#one of those hands is definitely fake but can you guess which

[chrnbylart]

angel trap

full resolution here

#art #thanatobizzare #one of those hands is definitely fake but can you guess which #the rest are ripped from stock images GHR #the angels #collage #hands #eye #anyway ive had some serious artblock lately. this is the second thing ive drawn in the last month

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

#eddie munson smut #smut #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut #eddie munson fem!reader

[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'Till you Make it | Part 14

“Eye Spy… with my little eye… something beginning wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiith T”

“Is it tree?”

“God, how do you keep doing that?”

“That’s been your fifth tree in six rounds, Eddie.”

“There’s loads of trees!!”

Steve was driving, he’d taken the driver’s seat of the rental car, Eddie calling shotgun putting his parents in the back seat, which neither really minded as they still had a few things to work out that they’d put on the back burner to allow Steve and Eddie to take those middle seats on the plane.

“Okay my turn, eye spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… T.”

“Is it tree?”

Steve sniggered but shook his head no. “No it’s not tree.”

“Can I have a hint?”

“It’s black.”

“T and black… can I have another hint?”

“You only get two hints are you sure you wanna use it now?” It was actually quite cute how Eddie hesitated, hand lifting to his chin, fingernails caught on his bottom teeth. “Maybe try another guess?”

“T and black…” Eddie looked down, and around himself, there was nothing outside that fit the bill, so it had to be inside the car. “T… and black… it’s definitely black, and begins with T… Teeelevision?”

“Do you see a television?”

“No.”

“No, Eddie, it’s not a television” he clicked his fingers in disappointment, as if it were actually a plausible guess.

“Tuuuuuaardvark.”

“What the hell is a tuaardvark?”

“An aardvark with a Tu at the beginning.” Steve really was trying to focus on the road, but Eddie was so effortlessly funny that it was impossible not to laugh. “Okay gimmie the hint, and make it a juicy one. An I do mean juicy, it needs to rival your—”

“Eddie!”

“Your juicy personality, get thy glorious head and its voluminous hair out of the gutter, baby.” He got a quiet giggle out of Lynda with that one, both parents trying not to get involved. They had things to do, even a getaway had work involved.

“For that alone I’m only going to tell you that there’s a few of them.” But he was going to smile about it, because he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, it was just… to hard to not smile around Eddie. His enjoyment was as infectious as his happiness.

“Awh shit, I always knew I’d be my own undoing. Go on then, put me out of my misery.”

“You sure you don’t want one more guess?”

“Do you think that’d help?”

“I think if you really look you could get it.”

“God you have such confidence in me, where was this support when I was trying to graduate? Okay.” Eddie pulled his long legs up and awkwardly crossed them in his seat, eyes skimming the surrounding area, then dipping down, brows furrowed in thought. A black few things beginning with T… a black few things, beginning with T… Teeee tee-tee-tee-tee-teeeee…teeeeshirt?”

“No, it’s not T-shirt.”

“Shit. Okay, not T-shirt” he reached up his hand and scratched his cheekbone, and out of the corner of his eye— he gasped sharply and yelled, “tattoo!!”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the car, he’s GOT IT!” There was a polite round of applause from the back seat that Eddie turned back to bow to, hands clasped together in victory. “Ooh, we’re almost there, one more round I think, and don’t pick a tree.”

“Okay! Okay lemme think, let me think, leeet me…OOH, eye spy, with my little eye, something beginning with M.”

“It’s mole isn’t it?”

“GodDAMMIT!”

Eddie had no idea what to expect when they started their journey, he had no idea what their end result would look like, he had a vague idea that it’d probably be extravagant, and that maybe he wouldn’t like the look of it purely going off of the Harrington’s house back in Hawkins, that place looked cold.

It looked empty.

What sat nestled at the end of a long woodland driveway, was nothing like the Harrington House.

Sure, it was large, could probably fit a good few families in there with room to spare, but it was styled like a log-cabin, just, bigger. It was all wood undoubtedly farmed from the surrounding areas, natural stone work making up the foundation and the chimney probably mined from the mountains around them, and glass windows.

It looked… huge but still so cosy.

Like the inside would probably smell a little like Christmas and warm every inch of you just by standing in it.

“Okay,” Eddie turned around in his seat to look into the back, and really did try and school his tone into something as respectful as he possibly could manage “not to disrespect your house in Hawkins but why would you live there in that if you have this out here?” Hawkins was a shithole in Eddie’s opinion, it was full of backwards thinking angry church types with vendettas against fun and honestly nothing happened there.

The most exciting thing to happen in Hawkins in the history of ever, was when an owl attacked Eleanor Gillespie’s hair because it looked suspiciously like a nest.

They had no creepy ghost stories, no weird happenings, no strange people unless you count himself and maybe a few of the hellfire kids, maybe his bandmates, but it was boring. He wanted out. The only thing keeping him there was… well… his Uncle.

“It’s not ours” John answered as the car pulled to a stop outside of the slowly opening garage, the eldest Harrington putting his things back into his bag and unclipping the seatbelt. “It’s Steven’s.” And that wide-eyed stare was immediately switched from the elder Harrington’s to the youngest, the sheepishly smiling Steve.

“It belonged to my grandparents, or well… my grandpa. He left it to me in the will, but we’ve been coming here to spend time with them for years this is just… the second year now without either of them here.” They had a maintenance guy, or multiple guys on retainer who’d go in once every two weeks to keep the place clean, but other than that it remained empty. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from placing a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder, expression softening, Steve shook his head though, “sorry, that just set a weird mood, let’s just… get inside and get settled, yeah? I’ll even let you pick our room.”

“Room as in… one room? For the both of us? That’s—that’s uhm” he looked back at the parents “that’s okay with you guys?”

“Sure, again it’s not our house.” And even if it was, both John and Lynda figured Steve would wind up in Eddie’s room anyway “we’d prefer it though if you picked one on the other side of the house to ours.” John opened the car door, catching Eddie’s attention again “we’ve been burned by those old wooden walls before.” And then he was out of the car, followed by Lynda who he helped climb out, leaving both men in the car alone while they made their way to the house.

Steve pulled forwards into the vacant garage, the door to shut behind them, and a light automatically switched on, replacing the darkness of the garage with a warm white light.

“They’re not the only ones who’ve been burned, trust me.” Steve shook his head with an amused smile as he cut the engine. “Is the one room okay, Eddie? It’s not like… crossing any lines with you, is it?” His parents weren’t there, they couldnt hear them, there was no reason to pretend, even if he did want to try and make it as realistic as possible as per Robin’s idea, he had to keep checking in with Eddie to make sure he was okay.

“No! No, no it’s okay… I’ve never… I haven’t really… shared a room with anyone before” only child, and Wayne had given him the only room in the trailer “is it like… a two bed situation or—”

“One bed, Eddie… one room, one bed, there’s only one room in that house with multiple beds in it and it’s full of bunk beds from when I was twelve an all the cousins used to visit around the same time… it might seem a bit weird if we pick that one.” He was going to be spending an entire week… sleeping in the same bed as Steve Harrington, in what was essentially a dream house nestled in the woods.

He was going to get used to it. He was going to get used to it all, and it was going to kill him to leave it all at the end of the week. It was going to destroy him to lose it all.

“Heh… maybe—maybe someday we could bring the kids up, they could stay in the bunk bed room” grin and bear it, maybe it’d all work out if he just… went with the flow. Wishful thinking usually went against the good ol Munson Doctrine, but… everything Steve had been doing since they first started their whacky plan had flown in the face of that stupid doctrine so… maybe deviating from it wouldn’t hurt as bad as it could if he just… went with it.

“I mean… we could force them to use the bunkbeds, an that could be pretty funny”

They probably wouldn’t be as psyched to stay in bunkbeds as they would have been back when they were all tiny, squishy middle schoolers, although it’d probably be easier to get their parents to agree to the trip now they were older.

“Payback for all the shit they’ve thrown at us over the years.”

“It’s like you’re in my brain.”

Part 16

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

They walk to their first planned destination, Kon being unfairly adorable and also an asshole at the same time, because it’s Kon so of course he can multitask that kind of shit. Tim gets teased about his taste in kids’ toys and his date budget and his theoretical Smash skills, which he’s clearly going to need to educate the bastard on the hard way. Alternately, Tim also gets Hawaiian gummy candy shared with him, never mind that Kon apparently both really likes it and hasn’t had it in months. 

Tim continues to be in way too deep and finds it sweet of him, possibly because of the excited and pleased way Kon grins at him when he tells him likes the candy. 

Tim is definitely in way too deep. 

They get where they’re going, and Kon . . . pauses, and then tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously?” he asks. 

“Trust me,” Tim says with admittedly unwarranted confidence as he squeezes his hand, then leads him into the modern art museum looming in front of them. Kon isn’t the type to really be that into museums, he knows, but they did “meet” in one and also this specific exhibit seemed, well . . . 

Promising, he guesses. 

“Sure, pretty boy,” Kon says with a laugh, squeezing his hand in return. Tim is idly mystified as to why Kon keeps calling him that, but in no way intends to dissuade him from it. If Kon wants to call him completely illogical things, that’s up to him.

He takes Kon to the ticket counter and buys them both a ticket. The clerk asks for their ID and Kon hesitates, because he’s obviously never had or needed an actual ID in his life, but Tim’s already pulling out the fake ones he made for “Alvin Draper” and “Connell Hill”. They won’t stand up to Bat-level scrutiny, obviously–he didn’t have the time or see the point in going that far–but they’ll get them into an adults-only museum night. He’ll do up something more reliable to buy the cul-de-sac with. He has a few identities that could buy property established, but Bruce knows all of those identities, so he’d rather avoid using any of them. Easier to just build a new cover ID from scratch than hide an active one setting up a new residence that isn’t an obvious safehouse, he figures. 

He pays the clerk, pockets his receipt, and they head down the hall together. The museum is one of the nicer ones in Gotham, and decorated a little bit more nicely than usual for the event, but not outright extravagantly. It’s due to be open a little later than usual too, though Tim doesn’t know how late Kon will want to stay. He can probably push back their dinner reservations if it comes to it, though he’s not expecting that to be necessary. 

“It’s an 18+ thing?” Kon asks as soon as they’re out of the clerk’s earshot, raising an eyebrow curiously. “The frick kind of museum is this?” 

“Not that kind,” Tim says, trying not to blush. “They just do adults-only events sometimes. It’s just so there won’t always be a bunch of bratty kids and annoying teenagers running around distracting the older museum-goers. And there's hors d'oeuvres and drinks.” 

“Babe, I don’t know about you, but you are aware I am technically both a bratty kid and an annoying teenager, right?” Kon asks him with a smirk. 

“That would be why I got you a fake ID too,” Tim says reasonably. 

“So we just snuck into a museum with fake IDs,” Kon says with a laugh. “I mean, I’ve done weirder, probably, but what the fuck, Tim? Where’d you even get that?” 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tim says only a little bit sheepishly, carefully avoiding the latter question. Also every other version of this kind of exhibit he found was way more kid-oriented and definitely not going to count as the kind of “nice” date to have convinced Kon to dress up for or actually look like Tim had put effort into any of the night. 

“What, did the goat idol end up here?” Kon asks in amusement. “We checking up on the little guy?” 

