and my hand hurts but:

DON’T FORGET TO SUPPORT THE AUTHORS!!!

they put their works for free!!! everyone can enjoy media and content for free thanks to them! and it cost you nothing to reblog and share their work.

thank you for every creators / writers/ artist out there to make every single works of yours and sharing them with the world. all of you deserve so much, and thanks to you for so many people the day gets better, it’s like having a sweet little treat, like taking care of yourself, like finding a place where you are understood. so, thank you infinitely. keep it up cause you’re doing amazing!

-🤍🌻🌱

#dea⛥‘s answers #answered #i love my artist #don’t know about the others but y’all make my days so much easier and better #ily all #🫶🏻 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steddie x reader #steddie x y/n #steddie x you #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joe keery x reader #joe keery x you #joe keery x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson x y/n

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

as a reader whos been on this app for a year i was always too shy to speak up and compliment writers not realizing how it affected them but NOW i feel its nice to appreciate all my lovely writers on this app , even if i feel its repetitive because i never know if they needed to hear that their writing is AMAZING. if you needed this ; your writing is my textbook definition of perfect & PLEASE never doubt yourself.

also i feel like it would be nice to put a face to all these messages their getting , whether it be their inboxes or their dms but i’m TOOOO nervous so my PFP will suffice for now.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU

YOU ARE ALL AMAZING

truly. 💗❤️‍🔥💒

@ali-r3n @andvys @ambrossart @abibliophobiaa @boomhauer @blueywrites @battymunson @bimbobaggins69 @cacoetheswriting @call-me-eds @chrissymjstan @doomsdaybby @eiightysixbaby @forays-into-fiction @flowhore @florestmoon @ghost-proofbaby @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @harrywavycurly @hellfire--cult @havecourage-darling @hellfirecvnt @i-me-mine @icallhimjoey @inklore @loeyparker @lovebugism @lithium80sblog @lonelysatellites @masterofmunson @myobmaya @neonghostlights @once-upon-an-imagine @onegirlmanytales @oneforthemunny @pinkrelish @punk-in-docs @queenimmadolla @purplehazed-h @sebuckyverse @spiderrrling @the-unforgivenn @two-red-lungs @tiannasfanfic @uselesssomebody @upsidedownwithsteve @usedtobecooler @word-wytch @trashmouth-richie @reidsbtch

[icallhimjoey]

Here’s an idea: You’re out with Joe, and a couple of buddies. Joe’s immersed in a conversation but absentmindedly playing with your fingers. You notice. Maybe think of other soft shit he does unconsciously. Pure softness.

just... i know who you are, and you need to fuck all the way off, because how DARE you Wordcount: 2.2K

---

Love Languages

The best chats always happen at night. 

“Hey... hey Joe,” 

In bed, in the dark.

“Hmm?” 

When you’ve just laid down and turned the lights off and you’ve already kissed and said good night. When you’re meant to get comfortable, close your eyes and fall asleep. When there’s an alarm already set and when you’re not meant to be chatting. 

But you lead busy lives. 

These moments in bed are the most silent, undisturbed, and private moments you’ve got. When you’re alone, phones face down on bedside tables, and there’s no media to distract you from each other, darkness only fuelling the honesty.  

“Joe,” 

“Mmhmm,” 

You don’t fall into conversation every night. But when you do, they’re the best chats.  

“What do you think your love language is? Or mine?”  

Joe groans softly and rolls onto his back, eyes still closed, and he takes a moment to think as he inhales deeply. 

You’re on your stomach, facing him, both arms folded close to your body, hands underneath your pillow, and not tired at all. 

“It’s um...” Joe rubs a hand across his forehead, and for a short moment you think you’re annoying him. That he just wants to sleep and wants to be left alone. But then he says, “Yours is taking ugly pictures of me.”  

You immediately giggle, hiding your face into your pillow.  

“Ones where my hair looks fucking awful, and you’re not,” Joe stops to sigh, pretends to be all annoyed, then continues, “You’re not even taking ‘em, you’re finding them online and then save them onto your phone, I think that’s,” Joe breaks, can’t help but laugh himself now too. 

“Stop,” you try, grinning as you roll onto your side. “That’s not what I mean.”  

“No, I know, but I think that should be one of them. Because that’s definitely yours.” 

“No, but I mean from the–” you are about to delve in, list the five love languages, fingers at the ready for visual counting. But Joe interjects.

“That’s yours.” He says matter-of-factly, cutting you off.

“All right, thanks. Good night,” you pretend to roll over to go to sleep, and in turn make Joe laugh loudly.  

“No, okay. All right. What are they again? These love languages you speak of...” 

You’ve rolled back in an instant and feel like you’re a teenage girl at a sleep over, softly explaining the concept of love languages. The topic hasn’t just randomly popped up for you – you’ve been thinking about Joe’s love language all night. Or, well, love languages. Plural. You’re convinced there’s several. All of them maybe even.

Earlier that evening, when you went out for some drinks – just the quick one, Joe’d said, but it kind of turned into a slower three, maybe four drinks sort of situation – was when you’d started thinking about it.

Joe had been talking to a friend, a story you’d already heard, opinions shared that you already knew, so you weren’t really listening. Weren’t really participating in the conversation. Gave you the time to look around a second. To observe for a moment.

And Joe’s a fidgeter, you know that. Especially when surrounded by others, like right then, and evidently so.

You saw how he plucked at his jeans. How he kept playing with his sleeve. With his rings. How he kept slowly twisting the drink that was on the table in front of him. Kept rubbing at his chin and his cheeks. How his index finger scratched at the skin beside his thumbnail.

You’d only folded your hand over his to make him stop.

Without even breaking eye-contact with his friend, he moved his fingers to intertwine with yours and then just held your hand a second.

Then, he started scratching that same finger at your skin, and you’d tried to use your fingers to still his once more.

It worked.

Sort of.

It made him release your hand from his grip, but then instead, grabbed you by the wrist and held your hand there, on his lap, face neutral and attention not wavering from his friend.

His other hand found your rings to twist, your palm to softly move finger tips across, and your nails to push his pads under.

Touch.

It felt so obvious then that touch was Joe’s love language. He was always so tactile. Always reaching out, grabbing hold of you wherever and then holding on for however long you’d let him.