“No, he’s still living his best life in Metropolis under increased security, last I heard,” Tim says, though that’d be kind of funny, so depending on how long they’re seeing each other maybe he should keep that idea in mind. 

“You actually checked?” Kon asks with a laugh. 

. . . right, that’s not something a normal teenager would do, is it. Well–too late now, so Tim’s just gonna have to lean into it. 

“I was just wondering what they were going to do with it, after a whole gallery wall got blown in and everything,” he says. “Apparently the answer was ‘close for a weekend and then back to business’. Don’t ask me where they found contractors that fast.” 

“It’s Metropolis,” Kon says. “If you can’t find a contractor to fix superhero damage, you’re not trying.” 

“It wasn’t actually superhero damage,” Tim points out. “You didn’t break anything.” 

“A real fucking important vase, apparently,” Kon snorts, but he’s smiling a little as he shrugs. “Alright, fine, but ‘mediocre museum robber damage’ probably doesn’t sound as good on the insurance, now does it? And I look much prettier in the paper than a bunch of mug shots of idiots who didn’t even know how to work their cute lil’ magic goat buddy.” 

“Definitely, yeah,” Tim agrees wryly, steering him down a side hall towards the sounds of other people. Frankly he’s counting them lucky the goat didn’t try to start a magical apocalypse or something, given how their lives usually go. And also it was Metropolis, which sucks enough as it is. So like, of course the apocalypse would come from Metropolis, given the option and opportunity to. 

“I don't know much about art or whatever, you know,” Kon says a little bit awkwardly, peering down the hall towards the dimly-lit gallery ahead. “Like–that was not prioritized in the ‘how to be Superman’ educational package. Especially because it was written by committee by a bunch of people who I'm still pretty sure had never even met the guy. Like ever.” 

“You don't have to know anything about art to like it,” Tim says reasonably, resisting a vague urge to frown over the way Kon phrased that. Note to self, maybe. Just–for later, obviously. “But this isn't really that kind of exhibit.” 

“Isn't this an art museum?” Kon says with a puzzled frown. “What else is there?”

“It's a ‘multimedia experience primed to dazzle and delight all of the observer's senses’,” Tim recites wryly off the website copy he was reading earlier this week. “Also known as a sensory exhibit.” 

“A–what?” Kon wrinkles his nose in confusion.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[lemonmatronics]

THE POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 3 TRAILER IS SOOO!,?!.?.!.

What a great treat to wake up to—Excuse me while I go insane and spill some thoughts, reactions, theories, and predictions below please

ahem

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SO LIKE FIRST OFF this chapter is gonna fuck, like this looks SO good holy shit

The setting and environment looks amazing but also the new hands mechanic along with the mask ohhhh this is gonna be FUN

Okay rambling about screenshots I took time

First off the environments look great, holy wow

The house itself looks kinda small so idk if that is the orphanage itself or some kind of set. Cause you can see fake sky walls around it, but like this is Playtime Co they would definitely do that to the orphanage also to give an illusion of outside. Either way it looks GREAT and I’m really excited to explore this setting

Just a nice shot of all the critters

I’m really curious if all the critters are gonna be utilized somehow. We know about Catnap and Dogday already, especially after the trailer itself. Though there was also the footage of Bobby running down the hall, looking like a normal plushie, and possibly seeing Hoppy in the trailer too. (I’ll touch on that later)

New Poster

Definitely looks like some company propaganda to try and keep kids from being afraid of CatNap. Judging by the files we got before looks like the results were a mixed bag. Considering the gas is there in the poster it’s definitely a company only poster, not something they could sell outside. They manipulated this kids so bad man :(

A CLEANER LOOK OF THIS THING,,,

THATS A SKELETON COMING OUT OF PUGAPILLAR’S MOUTH…Like that’s just straight up human remains.

I don’t think we’ve ever seen that before in this game. Like blood yeah plenty but BONES? They’re definitely amping things up for this chapter and I’m 100% here for it.

Besides that there’s a ton of plushies and such stabbed onto this weird thing. Is it a shrine? It doesn’t look like it could really move tbh, and if it was meant to be alive those parts aren’t doing anything to help it.

This poor mf

I’ve seen a lot of people speculate this is DogDay, which is a valid guess, but tbh my first thought was Hoppy. You can tell they have long droopy ears, which lines up with both candidates to me. Though I think the ears look a bit slimmer than what Dog Day’d would be, plus the angle on the head looks more like they’re dropping from the top of the head rather than the sides. I feel like if this was DogDay the whole head silhouette would be different because of the ears, which makes me lean towards Hoppy more.

I know her toy gives her long pointed up ears, but going off art and animation her ears can definitely fold

So I don’t think it’s out of the question that as a Bigger Bodies being her ears could fold over like that, especially while stuck like this.

Now I could be the one wrong here but I really think this is Hoppy. Won’t know until the game itself though so, I won’t treat either as divinities yet. It could just as easily be the case everyone else is right and it is DogDay, there’s evidence for that as well (Again, I’ll touch on that later).

So much happened here where do I even start

Obvious out the bat I guess, Kissy Missy is back!! And looks like Poppy isn’t ditching us alone either! Man I cannot tell it Poppy is good or not at this point, gray area? Trailer dialogue definitely sounded like she was supporting us.

“We’re coming! Just hold on!”

It’s really nice seeing Kissy back, really excited to see how she’s gonna help and play into this. I’ve been on the stance that she’s good ever since she helped in chapter 2 so this is really cathartic for me lmao.

As for what Poppy says here I found it interesting, like really interesting. Like, hearing it the first time made me think she casually confirmed something massive interesting. Granted, actually thinking about it longer, it could mean something else entirely. But was that the whole point?

“What’s happening down here is bigger than all of us. I need you. So we can revenge on those monsters who’ve tortured you, who’ve tortured us.”

“Those monsters who’ve tortured you”

Now, once I thought about it this is most likely referring to the literal monsters in the factory. Huggy, Mommy, CatNap, so on and such. But that’s not what my initial assumption was.

When Poppy referred to “monsters”, by first thought was the people working at the factory. I thought she said people at the factory tortured us.

I thought she confirmed that we’re a toy.

Once I thought about it longer, it doesn’t actually confirm that. But what if that’s the entire point? A double meaning line?

Now the player being a toy theory is something that’s been around since chapter 1, a theory I’ve fully stood by since then and still do. I like to think that’s why our character is completely silent, we’re a toy that can’t speak. Mute toys is something we’ve seen plenty of in the factory, more so than toys that actually talk. (Unless you count stuff like the Smiling Critters cartoon or the cardboard cutouts, but I’m talking purely living beings here.)

So while this doesn’t confirm the theory, this line is definitely throwing wood into the fire for me.

DogDay

Wether or not the chained Bigger Body above us DogDay or Hoppy, we have it confirmed here that DogDay is featured heavily in this chapter as an enemy. Again, I really wonder if the other Smiling Critters will show up as threats as well. Maybe a mixed bag of good and bad critters. If the chained up Bigger Body is DogDay, I wonder why he chases us after we assumingely set him free.

One note I’ll give that is to evidence for the chained bigger body being DogDay is that in the thumbnail you can see a shackle on his wrist

His arms are also long and lanky, which is why I won’t completely rule out it possibly being him there. It’s just as possible that it is him, both feel very plausible to me.

Though looking at the game footage, I’m not sure if can can see anything on his wrists. Additionally his arms look much wider than the one in thumbnail.

Additionally, the DogDay in the thumbnail looks so much like a…mascot suit? You can see seams and stitches all over him. Even other Bigger Bodies don’t look like that. Which is something I wanna give its own post to to figure deeper on.

So is this even the same DogDay at all?

It’s not completely out of the question there could be multiple DogDays, though that begs the question, what about other Smiling Critters? What about other toys as a whole?

Here’s my prediction on it. One Bigger Bodies experiment, and then there’s smaller ones approximately the size of their normal toys.

I think the DogDay in the thumbnail is a result of the Bigger Bodies testing, and the one actually chasing us is just a smaller more “normal” DogDay.

But if that’s true then it begs the question, what about other critters? We’ve seen a smaller Bobby before, does she also have a Bigger Bodies version?

Do they all have a Bigger Bodies equivalent?

Is there still a normal CatNap?

Again, all speculation but this chapter especially is really tickling my brain.

And finally we’ve got the man of the hour

Man he is so much lankier than I thought he would be. That definitely explains why his face was so high up on that one cam footage though. Here I was thinking he’d be bulky!

There isn’t too much to say here other than CatNap is definitely gonna be an imposing threat, and I’m very excited to see him in game. So far we’ve mainly seen him through silhouettes, and light peeks at small portions of his design. Seeing him better is game is gonna be a thrill and I’m so ready for it!

Additionally, just for the sake of adding on, we’ve seen these posters apparently from overseas get spread around lately

Both of these definitely look like they’re meant to be company only posters, ones you’d find in the schooling and orphanage areas.

The left poster telling kids to go inside right away when recess is up, nothing super deep here. Just a peek at the schooling that had here, and that these kids had their lives completely contained within the factory.

The second poster is CatNap telling Huggy to go to sleep, another attempt at convincing children CatNap isn’t dangerous. If Huggy is fine they will be too, right?

Anyways that’s my initial thoughts and reactions right after watching the trailer. VERY excited about this game, it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to brainstorm on my own over a game like this so I’m really looking forward to what this chapter has to give.

#long post #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #catnap #poppy playtime catnap #huggy wuggy #kissy missy #dogday #poppy playtime theory

[dairy-farmer]

Is me~ back to haunt you Ask Box o/ because I just had A Thought(tm)

What if~? The OPPOSITE of my Magic Sex Toy idea? Uno Reverse?

But how would that even work? You say. Tim would very obviously notice!

Oh ho ho~ ye of little Faith! *slaps my "join the Church of Civilian Tim" poster I obviously made myself* CONSIDER! Not a cape! Semi-stable schedules!

We open our scene with stalking. As ya do. Tim would prefer you call it "bird watching" or "observing the night life" but... let's be real here. Stalking. He's getting them NICE Premium Pics for his Definitely-Not-A-Stalker-Shrine. There's a newbie on the scene. A gaudy robe wearing mofo.

3 guess what HIS shtick is. First two don't count.

But! Thing is? Tim is no long a wee baby faced pre-teen. He is a Man(tm). Legally, twice over. And well... you find a LOT if Neat Late Night Shops running after the bats. He may have been persuaded by CERTAIN libidos that maybe he should check them out. Who can say? You can't prove ANYTHING. These bags are groceries and no you can't check..

Where was he? Ah, right, Pics of the Nightwing booty. *click*

Tim forgets Rule Number 1.5: ALWAYS keep an eye on what the villian is doing.

By the way... what that bright light? Oh, just a SPELL BOLT. Fuckin DODGE, MAN!

He fails to dodge.

🥺 H-His camera... Night-booty... Also why does he feel? Tingly? He doesn't stick around to figure it out. Grabs his TRAGICLY dead camera and bolts. Not getting caught at the scene of the stalking TODAY, no sir! Batmans definitely gonna check the area and he SHANT be there! Early night it is!

He gets back to his apartment. Still feels tingly... but less? Maybe those charms he looked up how to make protected him after all. Still, shouldn't push his luck, you know? He settles in for the night. Gets a warm shower.

Comes out and eyes the bags he dropped by the bed... and... well...

He DID wrap up early~ Maybe treat for Timmy time. He digs them out.

Weird.

They? We're already pretty life like (it's why he bought them) but... when he TOUCHES one? He swears it gets MORE life like? He really should look this up or something... suspect toys in Gotham and all... but on the other hand? Horny. And the boxes WERE closed. It's fiiiiine.

But which one? It's kinda been a while. And he doesn't want to be sore tomorrow. This one!

So Tim lays back. Let's himself enjoy working himself open. Then works the fake(?) Cock inside himself. And oh~ it's WARM. Twitchs. He let's himself enjoy a slow, lazy session. Get really sloppy and relaxed before finally finding juuust the right angle aaaand~

Across the city, the current Robin, Damian Wayne, is shaking APPART on a roof top. Sweat pouring down his temple, thighs trembling as he tries ro stop himself from rutting up into empty air. It won't help. Won't make the damnable TEASING go any faster. Wet and tight and PERFECT around him.

Came out of NOWHERE. One second he was patrolling, the next barely catching himself from falling. Stumbling into an alchove on some god forsaken roof. Hands fumbling to turn off his comms. Absolutely not. They could NOT hear him like this.

Panting into hands pressed tight over his own mouth to stiffle the sound he wants to make. Beg and demand that magnificent heat go FASTER. Plunge him DEEPER. But he CANT. Because there's no one there. Just him and the slowly increasing pressure in his balls, begging for relief.

Then, like prayers answered, it DOES. He could WEEP. Can't stop the aborted jerks of his hips as he chases his relief. Soon is trembling like the virgin he ISNT anymore as he spills into... into SOMEONE.

They take it so well. So perfectly.

He's RUINED. His hand will never be enough after this. And Tim has no idea.

Sure, he's not stupid. He didn't buy toys the fake cum. (So to be safe plan B it is) But? In the cold like of day? Prooooobably magic sex toys. Eh. It's Gotham. Not the weirdest thing to happen. Tim's keeping them.

And using them.

Thus begins the "phantom lover" incident, as Bruce will insist on calling it. Because "we were haunted by random fuckings" sounds... unprofessional. And he's a Dramatic Bitch at heart.

Damian, obviously, told NO ONE. Patrol? Utterly normal. Mind you business. But Bruce? Uncomfortable conversations for EVERYBODY~☆

See, Tim has a long day. His new camera isn't gonna be in for a WEEK. There is no point in going out. So his evening stretchs long and empty before him. Which... SPEAKING of things both long and things empty... >.>

He remembers. There was an absolute UNIT that he bought. It also has that base... which mean he could put it on the sex pillow. Try riding it... oh he's GOTTA, now.

Lucky for Bruce, he's not even in the cave when it hits. Unluckily, it is a cock teasing hell. Nothing to hold. No body to press close. No skin to run his hands across or ears to whisper filthy praise. So TIGHT. Fluttering and fighting to take him. Sinking little by little. Can't even HEAR him praising them. He can't even distract them, rub their clit and sooth them as muscles relax.

Can't hold them by the hips and work them up and down. They way he knows will work best. At angles that will make them SOB. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. Trembling and eager around him but so SLOW. Pausing again and again to adjust. Can't thrust in, can't pull out, only TAKE it. Let himself be teased.

But OH. When they finally, FINALLY get a rythme? He knows they can hear a word he says. Not yet. But the FILTH he growls. The audacity of what they're doing. He's GOING to find them. Going to pin them done and-

Tim spend the next day sore, but happy. Definitely not an "every day" sort of toy, but holy shit the orgasm. He hasn't slept this well in a WHILE. Though... when he wakes up? The Bats are acting weird. Violent, hyper-focused, seemly shaking down leads with a single minded enthusiasm. Weird.

Speaking OFF. Now he's wondering... does the possibly fake cum... TASTE like real cum?

One way to find out.

And... look. Dick may have been warned, but it's one thing to hypothetically get your bits milked dry and another to be doubled over seeing the face of god. He would gladly kill a man for the ability to grab hold of whoever is doing this and ram home. The mouth on him is a thing of wonder and it keeps TEASING the tip. They keep running soft, pampered, little hands up and down his length. God he wants them to feel him in their GUT. Fuck their face and their ass and any OTHER holes they have til everything is sloppy and wet and-

Yep! From the tast flooding Tim's mouth, that's real cum. Good his he got his shot. But it begs the question... whoms't exactly is he fucking? Tim's not sure he's comfortable with random hook ups. What if, Gods forbid, it linked him to the JOKER or something!? He'd have to blow up the city and everyone in it.

He considers this as he resumes his sta- he means, BIRD watching. Newly be-camera-d. Weirdly enough, now Nightwing is acting off too. What is going ON? Also... he could of SWORN he saw the Red Hood a second ago. Did he leave? Aaw D:>

.....what's that sound?

*boss music starts playing* That would be the Red Hood. Owner of the mythical Common Sense gene. HE immediately phoned a friend! And by THAT we mean he beamed up to The Watchtower to get poked at by magic users until he had a scanner.

Beep beep, mother fucker. You have explaining to do.

OR, counter argument.... Tim makes a run for it. Doesn't GET far. But he Sure Did Try! Jason is unamused. Consent is sexy, kids. And he has the gun to explain that. But! TIM has the panic babbling to explain his horny stupidity and innocence.

Fair enough. He's confiscating them though. If you get horny, just fucking ask.

Wait.... really? Does Jason really mean that?

And... two things. Cute Horny Idiot knows his identity. And.... he never said HE wasn't also apparently a horny idiot. Sure, why the fuck not.

He confiscate the magic contraband... then bends that twink in HALF. Comms off, back into it. Tim can barely breathe, pressed down so tightly to the bed as his guts get re-arranged, callused hands holding his legs spread, his childhood hero rumbling FILTH into his ear as hips snap against his, again and again and AGAIN. The world is hot and fuzzy around the edges and... AND-!

Jason's pretty damn smug that HES not only the one who found mystery twink, but them fucked him incoherent. He seriously considers just... not saying anything. Whoops! Nothing to find here folks. To bad the Watchtower is a fuckin snitch.

So obviously Bruce finds out. And wants to "talk to him". Which inevitably ends with Tim, pressed close to his front, held still as he "fucks him properly". Which as far a Tim is concerned is a god damned excuse to EMPALE him on his monster of a cock. Work it deeper and deeper, all while holding him like a lover, as he absolutely DESTROYS Tim's poor puss. Makes him lose count of how many times he's gotten off. Until everything is too bright and hyper sensitive. Til it's nearly hurting but not quite there and all Tim can think about, as he whimpers and drools, is SLEEP.

Oh... and THEN he wants to talk about how Tim knows their secret identies. Ask him in the morning or Tim WILL cry at you.

He wakes up in Wayne Manor. He did not go to sleep in Wayne Manor. He can't move his lower body with out pain. Bruce is clearly pretending he planned that. Liar.

Then? Karma. His horny chickens come home to roost. Has Bruce introduced you to his sons? This is Dick and Damian. They remember you. And would like a "word".

(The word is sex and they would like it as soon as possible)

👀👀👀!!!!!!!!!!!! a reverse magic sex toy!!!!!!!!!!!!! where tim tortures the other bats by fucking his little pussy with their cocks while they're forced to just suffer and endure it until he's finished. more than once they almost scream from frustration because tim finishes before they do and he pulls them out of his warm, slick little hole. 👀👀👀👀

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #brutim #dicktim #damitim #jaytim

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

i live for your blog pretty lady, literally makes me horny everywhere at anytime and oh my fucking god can you imagine being really close friends with eddie, talking about anything without feeling uncomfortable, to the point where one time, he is at your place, laying in your bed and casually asks you how you usually pleasure yourself, and you tell him that yes, your own hands do the job, but you found out that humping your pillow feels really fucking good, and he just can’t imagine it so, you show him, thighs on each side of your pillow, starting to move back and forth as usual, right in front of this man, the sight of him and his red cheeks and his praises makes you weak to the point where you completely throw your panties at him and lift up your shirt so he could see your tits bouncing with every movement of your body, you cum so hard you completely make a mess on your pillowcase and he DIES once he sees the big fucking wet patch on it, i’m deceased <3

THIS IS HOT AS FUCK OMFGGGGGG

i can definitely see you guys having that kind of relationship. you’re just so comfortable with each other, that you share everything—even gross & personal things. maybe on this particular night, you guys are a little buzzed from drinking, and the guard in each of you comes down. lips get looser, thoughts come out of the mouth with little to no processing, and you’re absolutely willing to tell him anything he asks you. which is exactly what ends up happening, when he just casually asks: “so, how do you get yourself off?”

it takes you by surprise, because of all the things he could have asked, that was the last thing you expected. you pause with a can of beer to your lips, eyes wide as you look at him. “wait, what? did you just ask me how i…get myself off?”

“yeah,” eddie says, biting his lip as he glances you up & down. “i know it has to happen here, in this very bed, right? i’ve always been curious about how girls touch themselves, and…well, i thought you might make a nice, safe candidate.”

“you’ve never seen a girl playing with herself?” you ask, raising a brow with skepticism.

“only in porn,” he says with a shrug, lying back on the bed as he looks at you. “but we all know that shit is fake; i wanna see how it really works.”

“i just use my fingers most of the time,” you reply. “rubbing the clit, fingering myself, just like they do in those movies. but there is one thing that gets me off a lot harder than that, i guess…”

“what is it?” he asks curiously, turning on his side and propping his head on his arm.

“it’s…it might sound a little strange,” you say with a chuckle. “i lie on my side with a pillow between my legs, and grind against it. it feels really fucking good, believe it or not.”

he’s intrigued, smirking as he grabs one of your pillows and pushes it toward you. “show me.”

“what?”

“show me, y/n. i wanna see how that works, exactly.”

you’re not sure if it’s the booze or the fact that you actually want him to see how doing it, but you don’t hesitate. you’re still fully clothed, lying on your side to face him with the pillow squeezed between your thighs. you move your hips a little bit, trying to find a good pressure and pace to start. you moan softly, feeling the weight of the pillow against your cunt as your lashes flutter. he’s watching with crimson cheeks and ravenous eyes, mewling a little himself as you pick up speed. you’re watching him in return, feeling yourself getting wet as you meet his eyes. all the times you thought about him as you rode that pillow, chasing your release with the thought of his dick inside of you, or his fingers, or your cunt grinding his thigh, or even his tongue all over your pussy. you had also imagined his voice in your ear, praising you, calling you his good girl for cumming all over him just the way he likes. it was too fucking good, and you’re in heaven as you bear your clit on the thickest part of the pillow.

“fuck, that’s it,” he breathes, palming himself over his jeans. your eyes trail to his hand, and see that he’s got quite a noticeable bulge straining the denim. “that’s too goddamn filthy. you do this often?”

“a few times a week,” you reply, rocking your hips on the pillow with a whine. “maybe twice a day, if i’m really fucking horny.”

“christ,” he hisses, curling his lips inward as he continues to touch himself over his pants. “and it’s always like this? or do you switch it up?”

“usually this, but sometimes i use my fingers or toys,” you say. “i have a dildo here somewhere.”