If that was a knee, then it was a knee. And if that was a foot, then it was a foot.

More often than not it was a hand though. A hand that got taken hold of.

It wasn’t unusual to wake up with a hand that curled around your neck. With an arm that rested across your collarbones, or had snuck under your T-shirt and splayed out on your back. With fingers that wrapped around a wrist, or the back of his hand that rested against your cheek.

Joe’s love language had to be touch.

“I think yours is touch.” you say softly, and you can see how Joe blinks a few times. Seems to think it over for a second, then raises both his hands to look at. Or to show you. Either way.

“I don’t think so?”

Um.

Excuse him.

What does he mean he doesn’t think so?

“I’m not touching you right now, am I?” he clarifies, and you scoff as you wiggle your leg that he keeps sandwiched in between his.

“I think this counts as touching,”

“That’s just,” Joe huffs, “That’s just me helping you out because you get cold feet.”

And it’s so silly, because it makes you laugh as you try to pull your leg out from in between his knees, but Joe just clamps down and fights against you. Uses his fingers to prod you in the ribs to make you laugh louder until you relax.

You know it’s touch.

But, what if it isn’t?

It could be gift giving too.

Not big gestures. No insane meaningful you-mentioned-months-ago-you-really-liked-this-diamant-ring-so-here-you-go sort of gift giving.

More the, I-got-myself-a-bottle-of-water-and-got-you-a-yorkie-because-you-like-those sort of gift giving.

Or the, I-got-my-dad-a-nice-bottle-of-wine-and-decided-to-get-you-one-too gift that he would then casually leave in your fridge.

Just little things that showed you that there were moments in the day where he thought of you.

And you had to stop telling Joe to surprise you when he asked if you needed anything from the shop, because the couple of times you had done just that, he’d just gotten everything he’d seen that he thought you’d like.

“Joe this is… this is just a full bag of ice cream?”

“Yes. And drinks.” he’d said as he let his body curl around you, arms strongly around your waist, chin planted on your shoulder.

You peeked into the bag and moved some things aside to have a better look.

“You got me- what the... you got me a whole bag of ice cream and alcohol…”

And he’d just shrugged a little sheepishly because, yea, he had. Because those were the things you liked, weren’t they? The premixed gin & tonic cans. The Häagen-Dazs caramel biscuit and cream pints.

Unbelievable.

But, could that count as acts of service? Because you’d asked him to surprise you, and just to satisfy your want for something unexpected from him, he’d gone and done just that for you... right?

Or did acts of service only count when you didn’t ask for them?

Like when Joe would see how you’d already curled yourself up into the corner of the sofa, all comfortable underneath a throw-blanket, phone in hand, but no mug of tea on the side table.

He’d just make you one then.

And exactly how you liked it too.

Would even silently take the empty mug after you’d finished it and make you a second one. Seal it off with a squeeze of your shoulder and a kiss on top of your head.

Sometimes it’d be larger stuff, like that one time he’d made you cry when you’d walked into your flat after work, expecting it to be in the messy state you’d left it in the night before. But when you’d left for work, Joe’d still been in bed, and before he’d walked out the door, he’d made sure to tidy the whole place.

He’d not done it right. Of course not. There were still things he’d misplaced that you considered lost, vanished into the ether.

But the fact that he’d put the effort in?

You walked in that day and immediately burst into tears. Had left him a crying voicemail in which you swore at him, called him all kinds of names and finished with a much softer and mumbled “I love you.”

Joe had just responded to it by sending a heart emoji and then that made you cry even more.

Idiot.

You knew your love language probably wasn’t words of affirmation. Obviously. Unless calling someone a dick for doing something nice counted as such.

Joe’s probably wasn’t words of affirmation either.

Although, sometimes... he just very randomly would say something so incredibly sincere and heartfelt, it would almost make you uncomfortable, would make you want to shut him up.

Like when you were out to dinner with your parents, and there was a short silence in conversation, like there naturally would be sometimes, and Joe felt it was the perfect time to let you know that he was proud of you, a hand sneaking under the table to squeeze at your thigh.

Or that time when you were sat in a cinema, everyone quiet, the room dark, all eyes on the big screen, and he’d leant closer to whisper how pretty he thought you were.

“Oh my God, shh,” you’d whispered back, already feeling the blush in your cheeks as he used careful fingers to swipe your hair behind your ear.

“Just thought you should know.”

Or sometimes, when you both had a bad day and were being short and snappy with each other, when you would kind of avoid each other, and would be stuck in sour moods, Joe would very suddenly let you know that he did actually still love you.

You once told him off for leaving all of his shit all over the place, nothing of it tidied away, and you had angrily started clearing things yourself. He joined you then, and it was just four angry hands throwing things around without much care until he suddenly stopped and grabbed your face in both his hands. Forced you to look at him, and God, you’d frowned so hard at him. Were so annoyed with him.

But then he had just said, “I love you.”

It made you look away, stubborn enough to want to hold onto the frustration, but Joe’d just followed your eyes, moved around to keep the eye-contact and repeated himself until you begrudgingly said it back.

“I love you too.”

“Good. Now go sit down. This is my mess to tidy.”

Although, all things considered, quality time was probably up there too if you had to choose one.

Like right now.

Chats in bed counted as quality time, surely. Just time spent together with no one else around. Silent conversations whilst faces pressed into soft pillows and bodies tangled under heavy covers.

“I think mine is maybe acts of service,” you say after some thought.

Joe has his eyes closed again and murmurs a soft, “Hmm.” as a hand snakes over your side and pulls you closer. You easily curl into him, nose to nose, breaths shared.

Yea, no. Touch. Joe’s love language is definitely touch.

“Maybe,” he then adds in a whisper.

You wait for him to explain himself, which he does. After a minute.

“Mmmno,” Joe slurs, and you know he’s about to fall asleep, everything slow and heavy, real effort needed to get the words out.

“It’s laughing at inappropriate times and then calling me,” he yawns, then continues, “And then calling me a dickhead.”

You huff a short laugh, and Joe can feel it on his face. He can’t help but smile, because he knows why that’s funny.

You only call him a dickhead when he is the one to make you laugh at inappropriate times.

And you would’ve fought him on it had you had the strength for it still.

But he’s sort of right.