“god, that’s hot,” he says, watching you as he licks his lips. “you’re such a good girl right now, y/n. keep doing that, just like you’ve been doing. that’s it…”

you listen, and his praises just keep coming. eventually you get more brazen, and your pants & underwear come off, the latter of which you throw at him and he catches. he holds onto them, cursing when he feels how soaked they are, and holds them to his face to inhale your scent. he moans in response, keeping them in his fist as you lift your shirt. you did away with your bra the minute you got home, so your tits are exposed to him as your hips continue to work. he’s so painfully hard now that he has to pull his erection out for relief, and he’s jerking off in the bed next to you as you try to bring yourself to orgasm. not only is he touching himself, but he’s doing it with your panties in his hand, moving the soaked garment over his dick with every stroke. the sight of his cock—thick, leaking precum, throbbing, flushed—combined with him using your panties to do it causes more wetness to pool onto the pillow. you whimper as his fist pumps his cock, his moans and the sounds of him beating off filling the air alongside your own moans.

“like what you see?” he asks, flicking his wrist as he gazes into your eyes. “since you’ve been so good, maybe i’ll let you blow me while you ride that pillow of yours.”

“please,” you beg, watching his hand move up and down his cock as he works faster. “i’ve wanted your cock in my mouth the second you pulled it out.”

he gets up and stands at the edge of the bed. he guides his cock into your mouth and fucks your throat as you hump the pillow, letting him dictate the pace & pressure which you do it. you’re a mess of drool and cum, but you don’t mind. eddie can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop calling you a good girl and telling you how fucking hot it is that you can fit his entire cock down your pretty throat, and oh god, how he can’t wait to be inside of you. he holds your hair in one hand, his own head tipped back as he twitches in your mouth. he pulls himself out, jerking off over your face as your tongue hangs out, all while you still hump that damn pillow.

“cum for me,” he demands, his fist working his spit-soaked cock as he meets your gaze. “i wanna see that pillow absolutely drenched.”

and you do cum—hard. it’s probably one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever experienced, and you cry out his name as you usually do when you’re alone. eddie can see the sticky mess you’ve made all over it, how it threads to your cunt when you try to pull away, and how wet your pussy still is despite having been rubbed against fabric for so long. there is a big wet patch on the pillowcase, your hips stuttering as you try to slow down. you still crave the friction, and watching eddie jerking off inches in front of your face makes you just want to keep going.

eddie tries so hard to hold back his own climax, but he fails miserably. hot ropes of cum shoot across your face and into your hair, some of it dripping down his shaft and onto his fist as he moans hotly. he admires your cum-splattered face, brushing some of your sticky hair from your eyes before pulling you up for a hot, hard kiss. he licks some of his own seed away from your cheeks, groaning at the taste before pushing you onto the bed. he hops on top of you, rolling you over so that you’re straddling him after admiring you for a moment. he takes your shirt off, running his hands over your breasts as you mewl filthily.

“wanna see those pretty nipples,” he mumbles, tweaking them in his fingers as his eyes scan your body. “you wanna know something else?”

“what?” you ask, gently grinding his dick as you both hiss from overstimulation.

“i lied earlier,” he says with a considerable expression. “well, kinda. i wasn’t actually curious as to how girls in general masturbate. i was curious about how you do it, and i gotta say, i was not disappointed. the reality was better than how i always pictured when i was alone.”

“are you saying that you got off to the thought of me touching myself?” you ask, head falling back again with a loud moan as he kneads your tits in his large, ringed hands.

he smirks wickedly, his hands settling on your waist as he helps you glide along his cock, which is getting hard again already. “that’s exactly what i’m saying, y/n.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

[w1ldthoughts]

Top of the Food Chain

Anon Requested

Disclaimer: this is a work of FICTION, the characters are fictionalized versions of real life situations and real people. It’s all based on my imagination.

Masterlist

This was all a part of the gig. People assumed things about you, people talked. They sometimes even asked you questions that you couldn’t believe you were hearing, especially from the other moms at Remi’s preschool.

Does your husband give you a weekly allowance?

Do you have a credit card exclusively to shop?

Are any of his teammates single?

You hated the politics. The fake smiles and even more fake compliments when you knew that they were probably talking about you behind your back. The school itself was amazing though and gave your daughter the freedom to be a kid without completely invading her privacy. So in turn, if all you had to do was rub elbows with some people who you weren’t the biggest fan of, it was a small sacrifice that you were absolutely willing to make.

Part of those small sacrifices was following rules and guidelines set for school sponsored events. Remi’s school was hosting a bake sale tonight to raise funds for a local family’s medical expenses. Justin really didn’t want to go after you’d been telling him the various drop-off stories about the other parents so he suggested writing a check and skipping the whole thing.

“I did not bake these vegan, gluten-free, peanut free, yet still delicious football brownies for no reason. Plus, I already promised Remi she could have some treats today. Do you really want to explain to her that she’s going to be staying home while all of her friends eat dessert at school? Be my guest.”

He looks at you like he’s really thinking about it, but then he remembers his baby’s sweet face talking about how excited she was this morning and he can’t disappoint her. “You know what? I’m actually ready to go. I’ll go get Remi and we can leave.”

You continue to pack up your brownies in your trays as you laugh to yourself. She really does have him wrapped around her little fingers.

Thing One and Thing Two waltz back into the kitchen as soon as you’re done and Remi’s eyes bulge out of her head.

“Mama, those look yummy. Are you a chef?” She asks, looking amazed. She’s been really big on compliments lately, always calling her dad “handsome” because she heard you say it once.

“I am a chef sometimes, only for you though sweet girl. Are you ready to go back to school?”

She nods excitedly, holding her hands out for Justin to carry her. “We going to the cookie party?”

“We are going to the cookie party,” he coos, “but remember mini, we’re only getting three treats, so you have to choose your favorites and that’s it. Deal?”

“Deal.“ She gives him a kiss on the cheek and he gives you a wink before heading into the garage to get her settled.

The entire car ride consisted of Remi making guesses on what snacks people were going to bring and how she couldn’t wait to see her friends.

Luckily when your husband pulled into the parking lot there weren’t very many people there. Remi insisted on helping you carry in a tray of brownies and was walking very carefully next to you so she wouldn’t drop them.

“I got it mama. I’m strong.”

“Yes you are sugar. Thank you for being such an amazing helper.” You gave her a smile which she happily returns.

Justin walks behind the two of you, smiling to himself at the sweet interaction. Remi was definitely a daddy’s girl but she also worshipped the ground you walked on and it was a funny thing to see. He was definitely her best friend and she wanted to spend every waking moment in life with him but nobody could convince the three year old that you weren’t a Disney princess. And if anyone asked her who her favorite Disney princess was, she’d say her mommy, because no one in this world was more magical to her than you.

The three of you had almost made it inside before a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh hi Herbert family! I’m so glad you all could make it. Wasn’t sure it fit into your busy schedule.” She said the last part not so subtly playing with her hair while staring at Justin.

He gives her a sideways glance before forcing a smile. “Well we promised Remi she could have some special treats tonight and didn’t want to go back on that promise.” On cue, your daughter handed you the other tray of brownies, feeling her arms getting tired and knowing this would be a long conversation.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Mason’s mom, you just couldn’t remember her name and it was too late to ask. She was also the main person always in your business about being an NFL wife like it was some secret society she was dying to be a part of. She batted her eyes through her lash extensions and give your husband another look. “Justin if you don’t mind, could you please help me carry these cupcakes inside? I may have gone overboard and now I can’t carry all of these by myself.”

“Sure,” he sighs, leaning into her car and grabbing three trays. Mason and Remi were already starting to walk inside so you hesitantly followed them, not wanting to leave Justin alone.

“Ugh, you are an absolute lifesaver.” She runs a hand down his arm before grabbing the rest of the cupcakes and heads inside, keeping the distance between them minimal.

With the evening the full swing, you were at your wit’s end. It was like watching a pack of hyenas fighting each other for a piece of meat. Every time you looked someone was pulling him away to offer him their dessert or to ask him questions in a flirty tone. One mom even went as far as asking him when she’d be invited to a game. You couldn’t roll your eyes anymore or they might get stuck in the back of your head. So you tried to drown your sour feelings in a root beer float while watching your daughter play with her classmates.

You sat alone at one of the tables and Remi came to find you to give you her three treats she was taking home. Before you could say anything, she was gone and back to playing tag. A warm hand on your shoulder eased your annoyance, only slightly. “Are you clocking out for the night?” You giggle at his look of exhaustion. His social meter probably ran out 30 minutes ago.

Giving you a pointed look, he grabs your drink off the table and starts digging in as you rub his back. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to fake laugh this much in my entire life. Not even during interviews. Those women can talk.”

“Definitely that, they love Justin Herbert. Especially Mason’s mom.” You tried to keep the bite out of your tone, you really did. His shoulders perked up at your comment but the ice cream was really taking up a lot of his attention.

“Isabel?” Oh…that was her name. “Yeah she was laying it on pretty thick but she’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” You scoff, “I saw her carry two 15 pound boxes last week and now that you’re here suddenly she’s a damsel in distress? I’m not buying it.”

“Easy tiger I’m on your side here.” He jokes, clearly amused, even if you weren’t. “You know…it’s really cute when you’re jealous.” Justin scoots his chair closer and puts a hand on your thigh.

“I’m not jealous I just don’t like that she keeps staring at you like she’s trying to picture you naked.” It wasn’t the first time she’d acted this way and it was just really…gross to watch.

He looks over at where Isabel is standing and she gives him a wave before he turns his back to her, whispering in your ear, “well you don’t have to picture it…you’ve seen it.”

“You’re right, I should tell her that.”

“Babe,” he shakes his head with a small laugh. “You remember Remington right? About 3 feet tall, blonde hair, green eyes, adorable little voice? We made an actual child together. I think she knows we’ve seen each other naked. A few times.”

Taking a deep breath, you allow your husband to bring you back down to Earth. You place your hand on top of his and hold on tight. Sometimes it felt like his hands were made to hold yours. The look you give each other is enough to discourage any other woman from coming up to him the rest of the night. It was a look of love in its purest form, like two souls that had worked tirelessly to find each other. And now that they had, there was no letting go.

A few minutes later Remi found her way into Justin’s arms. ”Mama, I need my bed.” You can tell how serious she is by the way she’s rubbing her eyes with her fist.

“I hear you sister, I need my bed too. Maybe it’s time for us to go home?”

She nods slowly and the three of you stand up, with one of Justin’s arms holding Remi and one hand wrapped in yours. He was definitely ready to get his girls home.

#Justin Herbert #Justin Herbert imagine #Justin Herbert x reader #Justin Herbert fanfic #dad!Justin

[atom-writings]

decay of angels celebrating halloween with their s/o

0.9k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: vulgar language, other than that, none!

a/n: wanted to do a seasonal one and I got a req for Halloween with nikolai but I couldn't understand it. dear anon what were u trying to say. pls

Fyodor

- Fyodor is not a fan of Halloween. It's rare for him to celebrate anything, much less a heathenous one like Halloween.

“Being so excited about ghouls... it seems the masses are finally showing their true faces.”

- He'll join you in whatever you want to do, but he would never help you hand out candy. However, he doesn't mind relaxing with you on the couch if you only have to run to the door a couple of times.

- (Plus, then he'd get to steal some of the candy. He hates it, but he does have quite a sweet tooth.)

- As for costumes, there's no way he'd dress up as anything silly. Every year, he just wears one of his fancy outfits and goes as a “catholic.” Which, like, yes... but he's just dressing a little different than normal.

- He will not do couples costumes. Ever.

- Although, he does appreciate the cover that Halloween can provide for him. He's found that law enforcement are often much more lenient on that day, and he always manages to take advantage of that somehow.

- Other than that, he doesn't care for Halloween at all. He doesn't like scary movies, he hates the gaudy decorations, and most importantly he hates having fun.

- He would completely abandon you on Halloween if he wasn't so paranoid about something happening if he did.

“Those hooligans outside... their faces are covered in cheap masks. If they were to do something to you, you could not even identify them afterwards!”

“But-”

“No, you aren't leaving. That's final.”

- Especially if you wear anything even a little more revealing than usual. Then he's glued to your side all night. For more reasons than just protection...

- Basically, Fyodor is a little hater. Go hang out with Nikolai instead.

Nikolai

- To Nikolai, every day of the year is Halloween. So, when the time comes around that it's Halloween for everyone else too, he's over the moon.

- Don't expect him to come along to a party or something like that, though. He's very firm in his plans every year.

- First, he decorates homes with tons of creepy shit. No, he doesn't decorate his own home. He goes along random streets flinging dead bodies (fake and real!) into people's yards along with covering front doors in cobwebs.

- Then, he sets up an (illegal) haunted house in a nearby abandoned warehouse. People come from miles away to participate, and only a few died in the process (:

”Ah, Y/N! Guess how we got more props for next year tonight!“

- Lastly, at night, he wanders around either 1. vandalizing anyone who didn't decorate or 2. scratching at people's bedroom windows and whistling like a ghost.

- You are always welcome to join him on his Halloween tirade but don't expect him to slow down for you. He's a busy delinquent!

- As for costumes, he always goes all out. Every year he gets a new one. A couple of years he's even been on stilts!

- But a few notable ones were: Black shadow creature with glowing red eyes, spiderlegged mask man, “Spike Boy“ (That one was really bad...) and Fyodor if he got love as a child! (That one was also really bad, but just for him.)

- He'd be totally willing to do a couple's costume though! Though, with one stipulation; that if you dress slutty, he has to too.

- On Halloween, he would really like to spend more time with you. Maybe one year you two will spend the night just peacefully giving out candy. But until then, he is way too much of a lunatic that night to act like anything close to a boyfriend.

(Actually… maybe you shouldn’t hang out with Nikolai on Halloween after all…)

Sigma

- Sigma definitely isn't the biggest Halloween fan, but he doesn't mind it. It's a fun excuse to make some kids happy, even if he does hate the more scary stuff.

- Usually, he isn't too easily scared, but it's different around Halloween. When he has to worry about people acting crazy and going out of their way to hurt or scare everyone... it puts him on edge. When he's that stressed out, anything scares him.

”Why do people have to go all out every year? Isn't this holiday supposed to be about kids?“

”It's about fun!“

”What's fun about crimes?!“

- So, because of that, he prefers staying at home all night. Going to parties or events makes him worry about teenagers vandalizing his place (like from a movie) so, he isn't heading out all night. And because he loves you, he'll make you stay home too.

- The most decorating he'll do for Halloween is a couple of pumpkins, maybe a sign or two. But that's it unless you want to do more.

- He does really love couple's costumes though. Every year, he tries to come up with something cute and easy for the two of you to do.

- Other than that, all his costumes are pretty basic. He doesn't care about looking creepy, he just wants to be comfortable. For a couple of years, his only costume was a big animal onesie.

- One of his favourite things about Halloween is the sweets! He absolutely adores handing out candy. Plus, sometimes, he'll bake some fall sweets for the two of you.

- He's one of those people who REALLY like pumpkin spice, so he loves the excuse to put it in EVERYTHING.

- But he basically only likes the holiday because it forces you two to hang out and relax.

- That is, when you're far away from Nikolai. He's scared of that man normally; but on Halloween? Makes him shiver.

#bsd tag #bsd fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bsd nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd sigma x reader #sigma x reader #sigma x you #fyodor x y/n #nikolai x reader

[gmanwhore]

The inhabitants of Sunshine Terrace/Apartment Block 5598: Personal notes by The dOOrman! You know. The doorman. Of Sunshine Terrace.

Roman Stilinsky: Pleasant. Like no real stuff for him. We rarely ever talk. I mean, like. We talk enough for me to know him I guess? He hates the taste of black tea and he likes jazz. That’s all I really know. 

Lois Stilinsky: She’s a bit of a gossip, and is probably the best at makeup in the whole apartment! She’s not a huge fan of having to keep her looks the same all the time. She loves the smell of grapefruit and her favorite perfume smells like it. 

Robertsky Peachman: He doesn’t talk much! He’s not stupid like some people think, he’s just like that. He’s a hard worker and I can respect that. He can’t stand loud noises.

Albertsky Peachman: He can be just a bit rude, but it’s ok. It’s not often. He just wants to get home. I just don’t think he likes people all that much. He always shuts the door to the front lobby behind him even if it closes on its own. 

Angus Ciprianni: I don’t have mush to say anything but he is so fake. He also throws a lot of parties to literally everyone’s annoyance. Especially me! His shoelaces are fake, he can’t tie them and he hates birds. 

Selenne and Elenois Sverchtz: They are the faces of the “sameness is beauty” movement, a new trend encouraging people to stick to particular outfits and looks and not change them. As twins they were deemed the perfect candidates for this. They are a bit uncanny as they do in fact. Just act like the same person just reflected in a mirror. They also have cats. Two. They are twins. They are pleasant to be around, but tend to leave other people out of their inside jokes. One of their jokes is laughing at palimdromes. 

Arnold Schmicht: He used to be a horror writer before. Ten years ago. He is not trying horror writer anymore, he tends towards more domestic pieces generally inspired by our neighbours. I’ve read a few of his books, both old and recent. I find his new pieces also have a certain sense of dread built into them, like he wants so desperately to explore those darer topics again. You also wouldn’t clock him as a horror writer! He loves jokes, and is a very bright, talkative man. He’s also just great to hang out with. He loves being asked about his latest project, and he likes eating lemons like oranges. 

Gloria Schmict: She isn’t as done with everything as she looks! She’s just usually really tired after a long day of helping people at the bank. She has quite the dry sense of humour, but that doesn’t mean she’s not fun to talk to! She’s one of the most observant of my neighbours, which also makes her slightly paranoid. I definitely get it, though. We have a sort of solidarity I think. She’s afraid of spiders, but she likes snakes. Her favorite colour is yellow. 

Izaack Gauss: Despite his general air, he’s actually really easy to talk to. While I’m not close with him at all I get why people like him. He swears by using Gerome’s Hair Gel, it’s the only brand he uses. He also can’t stand the taste of mint unless it’s mixed in with something. 

Margarette Bubbles: Her favorite things to sew are dresses, and she actually specialises in bridesmaid’s dresses though she does do general repairs for people. She always has her bag of sewing materials on hand, and has a great eye for colour. She actually can’t really see out of her lazy eye, though she has horrible depth perception because of it. She’s a gossip QUEEN and knows quite a bit. Her house is really comfortable, and she has a lot of hand-sewn dog stuffed animals there since she loves dogs but can’t have them. She has a bias for St. Brenards. She makes the BEST turnovers I have ever eaten and she refuses to tell me her secret to them. Her favorite colours are burnt orange and royal purple, and she loves the smell of pine. 

Nacha Mikaelys: She almost always has something sticking out her hair, things just get tangled there! She says she’s been meaning to cut her hair for a while but she’s worried about getting mistaken for a doppleganger so she’s waiting until we have to get new ids. She’s really loud, but in a good way! She wears jewlery usually, she says she has a little bag for her earrings and bracelets for when she’s cooking. She owns a chef hat for home but doesn’t wear one at work. She collects her daughter’s broken slinkies and keeps them in her purse and she has a locket she refuses to tall me what’s in. She loves banana bread and her favorite animals are pigeons. She also has lovespoons hanging up in her apartment!

Anastacha Mikaelys: She doesn’t really like people, she gets overwhelmed easily in social situations so she avoids them. She likes slinkies, and the smell of normal household soap. She actually has a huge slinky collection, but she only lets you see them or play with them if she trusts you. She wants a hamster, and Nacha told me not to tell her but Nacha is saving up to suprise her. 

Mia Stone: She doesn’t believe fully in the dopplegangers and can be quite rude when coming through! She almost always “forgets” to tell me when she leaves so I can’t add her to my list. She is curt and to the point when she talks, and tends to overexplain things. Then again she works with small kids so I can let that slide. She knows how to tango. 

Dr. W.  Afton: He also thinks having a doorman is stupid, but he’s a bit ruder. He doesn’t really say hello to me and tends to turn his whole body to the door when I say he’s cleared to go. I think he doesn’t like the wait. His favorite colour is olive green. 

Francis Mosses: He isn’t all that interesting. He doesn’t hate his job, but he doesn’t like it. He jokes about just sleeping in his car a lot, and sometimes he just. Randomly breaks into scared ranting about our situation. He tends to stay alone, and when I went over to his house once it was. Kinda depressing, it didn’t feel like he actually lived there at all. He likes ribbons and collects them off the street, and he says his favorite colour is scarlet. 

Steven Rudboys: He’s much less serious than he comes off. He speaks quietly and mumbles a lot, but he gets loud when he’s excited. He has a passion for the history of planes, but not really of flying. He only really became a pilot because he struggles with doing matinence on the planes. He likes puns, and when he realizes he has an in he lights up a bit. He likes cats and birds, and he’s really good at making a duck call. 

Mclooy Rudboys: He called me “sweetheart” once and I tried blowing him up with my mind. He makes jokes about his son possibly not being his??? He’s divorced at least three times and told me “he’s lost count” and apparently he fought in World War 2 and retired from being a pilot after that. He likes eagles and only smokes cigars. 

Alf Cappuccin: He’s sort of hard of hearing and tends to not like. Understand what I’m saying so I have to use cards so he gets what I’m saying. He’s a few years younger than McClooy. He likes his porridge with brown sugar and raspberries and he likes the smell of brown paper bags. 

Rafttellyn Cappuccin: Rafttellyn tends to be quite nervous and timid, she doesn’t really talk much. She has the highest voice by far. She dyes her hair, it’s actually grey but she gets a bit nervous about it. She loves apples and always has them in a wooden bowl on her table. Her perfume smells like old roses.

#that's not my neighbor #tnmn #roman stilnsky #lois stilnsky #robertsky peachman #albertsky peachman #angus ciprianni #selenne sverchzt #elenois sverchzt #arnold schmicht #gloria schmicht #izaack gauss #margarette bubbles #nacha mikaelys #anastacha mikaelys #mia stone #dr w afton #francis mosses #steven rudboys #mclooy rudboys #alf cappuccin #rafttellyn cappuccin

[ev3rgreenxtrees]

,,Tattoo’’- C.S.

back to masterlist

synopsis: Chris and his girlfriend, Evelyn, are dared by Chris’ brothers Matt and Chris to get ‘matching’ tattoos, as punishment for loosing a challenge for their video.

pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Evelyn (she/her)

warnings: cussing, dirty jokes, suggestive content, getting a tattoo.

-

“No fucking way we lost ALL of those!” Chris’ jaw drops as he looks at his girlfriend, Evelyn, in shock.

“Well, you did! So now we get to choose your punishment!” Nick said, letting out a fake evil laugh.