“Hmm,” you hum, agreeing that laughing at his jokes and calling him names probably does count as your love language.

But his is definitely touch.

The proof is right there in the pudding, you think, as you feel a hand sneak under your top just to rest against warm skin for comfort.

And maybe yours is touch too, but on the receiving end.

“Hey,” you whisper so softly, Joe almost doesn't hear it.

He responds with a squeeze of his fingers.

The best chats always happen at night. In bed, in the dark. But this one, spoken in his love language might just surpass them all.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey

[wendyxox]

Eddie Munson FanFiction Stories Recommendation List

Only Now @icallhimjoey Completed✨️

Disjointed @boomhauer In progress...

Take Me On @softmetalhead In progress.....

The 'Yes' Policy @pinkrelish On hold✋️

Cruel Little Vixen @honey-flustered On hold✋️

Attempt at a one night stand @whoahoney In progress...

Glassy Eyes, Hazy afternoons @whoahoney In progress.....

Crayons and Cassettes @comfort-writing On hold✋️

Junebaby @luveline On hold✋️

Anywhere But Here @thefreakymunson Completed✨️

Meet The Munsons @mypoisonedvine Completed✨️

Hoping I'll Find A Glimpse Of Us @inknopewetrust Completed✨️

Burn One @loveshotzz Completed✨️

Hit Dice @saffloure Completed✨️

Too Long In The Midnight Sea @morninglesss In progress.....

to know your mine @blue-mossbird Completed✨️

Ruin me @cicimunson Completed✨️

Seeing Stars @boogiewrites Completed✨️

Love Will Tear Us Apart @andvys Completed✨️

Bound for the floor @kissmyacdc In progress.....

Begin again @abibliophobiaa Completed✨️

'And She Was' @bitchpudding2024 Completed✨️

As You Wish @corroded-hellfire In progress.....

'Girl Crush' by @eddiemunsons80sbaby Completed✨️ (I read on Ao3, all 3 books.. might be my favorite series, but shhh dont tell anyone.🤫)

'The Shire is Burning' by @ghost-proofbaby (I read on Ao3 and I believe that's their tumblr.) 352k words of pure goodness. Completed✨️

Not Wholly Evil @uglypastels (Pirate!Eddie) In progress.....

On The Outside @lesservillain Completed✨️

Sugar Cloud @hellowhisperingstars In progress.....

Trapped Under Ice @munson-blurbs Go read this dad!Eddie fic. Now. In progress....

Worlds Apart @munsons-maiden This was one of the very first fics I ever read. (Not to mention the first to make me cry.) I can not believe I forgot to put it on this list. Completed✨️

Honey, I'm Home @trashmouth-richie I really didn't think this was going to be a heart wrencher.. but boy, was I wrong. Completed✨️

Newest Editions🔥:

Dreaming of you @boomhauer I'm a sucker for virgin!eddie. He said "take it!" (Hoping for a part two! I can even picture a mini series).♡

The Sweetness @lonelysatellites as the title suggests. 🥲

List in progress...

Wattpad recommendations:

Home to Hawkins by moonflowerwrites

Two Steps Behind by eddiesgirl80sbaby

Best friends, and THAT'S all... ♡Eddie Munson♡ by TheintrovertedFairyx

You Wish by _hall0w33n_

Cloaked Heart - Eddie Munson by 3ddie86

Bad Habit - {Eddie Munson x y/n} by all4eddie

List in progress...

Recommendations of your own are always welcome♡ (Needed actually, they keep me alive & happy.)

Direct links added!

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #recommendation list #direct link

[chaoticgood-munson]

Afterglow - Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader

Hi

This is my first Joe Quinn fic. Please take it easy on me

I just want to say thank you to @icallhimjoey, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, and @mybffjoe for the encouraging words and advice. I love you guys

Based off the song Afterglow by Ed Sheeran

This is an RPF so please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable

Word count: 2k

Joe felt a gentle pressure running along the bridge of his nose in light strokes, the soft touch beginning to wake him up. He let out a tired hum while his eyes started to crack open, vision blurry as they tried to adjust from his heavy slumber. The first thing he saw was your silhouette sitting in front of him as his eyes began to focus, your shape and features getting clearer in just a few seconds before everything sharpened and he was looking at you clearly now. 

A lazy, tired smile was placed on Joe’s lips briefly as he took the sight of you in. You were in one of his shirts, hanging off one of your shoulders where he could see your soft skin that he wanted to bite into but was too tired to actually do anything about it just yet. Joe loved you in his clothes. Behind you, the curtains to the window were open, and you were blocking the harsh shine of the sun from his eyes, causing a halo effect to dance off your hair in a way that made his heart nearly leap to his throat and feel as if time had stood still.

You were so goddamn beautiful.

“Good morning,” you greeted warmly, softly, your fingers leaving Joe’s nose to caress his cheek and your thumb now running along his cheekbone.

That seemed to make the world turn once again, bringing Joe out of his daze and he was suddenly not too tired anymore. He turned his head to quickly place a chaste kiss into your palm before he suddenly took hold of your wrist and pulled you to him, making you giggle as you tumbled into his chest while he wrapped an arm around you to bring you closer. Brushing his lips against yours, he mumbled a raspy, sleep-filled “Morning” before capturing your lips in a kiss, humming from the taste of coffee you’d been sipping on moments ago.

“I made you coffee,” you tried to get out, but Joe was making it quite difficult to speak with the way his lips tried to meld themselves to your own while he breathed you in through his nose.

“It can wait,” he breathed out between kisses, pulling you closer to him before he was rolling the two of you over so you were now under him, your head pressed against your pillow. It made a delightfully surprised noise escape you into the kiss, causing Joe’s lips to quirk up in a playful grin while trailing hot kisses down your jaw to your neck.

A content sigh fell from your lips at the feeling, a hand finding its way into Joe’s curly hair and scraping your nails lightly into his scalp. It sent a shiver down his spine and a small groan to leave him and vibrate into your warm skin. 

“It’ll get cold.” But you were taking Joe’s face into your hands and bringing his soft lips back to yours and kissing him with just as much love and urgency as he was giving you.

“That’s okay,” Joe assured you, softly nipping at your bottom lip. “You like cold coffee anyway.”

You hummed in agreement, but still tried to insist, “Yeah, but you hate-”

“Just need to kiss you for a little longer.” It was breathy and needy and so damn hot. His hand, the one that wasn’t cupping your neck while his thumb drew back and forth along your jawline, slid down your side before firmly taking a hold of your thigh and hooking it up and around his hip. It gave him room to press his hips deliciously into yours and caused you to moan into the kiss that Joe happily swallowed before he was letting out a huff of hot air against your lips when he did it again.

And you met Joe’s hips every time, starting slow and lazy but becoming more steady and desperate with each roll. “T-This,” you let out a small whine from the friction. “This doesn’t feel like just kissing, Joey.” But you weren’t complaining. Far from it, actually.

“Promise it’s just kissing,” Joe mumbled an assurance into your lips, stilling his hips but keeping them pressed to yours before leaning his head back, away from the kiss to look down at you. His eyes danced along your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and wet lips that had turned a slightly darker shade of pink from the ferocity of your kiss. 

Fucking stunning.

Joe let out a whine from his throat when he sighed through his nostrils before diving back in, planting kisses against your lips in shallow, open-mouthed smooches. It made your brain feel fuzzy, giggling from his antics and bringing your hands to his cheeks. You loved the way his stubble scratched against your fingertips, dragging your thumbs along the light scruff. His hand left your thigh and dragged back up your body, tracing along your curves before making its way up to your hair and cradling the back of your head. He pulled away once again, just so he could see your beautiful face. 

“I love you so much,” he told you through an exhale, words full of adoration and disbelief. Disbelief at the fact that he called you his and you called him yours. It didn’t matter to Joe how long the two of you had been together, he would never let go of this feeling, holding on tighter to it for as long as you would let him. 

With one last, deep kiss, Joe pulled away to roll off the bed before looking for a shirt in the dresser. He didn’t give you a chance to ask where he was going. “M’making breakfast. Your favorite.” Grabbing the coffee you had set down for him on the bedside table, poured into his favorite mug, he took a sip and moaned appreciatively at the taste while leaving the bedroom.

You sat up in bed as you watched Joe leave, feeling flustered from just moments ago. Eyes lingering on the spot where Joe had just been sleeping, you ran your hand along the warm sheets. Music started playing softly from the kitchen, the chords of a familiar song flowing through the spaces of your home. It made you feel as if a blanket were being wrapped around you, or Joe’s arms. You’d accept the ladder more than the former. But he was in the kitchen right now, so the best you could do was lie back down and curl yourself in a blanket that smelled like him with your head resting on his pillow that also had his scent, clouding your senses with Joe.

It was definitely going to be one of those days. You’d confirmed it the moment you’d woken up. Joe was usually the one to wake up before you, but he’d just gotten home from traveling for work and you knew he needed to stay asleep for a little longer than normal while you’d made him his coffee. It was going to be just the two of you today. No phones, no TV, no disturbances. This was a normal occurrence in your relationship, to let yourselves forget about the world and just be wrapped up in each other’s presence, each other’s love.  

“Babe!” You hadn’t realized you were falling asleep until Joe was calling for you, making you nearly jump out of your skin from the suddenness. “Come here!”

His tone confused you, mixed with excitement and wonder. After slowing your racing heart, you called back, “What is it?”

“Just get over here!”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed. Untangling yourself from the blankets and hopping out of the bed, you grabbed your own mug of coffee that was on the same bedside table as Joe’s had been before making your way out of your shared bedroom and to the kitchen to see what Joe had been so adamant about you seeing.

As soon as you entered the kitchen, Joe was coming up to you to stand behind you and covered your eyes with his hands. “Joe, what-”

“Just…just let me do this,” he cut off your worries with a kiss to your shoulder blade as he guided you around the kitchen. It made your heart flutter, so you obeyed. A second later, you were standing still. “You ready?”

“Joe,” you laughed breathily at the silliness of it all.

“Are you?” he asked, still not taking his hands from your eyes.

“Yes, yes! Just show me!”

Without another word, Joe was removing his hands from your eyes so you could finally see what he had been so excited about. You were standing in front of the window above your kitchen sink, looking out to the little garden just outside. The sudden brightness caused your eyes to screw briefly before trying to open them again. The brightness coming through the window wasn’t from the sun, but from the half foot of white that covered the ground and fall leaves. 

“It’s snowing,” Joe told you as if you weren’t looking at the same thing he was. You could hear the smile in his voice. “The first snowfall of the year.”

You let out a breath as you looked around the garden through the kitchen window in wonder. It didn’t matter how often you had seen snow over the years of your life, the first snowfall of the season would always leave you breathless.

You loved when it would snow. When you were younger, but especially now. It made the world quieter and these days with Joe feel all the more special. All you could think about was getting back into bed with him, back under the covers while keeping one another warm as you kissed lazily. Joe would more than likely open one of his favorite books and read to you. It would easily lull you to sleep, hearing his soothing voice, your head resting in his lap while his hand that wasn’t holding the book traced along your neck absently. 

Joe watched you intently, watching as your eyes grew bigger in awe while watching fat snowflakes fall from the sky and land on the ground. He loved the snow as well, but what he loved more was the way you loved it. He loved the way you would pull him to bed on a day just like this with the intent of staying curled in the blankets and his arms, loved that you wore his sweaters and sweatpants around the house more often during this season to stay warm, and he especially loved sitting in front of the fireplace as he read a book out loud for the both of you to enjoy while you would slowly fall asleep with your head in his lap.

It was his home.

You were his home.

The soft voice of Samuel Beam drew Joe from his thoughts and back to now as the song ‘Flightless Bird, American Mouth’ filled the kitchen. And if Joe didn’t know a perfect moment when he saw one. His heart swelled, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a kiss into your hair as he started to sway with you to the song. He hummed the lyrics absently, feeling your arms cover over his around your middle.

Joe grinned, taking your hand and turning you around until you were now facing him. You gasped softly at the sudden action before being replaced with a bubbly laugh when Joe brought you close to him once more as he started to dance with you to the song. Your heart fluttered for the love you had for this man, resting your head against his chest as Joe held you close while singing along softly.

This is exactly where the two of you wanted to be, the atmosphere radiating in your love as it seemed to pour out of you both. Listening to one another’s hearts, each other’s breaths. The rest of the world didn’t matter, only this moment. 