They were in teams for a youtube video, Matt and his girlfriend- Layla- and Nick with Larray.

“Bitchhh i just got an idea!!” Larray giggled as he pulled all four of them in a huddle, Chris and Evelyn giving each other worried looks.

The couple heard a few giggles from the group, before they broke apart.

“Okay, so,” Layla started. “you have two options. one, you get ‘matching’ tattoos. they could be something small and simple, or something that doesn’t even really go together- like a sun and a moon. that way, the tattoos even work by themself. two, you guys take us all on a all expenses paid trip to the Bahamas AND a cruise. Meaning, you’d pay for the plane tickets, hotel rooms, food, cruise tickets, everything.” Layla smirked. “So, which is it?” she asked.

“what! thats not fair!” chris pouted. the boy had money, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to waste it all on a trip. He also has no tattoos, and being honest, he didnt really have any desire to get one.

“yes it is! you lost bitch!” Larray laughed, and Chris groaned.

Evelyn already had a few tattoos, like Matt, Nick, and Larray, so she was definitely leaning more towards the tattoo option.

“Chris, how ‘bout we just do the tattoo? something badass, or small; so you wont regret it? Its WAY cheaper than a trip to the Bahamas alone.” Chris rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he shook his head, and the group cheered.

“well, there you have it! Chris and Ev will be getting tattoos! maybe that will be next weeks vlog. Hell, maybe even me and Matt will get one.” Nick shrugged.

“YOU REALLY WANNA GET MATCHING TATTOOS?!” Evelyn yelled, grabbing Chris’ arm in excitement.

“Yeah, yeah.. i guess. i swear though, im not doing anything stupid. no cringey shit.” Chris fake gagged, and Evelyn rolled her eyes.

“oh, shut up you big baby. Ill go look for some ideas! Layla, Larray, come with me!” Evelyn rushed off to somewhere else in the house, Larray and Layla following close behind.

“hey! im gay too y’know!” Nick called out after them, but shrugged and walked over to the camera.

“fuck.” Chris grumbled as he sat on the couch.

“whats up?” Matt asked his younger brother as he sat next to him.

“what do you thinks up, matt. I have to get a tattoo,” Chris sighed. “man, that shits gonna hurt so bad, and i really dont wanna do it.” Chris whined, putting his head in his hands. Being honest, the pain was the least of his worries. What if Evelyn ever dumps him? Every time he would look at the tattoo, he’d be reminded of her. But he couldn’t say that.

“hey, its no big deal.” Matt reassured his brother, placing his hand on his back. “They dont hurt bad, i promise. Ev won’t pick anything you wont like, and i doubt she’d pick something big, so you wont have to be there for long. and hey, we can make the appointment, and if you really dont wanna do this, we can cancel it. i dont think the fans will be upset.” Matt nodded, and chris sat up.

“yeah, your right. ill be okay. thanks, matt.” Chris nodded up at his brother, who flashed him a smile and walked over to Nick with the camera.

Chris heard his and Matt’s girlfriends squealing, and Larry chuckling. God, Evelyn warmed his heart so much. He wouldn’t say it, but he loves her. They’ve been dating for only a few months, maybe five or six, and Matt and Layla have been dating for around seven or eight months.

“Chris!” The brown haired boy heard his girlfriend yell, as the three of them bursted out of the hallway.

“hm?” Chris looked up at her.

“Whats wrong, baby?” Her smile quickly faded and her eyebrows furrowed, as she sat next to him. She placed her hand on his leg, and he looked at her.

He made eye contact with her, and leaned in for a small kiss.

“Oh. Was that all, silly?” Evelyn giggled. Chris shook his head and wrapped both arms around Evelyn, as he pulled her into him.

“your my everything,” he spoke. “I think i love you, Ev..” he looked at the girl who’s head was on his chest.

“really..?” she asked, as chris held his breath. He nodded. “Oh my god, chris!! I love you too!” she laughed and pulled him into a loving kiss. Their lips moved in sync before Chris pulled away.

“I’m glad,” he smiled, his face red, as he placed his forehead against Evelyn’s.

The whole house cheered and laughed, congratulating the two as if they just got proposed.

“See, Ev! I told you!” Layla jumped, rushing over to give her best friend a hug.

“Yeah, yeah!” Evelyn rolled her eyes and got off of her boyfriend.

“Proud of you, man.” Matt nodded at his younger brother, as they did their ‘secret’ handshake.

“thanks.” Chris smiled, and Evelyn whipped back around.

“Wait! I forgot to show you the tattoo!” Evelyn quickly sat back down beside Chris, as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “What do you think about these ones?” She asked, showing him her phone.

The image was of spiders, seemingly black widows.

“holy fuck! Those are dope!” Chris laughed, grabbing the phone to show nick and matt, who were standing behind the couch.

“Thats sick!” Nick laughed, pointing at the phone.

“See, man, told ya she wouldn’t pick somethin’ ya didn’t like.” Matt shrugged, and Chris glared at him.

-A WEEK LATER-

“ready?” the tattooist asked as she held the needle close to a worried Chris, his girlfriends’ hand in his. She had already gotten hers done, along with the rest of the group getting tiny ones, Chris being the last one left.

“mhm,” he nodded, as he felt the needle touch his skin. “ow ow ow-“ he squeezed Evelyn’s hand, as she kissed it gently.

“you’re doing great, baby.” She reassured him, as nick held the camera aiming at him.

“mhm..” he grunted.

“bet thats what he sounds like in bed,” Larray joked, as Chris and Evelyn gasped.

“Larray!” Evelyn yelled, and everyone, besides chris, laughed. He found it funny as fuck, he was just too occupied by the needle poking in and out of his skin.

About twenty minutes into the tattoo, chris spoke up again.

“it doesn’t hurt bad anymore,” he sighed, as he slowly let go of Evelyn’s hand. Matt and Layla were talking, and Nick and Larray were, so Evelyn just patiently waited by her boyfriends side.

“see?” Evelyn joked, and chris mocked her.

“yeah, yeah. whatever.” he scolded.

The group waited for around an hour, and Chris’ tattoo was finally done.

He slowly stood up, and admired it in the mirror.

“This looks sick as fuck,” he smiled, pulling Evelyn by his side so he could see the matching tattoos.

He pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture.

“this ones’ goin on the photo dump,” he said as he gently kissed Evelyn’s shoulder.

-

@bernardenjoyer

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #fanfic #tattoos

[rafferty3207]

not to be impatient or ungrateful but too good to be true part 3 when 😩

its funny you say that today of all days bestie

Too Good to Be True (part three)

warning: fem!reader, passing mention of creepy dude, angst (but only at the beginning dw), then tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I hope you like this ending! in my mind this is done but not over - I will definitely be doing drabbles of this pair in future, but for now I hope you enjoy!

____

part one | part two

“Oi, prick, are you even paying attention?” Roy barks at Jamie, who is sitting staring at his phone.

“Er, yeah, coach, it’s just -just-”

“Just what? Spit it out?”

“How do ya access your voicemails?”

“Jamie. What the fuck are you talking about?”

He holds up the screen to Roy’s face.

You have a new voicemail.

“Jamie, I wouldn’t worry about it, it's probably some berk trying to sell you organic viagra or something. Now please can we get back to the football?”

“I just need to check Coach. To make sure of…something, but I’ve never listened to a voicemail before.”

“Christ you find new ways to make me feel old Jamie.” But before he can make another comment, Roy notices the sad look in Jamie’s eyes. He hasn’t been his usual irritating self this morning, no sassy quips or anything, and he looks like he’s barely slept. “Who are you expecting a voicemail from?”

Jamie looks up at him with those puppy dog eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s that girl isn’t it? What did you do now, you silly twat?” 

“I didn’t do anything. I mean I kissed her -”

“Oh my god, that Simone Biles bollocks was about her wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it's an inside joke-”

“Hand me the phone.”

“Er, I dunno-”

“Just give it, Jamie.” Jamie reluctantly passes it over. “You dial a three digit number, which will access your number. You’re on the same network as me so-” Roy types the digits and hands it back. “But once you’re done, you’re doing 50 press ups for wasting my fucking time.” Roy goes into another room.

Jamie raises the phone to his ear tentatively. Of course, it’s you.

___

The gallery session had been, in polite terms, a complete shit show. You were late because you couldn’t figure out how to get into the building, then you couldn't find some of the papers with your plan on them, and therefore you spent several hours using what little you have of your phone battery to try and improvise a plan from your memories. You’re finally done, but by this point it’s almost midnight.

“This is your first exhibition, isn’t it?” Simon, the gallery owner looks at you hunched over, shoving the papers back in the bag.

“Yeah, how did you guess? Don’t answer that, that was sarcasm.” You say, continuing to scramble. “So what’s happening PR wise? Are we sending press releases, inviting reviewers, that sort of thing?”

Simon scoffs. 

“What? I get it I'm a nobody, but what about the big Emin retrospective you’ve got coming up in October? I’ve seen posters for that everywhere.”

“That’s pretty much all her team. Besides, when you’re Emin you don’t need the PR really. Of course, we’ll do our best and we’ve got it on our website and social media of course, but our comms person resigned so at the moment we’re a rather limited team. This is such a short period, it’s an interim show. It’s why we could offer it, but you knew that right?”

“Mhmm, yeah, of course.” You say, biting your lip. You don’t know what you expected, instead wearily picking up your bag.

“Right, I best head off, but I’ll see you in two days!” You power walk off while your voice can still sound fake cheerful. Now how do I go back from here? You wonder, pulling your phone out.

Of course, it dies at that very moment.

“Shit!”

___

You eventually manage to navigate home, although the walk takes three times as long especially after one man seems to walk right behind you for ages until you get to the high street and the tube stops running mid way through, so you have to persuade a nice older woman to look up the bus route on her phone. As you walk into your house and flop onto the couch, you remember.

Jamie.

Fuck. You hoped he didn’t take your note the wrong way. You plug your phone in and sit huddled until the screen turns back on.

11 missed calls. 13 messages.

hey Simone xoxo

out at drinks at the moment but I’ll be back asap xoxo

theres a cocktail i think you’d like here  xoxo

on my way home now! xoxo

where are you xoxo

u alright

u ok???

Where are you??

Just let me know ur home safe (or dont if u dont want to)

Im not asking to be creepy sorry if it came off like that

Im sorry if i scared you off

i shouldn’t have kissed you

Lets just forget it happened

Sorry again

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Let’s just forget it happened. You felt sick to your stomach. You picked up the phone with incredibly shaky hands and pressed the dial button.

_____

“Er, hey Jamie, it’s me. Sorry to leave you a voicemail, it feels old school doesn’t it? I don’t even know how to listen to my own voicemails, not sure why I’m sending you one. Well I do, I’ve rung a few times and you’re not picking up and everytime I try and say what I want in a text it comes off wrong - ugh, sorry I’m rambling. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t reply, my phone has been dead the whole way home and I had to try and find my way back and the tube is shit and buses are shit and all I wanted was for you to come and pick me up in that ugly orange car of yours but I couldn’t. So that’s that. Did you get my note? I completely forgot but I had the exhibition planning session today and everything that could possibly go wrong did and it’s been a fucking nightmare and to be honest Jamie, I don’t know why I’m doing it anymore. I thought this was my one chance to finally become a big shot artist but it turns out I have to market it basically all by myself and I have no time and know barely anyone so let’s be honest, no one is going to come and it will all be forgotten about and I will prove once again I am the failure my father thinks I am.”