Joe’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer so you could feel his heart beat with yours, feel the heat of his fiery love that seeped through to your skin and into your bones until you were burning just as bright for him. The words didn’t need to be said, not now, not when you could feel yourselves holding tightly to this feeling.

And you would hold onto it your entire lives.

#joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fan fiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn rpf #joseph quinn rpf #rpf #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fic #songfic #song fic #writing #my writing #fanfiction #real person fiction

[babybluebex]

italy calling masterlist

summary: when your friend convinces you to go to livorno, italy on vacation, you don't expect to meet a handsome stranger. you also don't expect him to establish a rule during your fling: no finding each other afterwards. after everything, though, will you be able to keep up your end of the bargain? and will he? pairing: joseph quinn x fem!reader (rpf - don't like, don't read) tags: drinking, probably bad financial decisions, smut (18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT): oral (f! and m!receiving), lots of intimacy, joe is a cutie, ANGST, lots of crying, but it's sweet, i promise, brief mention of smut author's note: this is what i worked on during my vacation. i can't even go on vacation without writing and thinking of joe lmao. all of the italy!joe content we're getting isn't helping me either haha. big big thanks to @icallhimjoey and @wordscomehither for their help on this, couldn't have written this without y'all!!

part 1

part 2

part 3

add-ons:

lily meets joe for the first time

joe's fans don't like you

#joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn rpf

[djoseph-quinn]

I’m never going to be in a relationship because no man treats me better than Joseph Quinn as written by @icallhimjoey

Like what more do I need??

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn

[filthyjoetini]

Love is in the Air(BnB)

a/n: My loves. Part 5 is here! Enjoy! For this one I’d like to thank @icallhimjoey for inspiring two small details in this story. I accept guesses in my inbox which two parts you think were insipired by her...hehe. And as always a huge thanks to @barfightzanddiscolightz​. The quality of this story would not be on the same level without her. <3

warnings: a lil smut-ish. Other than that, you’ll be fine

wordcount: 5k

part 1 - Friday night - part 2 - Saturday - part 3 - Sunday - part 4 - Monday - part 6 Wednesday - part 7 - Thursday -  Epilogue

Tuesday

You lay on the sofa in the not so early hours of Tuesday morning, two strong arms wrapped around you from behind, squeezing you lightly whilst a pair of lips placed delicate kisses on the back of your neck.

After getting home from the lake late last night, Joe and you suddenly turned shy when it came to your sleeping arrangements. Like the night before, he had escorted you to the living room. As you both stood there, not knowing what to say, you quickly pecked his lips, wished him a good night before walking backwards into the living room and slowly closing the door in his face.

You were lying in the dark on the thinly cushioned sofa, tossing and turning for what felt like forever, when the door was slowly pushed open. Joe had padded inside with gentle steps, illuminating the room with his phone’s flashlight and declared that he couldn’t sleep. You had pushed yourself up a little and let him know that you couldn’t sleep either before scooting over a bit and holding your blanket open to make room for him. He turned off his flashlight and placed his phone down on the coffee table before he accepted your invitation and slipped under the blanket with you. Instantly he had looped his arms around you, spooning you from behind. You both had lain there in silence, listening to each other's breathing, feeling each other’s heartbeats for a couple of moments when you eventually turned around in his arms. Taking in his silhouetted features, which were only illuminated by the lone streetlamp down at the road, you slowly lifted your hand and started tracing them with your index finger. While your digit ran along the length of his nose, down to his cupid’s bow, over his bottom lip, and eventually stopping at his chin, his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a content sigh. Smiling softly, you moved your hand to the side of his face and leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you moved to the other side and pressed an equally soft one there. Joe let out a low chuckle and pulled you closer to him, causing your leg to drape over his. He had gently opened his eyes and you both stared at each other for a couple of heartbeats, lazy grins on both of your lips. When his nose rubbed yours gingerly, your eyes fell shut. You felt his head tilt a little to the side, and your hand, that was still on his face, moved with it. His lips had inched closer to you, eventually pressing against yours in a soft yet firm kiss. Softly groaning, you opened your mouth a little to deepen it. Joe took your reaction as an invitation to go further and slipped his tongue into your mouth, gently exploring you. You made out until both of your chests heaved with shallow breaths, reducing your affections to individual pecks, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Caught in your current situation because of last night's deeds, you giggled and squirmed, almost ramming your elbow into his ribs.

“Jooooooe…”, you whined in a whisper, “Stop it.”

“Nuh…uh.”, Joe whispered back, placing even more kisses along your neck, moving down to your shoulder. You relaxed into his hold and let him continue caressing you. Your eyes fluttered close, and you almost let out a moan as Joe started to softly nibble on your skin, leaving a mark behind.

“Ugh...get a room. It’s only 9:15 in the morning.”

Opening your now widened eyes you instantly looked to the door. You saw Wesley standing there, cup of coffee in hand and a disgusted look on his face. Raising your eyebrow, your wide eyes turned to questioning ones and his disgust turned into a bright grin. Joe stopped kissing the crook of your neck, and you felt him lean back a little with an exaggerated sigh.

“We are in a room, mate.”

“I know, lovebirds. I’m just pulling your leg.”, Wesley beamed at the both of you, “Enjoy yourselves...I’m off to work.”

As he bid his goodbye, he walked off to the kitchen where you heard him place his cup in the sink and shortly after the front door closing.

As soon as you heard the lock click, you turned around in Joe’s arms before he could pick up where he left off again. You squirmed a little in his hold, so he would loosen his grip around you.

“I need to use the loo.”, you explained to his pouty face, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Reluctantly and with an even bigger pout, he let go of you. You fully wiggled out of his hold and stood up.

“Awww...don’t be a baby, baby.”, you tutted and placed a quick kiss to his pouty lips, leaving him alone on the sofa.

---

When you got back, Joe was sitting up straight, scrolling through his phone. You crawled over the sofa and sat down next to him looking down at his phone. He was playing WORDLE and only had one guess left. His current answer was PENNY, but the first N was wrong.

“Do you need help?”

“Hmph...I don’t want to lose my streak. My mum’s already solved it.”, he explained, forehead furrowed in concentration, which made the wrinkles on it appear rather prominent. It really does look like a Wi-Fi signal, you thought, letting out a small giggle.