Jamie hears a shuddering intake of breath.

“Sorry, I’m rambling again. I’m sorry Jamie. I really did mean to wait for you. I’ve still got your shirt and everything. It’s just, I’m so stressed and I need to finish these paintings but also why should I finish these paintings but also I want them to be perfect and - and - and I don’t want to do this over voicemail but I don’t want to forget about us but also I have so much work to do and I’m so fucked -”

Jamie listens to you choke down a sob, before sniffing.

“I have to go, but call me back or something. Or maybe I could see you at the exhibit? You’ll probably be the only one attending. Goodbye, Jamie. Sorry again.”

Jamie’s heart was breaking, but not in the way he expected. You were so strong for him but all the while there you were, clearly dealing with your own shit and struggling and he hadn’t even noticed. He hated the idea that he had made things worse.

Now, he knew what he had to do.

___

It is the opening night of the exhibit and you are adjusting your hair for the fiftieth time. The gallery had extended their publicity to a small private view with a few glasses of wine and bottles of beer, but that was it. So you had spent the last three days painting almost non-stop, sending the invitations to everyone you know and barely sleeping. You just hoped your makeup would cover the dark circles under your eyes. You had worn your favourite dress and done your hair especially so you would at least feel like the real deal, but that was quickly waning. 

It had been fifteen minutes and not one single person had showed up. The one event staff was already looking at you as if to ask whether they could go home early. You started to look at your phone while downing the glass of wine in your hand. Still not a word from Jamie. You hadn’t heard from him since you sent the voicemail and you felt embarrassed just thinking about it. It seemed like you were going to need more wine.

But then, a man enters. He is wiry, with a blazer and a glorious grey and black shoulder length mane. He is holding a notebook and looking around keenly. You have no fucking idea who he is.

“Can I help you?”

“Ah yes, I’m Trent Crimm.”

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

“I’m here for the exhibit Everything In Its Right Place.” You nod, dumbstruck. “Ah, great, don’t mind me.”

You watch him as he looks at each painting before scribbling in his notepad. That was strange.

After him walks in one of the most beautiful women you have seen, followed by a small man wearing glasses.

“Hello, welcome to the Private View!” You say a little bit too loudly, and you worry that the wine may have gone to your head. The woman leans over to you and of course she smells beautiful too. “Hello, I’m Rebecca. Is it alright if some of my friends come in too?”

“Absolutely, the more the merrier!”

A couple more glamorous women file in, as well as some fancy looking older gentlemen in suits. Behind them is a colourful blond haired woman with an Essex accent and a very fluffy jacket, talking about how her PR firm which is on the hunt for new talent. You made a mental note to talk to her later, and as you do she looks over at you and winks, which makes you feel flustered. 

The events staff comes over.

“Are they on the guest list?”

“Oh yeah.” You keenly nod, hoping they are not paid enough to grass you up.

And then walks in a very familiar moustachioed man.

“Why, you must be the modern Louise Bourgeois our Jamie has been speaking so highly of.” You don’t expect the honeyed Southern twang and you find yourself blushing. He’s more handsome than the small picture by Jamie’s bed gave away.

“I wish! Although Jamie knew who Louise Bourgeois was?”

“I mean, I think he is more of a Georgia O’Keefe guy. But I love old Lou Lou. Art is a guarantee-”

“Of sanity. Very impressive -?”

“Theodore Lasso, at your service ma’am. Although my friends call me Ted.”

“Are we friends?”

“I sure hope to be. Jamie will not stop going on about how great you are, so I thought I best see it in person myself.” He offers a hand and you feel yourself go even redder.

“Well, it is lovely to make your acquaintance, Ted.” 

You see Trent’s head has whipped around this point and he is striding towards Ted.

“Ted you’re going to love these paintings -” Trend hooks his arm in Teds and Ted waves you a goodbye as he is quickly dragged off. 

You see all of Jamie’s teammates file in after Ted, including Roy who gives you a little nod. They have all brought people with them, including some women who you swear might be famous models, and before long the room is densely packed. You can’t believe it. You even have a few people come up to you to ask for interviews, and once the Trent man has sufficiently shown Ted around the room several times over, he asks if you want to be profiled for one of the big papers.

“I’ve always liked highlighting promising new talent in any field, and I feel you’d be a great match.” He smiles at you and you feel your stomach start to fizz. The one waiter who has been frantically pouring drinks for the last half hour runs over to you.

“A couple of people want to buy the paintings, are they for sale?”

“All the ones without red dots are, yeah.”

“How much do they cost?”

“How much are they willing to pay?” The waiter runs off and comes back, handing a long list of offers. Your eyes boggle at the amount.

“Fuck me.”

“Someone said they wanted to snap you up before Satchel did or something?”

“I assume they mean Saatchi.” The waiter shrugs. “Call Simon, he’ll help with the sales.

“I don’t think he’ll pick-”

“Send him a picture of the offers. He’ll definitely pick up.”

The waiter hurries off and you stare at the piece of paper. You can’t believe all this is happening. But you still check your phone.

Are you coming?

No reply.

“Ted? I don’t suppose you heard anything from Jamie did you?”

He smiles and taps his nose.

“I’m afraid I was sworn to secrecy.”

You get back to your wine. That would be a weird response if he had told Ted he never wanted to see you again. But the whole day was starting to feel very weird. You decided to pop out for some fresh air.  However, as you walk outside you see a very familiar orange car parked outside. In the driver's seat is Jamie in a suit, holding flowers, staring at his phone.

“You know, I didn't order an Uber.”

Jamie jumps.

“Jesus woman, you nearly scared the living daylights out of me!”

“I could say the same of you. Can I come in?”

He gestures to the seat next to him. You walk around and slide into the car. 

“You look stunning.” Jamie says, looking over you and you suddenly feel very naked in this dress.

“Thanks. It’s certainly an improvement from when you usually pick me up.” You fiddle with your hem. “So can you tell me why you’re sitting outside my exhibit instead of going inside? You’re the only person here who is actually on the guest list.”

He looks back down at the flowers.

“I dunno. I guess I was worried you might not want to see me after, y'know" He nods his head towards you. The kiss. Before you can reply, he starts talking again. "That’s why I got everyone else here first.”

“This was all you?”

He looks out the front of the window.

“I mean the boys wanted to come anyway, but I spoke to Rebecca and Ted and Keeley. It was Ted’s idea to invite Trent, because he knows lots of people at papers, and Keeley knows people through her firm and Rebecca knows loads of rich guys because I dunno, she’s rich and fit -”

You reach over and gently touch his arm.

“Thank you Jamie, this means a lot - ”

“Any time. I just want you to be happy, you know?” You grip his arm a little tighter.

 “But you didn’t have to do any of this. I would have been happy if you were the only person who showed up.” Jamie finally looks at you. You just stare at each other for a moment, saying nothing. At this point you reach over and tenderly place your lips on his. He doesn't resist, immediately putting his hand on the side of your neck. Your hands start wandering down his torso before he pulls away suddenly.

“I don't want you thinking I'm trying to buy you or something. Me and Roy watched Pretty Woman the other week but I swear-"

"I know Jamie. Besides, you haven't even bought a painting yet." You try to laugh him off but he holds you firm.

"I just want you to remember you earned this. You are really, really talented, it's just - it's just everyone needs help sometimes"

You are suddenly struck silent for a moment, your eyes watering.

"Ah fuck, I didn't want to make you cry again!"

You sniff. "This is good crying though, I swear! I just never realised you were so wise."

"Oi you cheeky mare, I'm trying to be nice!" You both laugh, before he reaches over and threads his fingers between yours. "I think I’m in love with you, you know?"

He looks up at you, uncertain. Your stomach is fizzing, but in a way that makes you feel like you could fly. You smile.

"I know. The thing is, I'm in love with you too, Jamie Tartt." You stare at each other, before your lips crash into each other, your hands crawling all over your torsos and necks, your breathing becoming more ragged before Jamie pulls away again.

"Now come on you, this is your big night, remember. We better get inside before we have to go right here in the back like a pair of teenagers."

You place a hand on his thigh. "I mean, that sounds good to me."

""You are gonna be the death of me, I swear." He opens the car door. 

"Actually, to be fair there is one painting I think you should see."

The two of you stroll into the gallery holding hands.

"Fucking finally." Roy exclaims, before patting Jamie on the shoulder. "Now don't fuck it up Jamie, I like this one." You and Roy share a smile. You felt like you had something to thank him for, but you weren’t sure what.

"I see you met Jamie." You turn around to see a small old woman in colourful clothing.

“Sylvia? What are you doing here, I thought you weren’t back for another week?”

Sylvia gestures to a handsome older gentleman in the corner “Of course I had to see your exhibit darling! Now don’t worry darling, I’m staying with one of my good friends.” She winks before leaning in conspiratorially. “You’ll have the flat all to yourself.”

“Sylvia!” You swat her arm.

“What? Your mother told me you were going through a dry spell. I’m just so glad you and Jamie finally got to meet.”

Your mouth is agape. You said that months and months ago -

“Jamie darling, it's so nice to see you again!” Sylvia airkisses Jamie, before swanning off. You lean into the crook of Jamie's shoulder. You’d say you hate how natural it feels, but you fucking love it.

“Do you think Sylvia set this whole thing up? Between you and me?”

“Well, she did keep telling me she knew the perfect woman for me, with a fantastic arse-”

“Jamie!” You poke his cheek. “Although speaking of fantastic arse, let me show you my painting!” You drag him over to the biggest painting in the room. It is rich and vibrant and while somewhat abstract, almost definitely a nude. “What do you think?”

“I think it will be perfect in my living room. Well, almost perfect.”

“Almost? What else could be more perfect than this?” You gesture to the bum cheeks.

Jamie rolls his head as if mulling it over.

“You?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god Jamie Tartt, where did you pick up such a naff line? You’re lucky you are very handsome.” You reach up to kiss him, your fingers brushing his neck and jaw. and he leans to whisper in your ear. 

“You know, now you’re gonna be a famous artist now, someone may actually try to kidnap you. You might need some form of security.”

“True. Do you know anyone?”

“No.” You laugh. “But I do know an excellent driver. And he does know a lot of excellent private spots.”

“How soon can he start?”

“How about right now?” You take his hand in yours.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

---

Ah hope you all enjoyed this two silly billys in love! Pls send me requests of any headcanons/drabbles you'd be interested in seeing that I can bash out while working on this new juicy Roy Kent fic!!

@thebookwormlife @taytaylala12 @eugene-emt-roe @skewcherries @okkkkkkkksure @beingalive1 @gothicwidowsworld @atjamesbbarnes @e-mmygrey

#jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #romance #fanfic

[erodasfishtacos]

I saw you were doing blurbs and I can’t get this idea out of my head. I love your vogue beauty secrets and there is another YouTube cam hammer that does truth or drink and they had a married couple and all I could think about was MLBHarry and Yn, laughing and drinking.

The Love Birds

prompt: ^^

warnings: none

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

—-

“Why did we agree to do this?” YN shakes her head as she looks at the liquor bottles and shot glasses in front of her then all the cameras.

Harry was sat across from them, a camera crew to the side of them - it was a special video for Vogue Online’s anniversary and they were asking celebrities to join in for funny couple videos.