“What?”, Joe asked with a raised eyebrow, glancing at you from the side.

“Nothing....have you tried peony?”

“Huh?”

“Peony. As a guess for your wordle?”, you clarified.

He shook his head and typed in the word. The screen lit up green, indicating that he solved today’s 5-letter word.

“Yes!”, he almost shouted, fist pumping the air. “Thanks darling, you saved me! I could kiss you!”

“OK. Pucker up, buttercup.”, you giggled leaning over, puckering your lips. He shook his head with a smile and pecked your lips softly. As he was about to pull away, you whined and went in for another kiss.

“Babe.”, he spoke against your lips, “I have to send my score to my mum.”

“Fiiiiiine.”, you huffed, leaning back and letting yourself fall back into the sofa. Your act elicited a snort from Joe who quickly had sent a screenshot to his mum on WhatsApp, before putting his phone away.

“Who’s the baby now? Huh?”, he asked leaning over you on all fours. You giggled up at him before he leant down, kissing you softly.

“Would you care for breakfast, darling?”

You nodded meekly and Joe sat back on his haunches, grabbing your arms to pull you up with him. The sudden change in position made you balance clumsily on your knees, and you almost pushed Joe backwards making him lose his equilibrium. He steadied you both by holding your arms still, only letting go when you stopped wobbling. As you clambered off the sofa and planted your feet on the ground, you turned around to help Joe up from his awkward position. When he stood up straight next to you, he gingerly slapped your bum.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and hope Wes left us some food.”

You sent him a mock-glare for the bum slap before running off to the kitchen.

“Last one there does the dishes!”, you yelled back at him from the hallway. “Also, can we continue watching Stranger Things?”

“Hey! Not fair! You had a head start!”, he cried after you before he caught up with you in the kitchen, panting like a bull. You were standing in front of the opened refrigerator when he lifted you up from behind, making you squeak in surprise. “And yes, we can continue watching Stranger Things.”

He placed a kiss on the back of your head before putting you down again.

“Nice...you’re still doing the dishes, though.”

---

“So…when are you going to show up?”, you asked Joe, head resting on his thighs, munching on an apple slice that you had dipped in honey. Joe and you ended up cutting up various fruits and toasting some bread for breakfast as well as brewing some fresh tea and then brought everything to the living room.

“In season four.”

“Season four?”, you asked, sitting up and looking at him appalled, “We’re only on episode seven of the first season.”

“Yeah, but it’s a good show, darling.”, he defended, his voice soft, eyes trained on the screen. His hand then moved around your shoulders, and he pulled you down to his lap again. As soon as your head found its previous place again, his hand was in your hair, massaging your scalp gently. You sighed softly and continued watching but your mind was somewhere else entirely.

I wonder what his character looks like…having a little peek won’t hurt, right?, you debated with yourself. You eventually gave in and moved your hand to your joggers to rifle through your pockets for your phone. You discreetly pulled it out and unlocked it. You opened your browser app and typed Joseph Quinn Stranger Things Character into the Google search bar, immediately hundreds of pages and photos popped up. You clicked on the first photo which was captioned Eddie Munson and brought the phone closer to your face. You quickly glanced up at Joe, whose eyes were still on the screen and hand still in your hair. Then you took a closer look at Eddie Munson. He didn’t look anything like your Joe. He had long brown, slightly curly hair, was clean shaven, face way thinner than you were used to, and his clothes screamed 80s metalhead.

“Damn, he’s hot.”, you muttered under your breath.

“Who? Ted Wheeler?”

Joe had instantly stopped massaging your scalp and looked down at you with a surprised face. “I didn’t know you fancied the dad bod…. Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you as well.”, he groaned as he saw the picture that was pulled up on your phone. You quickly tried to hide it, but it was too late.

You grinned up at him and shrugged.

“What? He’s hot. Also knowing it’s you makes him double-hot.”

You sat up once more and then turned around to scoot closer to him, but he turned his upper body away from you crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Awww come on, Joe. Don’t be jealous. I don’t even know him…yet.”, you taunted him, poking your fingers into his ribs. He squirmed and begged for you to stop; the show that was still playing on the telly already forgotten. His pleas fell on deaf ears as you started to move lower and poked his side. His squirming intensified making you giggle and snort at the same time which came out as a grunt. Joe tried to wrangle your hands away from his body and eventually succeeded. He grabbed you by your forearms with one hand and then slung one arm around your middle pulling you down with him.

“I don’t like when my girl is checking out other blokes. Even though the other bloke is basically me.”, he clarified jokingly.

“Your girl…?”, you questioned with one eyebrow raised. Joe removed his hand from your forearms and moved it up to your face, cupping it and nodded slightly.

“Yeah. Only if you’d like to be, of course. I really hope you’d like that…”, his voice grew quieter with each word he spoke, getting more and more unsure. You looked at him with a gentle gaze and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Oh, don’t worry, handsome. I’d like that very much.”, you whispered against his lips,” and, you don’t need to worry. I won’t run off with a different version of you, even if he’s hot as fuck.”, you reassured him with a wink of your right eye.

“Good.”, he replied with a giggle, kissing you softly and pulling you down to his chest. Your head, which was facing the telly once again, now resting on it as he slung his arms around your waist, his hands now latent on your back. “Now let’s continue watching Stranger Things. I have to leave for work at two…what time is it now?”

“I dunno.”, you shrugged your shoulders, “My phone is somewhere underneath you.”

“Hold on, I’m gonna grab mine.”, he grunted, sitting up with you still pressed against him. He picked it up from the coffee table and pressed the side button of his phone. “It’s now 11:45. Perfect. We can finish the first season and I’ll still have some time to do the dishes and get ready.”

He put his phone back down and returned to his previous position and you chortled softly which made him tilt his head forward and squeeze your sides.

“Ugh. I get cuteness aggression around you. You’re so cute and yet hot as fuck.”, he groaned into your hair, placing a kiss there. “By the way.”, he spoke into the crown of your hair. “I made a reservation for dinner tonight. Just you and me.”

“As in a date?”

“Yes.”, he elucidated. “Dress code is smart casual. Also, I will meet you there at 6:45 pm since I don’t have time to come home. I’ll text you everything later.”

“OK.”, you hummed lowly, your response vibrating through his chest, “It’s a date.”

“It’s a date.”, he repeated, grinning against your scalp.

---

Dressed in your favourite dress, high-heeled boots, and with a tad bit of evening glam on your face, you stood in front of the restaurant, whose sign said FALLOW in big uppercase letters, at 6:45 pm sharp. Joe was running a little late, he had texted you earlier to let you know. With each minute that you spent standing alone in front of the restaurant you grew more anxious. Then, all of a sudden, you heard your name being called from down the street. Turning towards its source you saw Joe lightly jogging towards you, one hand up in a wave.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, darling.”, he panted out of breath when he finally came to a halt a couple of feet away from you, “It took longer than anticipated and then I missed the tube and had to wait…fuck…I need to stop smoking.”, he coughed the last part, slapping at his chest.

“It’s OK.”, you reassured him with a smile. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! Sorry!”, he affirmed and then fully took in your appearance. “…wow, you look stunning.”

He closed the distance between the two of you with a glint in his eyes. Taking your hand in his, he lifted it up and twirled you around, the skirt of your dress swaying with the motion. “So pretty.”, he complimented as he pulled you into an embrace making you blush slightly. He grinned at your rosy cheeks and placed a soft peck to your lips.

“Shall we?”

You nodded and he pulled you towards the restaurant’s entrance where you were greeted by the hostess who stood at the counter to seat people.

“Hello. Welcome to Fallow. Do you have a reservation?”

“Hi. Yes, table for two under the name Quinn.”

The hostess checked the list on her iPad, nodded, and gave you both a sweet smile.

“Perfect. If you’ll follow me, you will be seated on the terrace.”, she instructed, taking two menus with her and you both trailed behind her. Arriving at the table, she placed down the menus.

“When you’re ready to order, just call for Lucy over there. She’ll be your waitress for tonight.”

“Thank you.”, Joe said to the hostess’ receding form before he stepped over to your side to pull the chair out for you.

You smiled at him softly as you sat down, and he pushed the chair back to the table.

“Ever the gentleman.”, you chuckled softly, placing the serviette on your lap.

“Anything for my girl.”, he smiled back at you, mirroring you by placing his serviette on his own lap. You took your menu into your hands and opened it quickly, hiding your ever present and now deepening blush from him. You were not used to being treated that way, particularly by men.

As you studied the various dishes listed on the menu, your mouth began to water. There were so many delicious things on it, it was almost impossible to choose. You eventually picked out the caramelised cauliflower croquetas as a starter and the Fallow burger with boulangère potatoes as your main course. Joe ordered half a dozen Carlingford oysters as his starter and the Bathurst Estate venison with chips as his main course. He also chose a fitting red wine to top it all off.

The food was placed in front of you not long after you had ordered it. While eating, Joe and you held up your steady conversation about the past, the present, and especially the future. Between courses he held your hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb, attentively listening to your ramblings and laughing at your animated storytelling. He fell harder for you with each finished sentence, and you felt the same way.

---

“Phew. I’m full!”, you groaned as Joe and you exited the restaurant hand in hand. Joe smirked down at you as you patted your belly softly.

“It’s a whole food baby. Look!”, you explained pushing out your stomach towards him.

“Oh yeah? Is it now?”, he inquired, poking your tummy with his index finger, giggling softy.

You squirmed a little, swatting his hand away as you nodded at him in full giggles.

“Yeah… you might have to roll me home.”

“You already want to go home?”

“Nooooo. I meant later.”, you clarified, beaming up at him. “Come on, let’s go for a walk! It helps with digesting this food baby.”

You tugged at his hand and took the lead, pulling him along the pavement.

Joe and you were strolling through the city, sometimes stopping in front of a shop window to check out the goods that shop sold, always pointing out the most peculiar items to one another. You were walking for about 30 minutes when you spotted a bar with a huge moving sign that said KARAOKE.

“Oh! Let’s go in there!”, you exclaimed, all but dragging a confused Joe, who was looking in the other direction at first, with you.

“Go where? ...Oh babe, no. I can’t sing.”, he groaned, trying to pull his hand from your death grip, but you wouldn’t budge.

“Neither can I! But it’s gonna be fun. I promise!”, you turned around to him, pouting up at him and mustering the best puppy eyes you had to offer. He groaned once more and shook his head.

“Fine. But I need a couple of drinks, otherwise not a single note will leave my lips.”

“Deal.”, you confirmed, getting up on our tiptoes, placing a quick kiss on those aforementioned lips. “Now come oooon.”

Joe let you haul him into the karaoke bar which was not fully packed but had a decent amount of people there, some only for drinks, others clearly for the singing. You made your way over to the bar with Joe in tow.

You questioned the bartender about how to sign up to sing and he gave you a clipboard with a list as well as a folder with all the songs available to sing. Meanwhile, Joe had ordered himself a pint of ale and a cider for you. The list already had about 15 people signed up to sing. You turned to Joe, who placed the pint of cider in front of you, already sipping on his ale.

“Here, pick which song you want to sing. I already put your name down.”

“Am I going after you?”, he questioned while browsing through the folder.

“Nuh-uh. You’re going first. Serves you right for initially not wanting to come in here with me.”, you sneered at him. Joe rolled his eyes at you and took the list from your fingers, scribbling his choice’s code into the box next to his name, and handed the clipboard back to you. You gladly took it back and wrote down your pick before handing it to the bartender who said he would call out your names when it’s your turn.

“Thank you... OK let’s go find somewhere to sit.”, you said as you turned to Joe who pointed at a small vacant table somewhat in the back of the room. He took his ale and your cider and steered the way through the small crowd towards the table. The two chairs were facing the stage, where a couple was singing I’ve had the Time of my Life as a duet. They weren’t half bad, but her voice was too shrill and it hurt your ears when she tried to sing the high notes. But you were in no place to judge. You weren’t really a singer, but karaoke was one of your passions. Whenever the opportunity arose to go to a karaoke bar you took it up and went.

You were already two pints of cider in, and Joe was sipping on his third ale, when his name was called. He glanced over at you with unsure eyes, and you nodded at him encouragingly. He took one big gulp of his drink, stood up, shook himself like a wet dog, and went up to the stage. He took the microphone from the stand and audibly cleared his throat into it.

“Hi.”, he started shyly, “My name’s Joe…anyway…here’s Wonderwall.”

You giggled and let out a very loud whoop as the first chords of Wonderwall started to play. You shook your head in disbelief. Of course, he would choose this song. His voice was soft, and he was a lot better than some of the people who had come before him. It was true, he was no singer, but the fact that he stood up there and sang made your heart swell twice its size. You glanced up at him, adoration in your eyes, as you sent him a thumbs up which made him smile down at you.

When the chorus came the whole bar sang along with him which gave him a boost of confidence. He sang the rest of the song with a puffed-out chest and a huge smile on his face. When it concluded, he placed the mic back onto the stand and jogged down the stage towards you while some of the patrons applauded him more or less enthusiastically for his performance.

You stood up when he approached the table, clapping and grinning at him.

“You did such a good job, baby.”, you praised him. You were just about to give him a kiss when the bartender called out your name.

“My turn.”

Joe nodded at you as he sat down, taking a swig of his ale.

Slowly walking up to the stage, you took the mic in your hand and nodded at the bartender, the two pints you drank mixed with the wine from earlier making you sway a little.

You immediately started to sing the first line of Breathless by The Corrs, dancing around the stage. It was one of your favourite songs to sing. You heard Joe shout from the crowd which made you giggle through the lyrics.

By the time the second verse came around your eyes were fixed on Joe’s, and you sang directly at him.

“And if there’s no tomorrow and all we have is here and now. I’m happy just to have you, you’re all the love I need somehow.

It’s like a dream, although I’m not asleep. And I never want to wake up.

Don’t lose it. Don’t leave it.

So go on, go on. Leave me breathless…

Tempt me, tease me.

Until I can’t deny this loving feeling.

Make me long for your kiss…”

You then tore your gaze away from him and kept singing with all your heart, spinning around the stage, panting hard. You sang the last note and bowed to the crowed when you had finished. With a huge smile on your face, you placed the mic back and walked off the stage towards a very visibly stunned Joe. The people around you were whistling and clapping in appreciation of your entertaining and heartfelt performance. You nodded at them appreciatively and continued your way to the man you had dedicated the song to.

When you came to a halt in front of him, he was still clapping.

“Christ. Darling…that was mind-bending.”, he complimented you gleefully, wrapping his arms around you, bringing you in for an embrace. Then he brought his lips to your ear and whispered.

“If you want to get out of here, I can leave you breathless…”

You pulled back quickly and avidly nodded at him. He grinned down at you and started to lead you out of the karaoke bar by your waist.

---

Standing on the pavement, Joe tried to hail a cab but unfortunately the ones that passed by were already occupied. You were growing impatient and started to dance from one foot to the other in your little high-heeled booties. You really, really wanted Joe to leave you breathless, but for that you needed to get home. You were just about to complain when Joe finally hailed a cab after the fourth try. He opened the door for you and you all but scrambled into the backseat, placing your bum down with a loud thud. Joe climbed in after you and gave the driver his address to which he only nodded and started the drive.

You scooted closer to Joe, leaning half of your body onto his, one leg slung over his and head on his shoulder. He looped his arm around you and pulled you closer into him, rubbing your hip down to your bum. The sensation of his fingers moving along that particular spot made your skin feel tingly all over and the hairs on your body stand up. Little shockwaves pulsed down your belly button to the little bundle of nerves between your legs, making you tremble with anticipation. You lifted your head up a little bit and pressed your lips to his neck, close to his Adam’s apple, and started to softly suck on his skin there. Your actions educed a small moan from his throat and his grip on your hip tightened. You smiled against his skin and turned your sucking into light nibbling.

“Fuck…babe.”, he whispered, moaning faintly. You then decided on a whim and climbed on top of him just so you could continue teasing him from a different angle. You planted your arse directly on his lap straddling him, dress riding up, and lace thong on display. Grinding along his dick desperate for the barrier of clothes between you to disappear, you sucked on a small patch of skin below his ear. Your movement made Joe groan gutturally and he placed both of his hands on your hips to keep you still. He was getting hard.

“Babe…not here.”, he warned you with a growl and you nodded, stopping your grinding and moving your face from below his ear to his face, planting an open-mouthed kiss to his lips.

“OK.”, you panted, chest heaving. The heat that had been building in you was now evident in your underwear. You were wet and Joe knew it. You had soaked through the flimsy material of your thong right onto his slacks, staining his crotch. “But after.”, you gulped, speaking against his lips, “When we’re home…”

“Yes.”, he replied. “When we’re home.”

You nodded again and engulfed his lips with yours, kissing him deeply. Joe opened his mouth slightly and you let your tongue slide into it fully. Your teeth were clashing as you tried to get closer to one another. He pulled back his head a little, bit your bottom lip softly, and let go of it again after a couple of seconds. You immediately ran your tongue along it and leaned forward to lick his before sucking it into your mouth. You let out a deep moan and Joe threw his head back into the backseat’s headrest, making you release his lip from your mouth.

You chased after him and just as your kiss was about to turn fully heated the cab driver cleared his throat and gave you both a repulsed glare.

“We’re here.”

Joe’s head shot up instantly and he carefully lifted you off his lap and onto the backseat again. You turned around, saw the driver’s face, and immediately hid behind Joe’s shoulder.

“Shit. Sorry.”, Joe apologised to the driver and handed him the owed fee for the ride, then he leaned over you and opened the car’s door to let you out. You hastily exited the cab, walking straight to the house’s front door, wating there for Joe, not daring to look back at the cab driver. You felt ashamed. You didn’t usually do those things in public spaces. You even hated seeing people going at it yourself.

Joe had caught up to you immediately and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“He’s gone.”, he whispered into your ear., “Also…don’t feel ashamed…I bet he has seen worse.”

You giggled at him as he opened the front door and pulled you along with him up the three flights of stairs to the flat. He let you into the flat and silently closed the door behind him, then he turned around and grabbed you by your hips, steering you down the hallway to his bedroom. The bedroom door was closed, and you looked up at him with hopeful eyes. He nodded down at you and opened the door turning towards you again. He took your hand in his and leaned down to kiss you tenderly. You smiled and jumped up, slinging your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, kissing him hungrily.

“Come on…I promised to leave you breathless.”

He said between kisses, walking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him with his foot.

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