“Anytime you want to stop, tell me. I’ll make sure those cameras go off,” Harry assured her as he reaches across to kiss her hand before they start, “Just want to show off how pretty my little wife is.”

They had already went over with the production what they need to say and do - it wasn’t over complicated and they have notecards of the question.

As soon as they start recording, Harry’s good at turning on his public persona - warm, confident, and sure.

“Hello, my name is Harry Styles. This is m’wife, YN Styles, and to celebrate Vogue’s anniversary we’re going to play Truth or Drink,” Harry jokingly cracks his knuckles, rings glinting in the light.

“Simple rules. Either you answer the question on the card, which has been written by a fan or you take a shot,” Harry continues, running his hand like a salesmen by the different liquors on the table, “Nervous, my love?”

YN scoffs, reaching for her notecards, “I can’t wait to get you drunk.”

Harry fake gasps, looking comically towards the camera, “You hear that? She’s just trying to loosen me up!”

YN picks the first card, smirking at the words as she flicks her eye over the paper at her husband before asking, “What is the worst team in the league?”

“That’s easy, Dodgers,” Harry replies with a cocky grin that flashes his white teeth, it makes YN want to kiss it off of him.

“Who would have guessed?” YN replies as she discard her question, raising an eyebrow at her husband when he reads his question.

“Okay, darlin’,” He drawls lazily but his eyes are twinkling, “Have any of my teammates made a pass at you? And if yes, who?”

Harry’s obvious by the way he straightens up but, he wanted to know this answer and YN wasn’t going to blast the men all over the internet.

“Pour me a shot of that vodka,” YN says instead, pointing the bottle, “I’ll drink to that question.”

“Are you fuckin’ with me? Have they hit on you?” Harry huffs, trying to get a smile on his face as he pours the shot, “You’re definitely telling me after this game.”

“Ssh, be a good sport for once,” She titters as she takes the shot, tilting her head back and squinting as it burns her throat.

“Okay?” Harry checks as he watches her reaction.

“Mm,” She assures him, picking her next card, “Don’t remember the last time I took a shot or drank for that matter. Next question, do you regret not having a wedding?”

Harry furrows his brow a bit, “Christ, just getting into the questions. Fans sent these? Well, we did have a wedding but it was just you and I. We didn’t have a full wedding though.”

“Yeah, I consider that we did have a wedding but it wasn’t traditional with a lot of people and celebration,” YN agrees, sipping her water to try to get rid of the aftertaste.

“I can answer this. I don’t regret it. It was perfect at the time for us. We didn’t have much money and we had our first baby due. It was still one of the best days of m’life.

“One of the best?” YN teases as she tosses the card.

“I have five of the best days ever,” Harry tells her, his eyes softening, “They day we got married and the days you gave birth to our babies.”

“Softie,” She leans across the table to give him a quick peck which he eagerly accepts with happy grin - it was so obvious how happy they are.

“Let’s see, oh. I like this one,” Harry hums, his dimples deep in his cheeks, “What’s your favorite thing about me physically and your least?”

YN rolls her eyes, “Of course. Physically, I mean it changes day to day but-“

“Darling, we’re married. You can say it’s my di-“

“Harry!” YN interrupts with a giggle, “Shut it. I love your smile and your thighs. Least is definitely how bad your feet stink after baseball.”

“Hurtful,” Harry pouts at her, eyes narrowed a bit but it’s playful, and nods at her to take her turn.

YN nearly chokes when she reads this card, feeling her face get hot, “Er, where was the most public place you’ve ever had a hook-up?”

As their eyes meet, both of their minds go to that dugout in Baltimore or maybe when they fucked on that balcony in Italy.

The question startles a laugh out of Harry, he sits back and spreads his leg open more - like there’s not enough room for his cock - a cheeky smile on his face.

“Want me to answer, darlin’?” Harry goads with a raised brow - he’s not going to answer it, they both know he knows better nor would he want to share, “Because I can think of quite a few of ‘em.”

“Up to you,” She says instead but smiles when he pours himself a shot of tequila.

He swigs it fast, grimacing as he did before he puts the little glass down, “Okay, apparently that was dhe warm up and the question will get more invasive now and we’ll really see who gets smashed.”

“What’s your favorite position? And not in baseball,” Harry asks with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips - they are both way too private to answer sexual questions and they already know them all.

Harry know how much she being in his lap while he fucks up into her, slow, and with his mouth planting lovebites all over her tits.

Or when he gives it to her hard from behind and wraps her hair in his hand - it all depends on the mood.

YN shifts nervously in her chair, glaring as his eyes twinkling, “Pour me another shot.”

Harry laughs louder at her response, filling it back, and watching as she shoots it back without hesitation.

“Why wouldn’t you answer that?” He teases as he leans across the table to thumb at smudge of lipstick off her chin where it smeared - only if you were watching closely could you see his thumb ghost over her lips quickly.

“Because I don’t not want our four children to ever know that answer and this is going on YouTube,” YN replies, rearranging herself on the chair.

“S’cause you’re the best mama,” Harry says sincerely and not for the cameras - just for her.

YN gives him a soft look for his comment before biting her lips at her next question, “How old were you when you lost your virginity and with who?”

Harry actually feels himself blushing.

He was proud that he had only been with his wife but he didn’t want the magazines to overanalyze his sex life - everyone knew he was pan but not demi.

He takes that shot back quickly without question.

“Which wife do you dislike the most out of my teammates,” Harry’s giggling as he reads it because he knows her next move.

“Are these all drink? I can’t answer that either,” YN huffs as she pours herself another and chugs if before slamming the glass on the table.

“What is the worst thing about playing for The Yankees?”

Drink.

“What’s the most expensive thing I ever surprised you with and how much did it cost?”

Drink.

“How much did you make last year?”

Drink.

At this point on, Harry was finally starting to feel a bit tipsy as his cheeks were getting pink and his limbs felt loose.

YN was three sheets to the wind after downing the shots in short succession, especially after not having drank in a very long time.

“S’mine?” YN giggles girlishly as she pulls out the card, “What is-“

“No, baby,” Harry cuts her off with a chuckle, he’s looking at her so fucking fondly, “You just asked me, s’my turn. Do you want more kids?”

YN’s eyes get comically wide at that question, “Did you write that question?”

“I didn’t, darling. But I sure am curious about your answer,” He goads, it’s obvious he wants the answer to this along with the viewers.

“Mm, I don’t think I want to answer this,” She murmurs sheepishly as she pours another shot and swigs it.

“Really? You’re not gonna answer?” Harry’s face falls, his bottom lip pouting out with a puppy dog look.

“I can, it’s just that-“

“None of that. M’just kidding, you already if you want more I’ll give ‘em to you,” Harry interrupts, his accent getting more distinct and deep as the alcohol flows through his system, “C’mere.”

YN gets up and steps over to the other side of the table where Harry wraps an arm around his waist and pulls her down onto his lap.

“Why didn’t I attend the MLB draft with you?” Harry situates her so she’s leaned back against his chest, she was getting sweaty for the liquor.

“It was because you were pregnant with our first baby,” Harry replies back, his hand ghosting over her belly like he’s remembering where the bump was.

Harry chuckles adoringly, kissing her temple before handing her the last card - he whispers in her ear, “I love you.”

“Okay, let’s see. Which of our babies is the most likely to become a baseball player?” Harry hums as he flicks the card carelessly.

YN’s eyes get a bit shimmery, lips turning down, “I want to go home and see my babies now. I think we’ve been gone for too long. What if Ezra’s sad? I need to check my phone to see if your mum-“

“We can go,” He murmurs quietly before nodding towards the cameras to cut - he will make sure that last little bit is edited out.

YN hadn’t been drunk in so long, she wasn’t an emotional drunk the times she had before she’d had kids but now she was so emotional.

Harry thanks the crew and helps YN put her jacket on, “Wha-What if Briar didn’t eat? Cash hasn’t been sleeping well. Easton has that dentist appt-“

“Sweetheart,” Harry interjects with a laugh as he guides her into their awaiting SUV to be driven back to the hotel, “We’re staying in the night in the city. The babies are fine. Everything is okay, I promise.”

“Do you think I’m a good mom?” She sniffles as she burrows in his chest, “S’just Ezra gets so anxious and I try my best but sometimes I feel like a bad mom.”

“Hey,” Harry says firmly, “You’re the best mama. To all of the kids, to Ezra. He loves you so so much. You do such an amazing job of parenting him. He’s perfect and healthy. You couldn’t be doing any better. Best decision of my life was to have babies with you.”

YN glances him up and down to make sure he’s being truthful before she launches herself at him, their lips connecting harshly.

“Mm, want you. Look so good tonight,” YN drawls out as her hand comes roughly to palm at his crotch.

“Jesus, mama,” Harry mumbles before pulling back, “Let’s get you back to the hotel for bath and to sober up a bit, yeah? Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

-

The Styles’ Night Out

The face of the New York Yankees, Harry Styles, stepped out with his wife YN in New York City last night.

The couple seemed to be having a romantic night at The Four Seasons without their brood of four children - Easton, Cash, Ezra, and Briar.

Fans and the internet alike have been going wild for a new video of the couple playing Truth or Drink for Vogue Online.

Harry and YN stayed mum on most of the more sensitive topics such as sex but were open about their small wedding and what they enjoy about each other.

However, Styles made is no secret how infatuated he is with his wife and his desire to have more children.

People were posting everywhere about the video (26 million views later),cooing over how happy they appeared and female fans jealous of the moment YN sat on his lap.

The couple were last spotting after the filming, going back to their hotel, where Harry looked noticeably more tousled after the car ride with his missus - a few lipstick prints on his mouth and cheeks.

Styles is set to kick off another successful game tonight with the Pittsburgh Pirates at his home field in the city.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing request #mlb!harry blurbs #mlb!harry masterlist #mlb!harry #dad!harry #dad harry styles #husband!harry #harry styles husband #harry styles love on tour #harry styles one shot #erodsafishtacos masterlist #file #erodasfishtacos #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #don’t worry darling #Harry styles #update #kofi

[wolfiafuntime]

Trick-or-Treat Trip

Headcanons in which you go trick-or-treating in the human world with Lucifer, Mammon, Asmo, and Beel

Published: November 24, 2023

Words: 880 (205 per character save for Beel; his got a bit away from me)

Pages: 2.5 (0.7 per character)

Lucifer:

 Neither of you know how you managed to convince him to go Trick-or-Treating with you. Let alone go up to the Human World to do it. But you did!

 You spent the majority of Halloween day getting into your costume. Because Lucifer was coming, he had made sure that whatever you were going as would be one of the best. 'One of' because his costume- a Vampire one- would also be the best. It was something you couldn't deny after seeing it.

 Before you left, you set up a candy bowl with the classic 'only take one' sign. And to make sure that other trick-or-treaters complied, he cast a mild curse on the bowl that would scare anyone who tried to take more.

 The actual trick-or-treat trip was very fun. While Lucifer didn't (he refused to--) bring a candy bag of his own, it didn't matter. You were just glad he came, and glad the various people you visited gave you candy. You had gotten a pretty good haul by the end of the night, with the only 'bad' trick-or-treat-ee giving you money. Lucifer smiled as he imagined what Mammon's reaction would've been if something like that happened for him.

Mammon:

 Free candy?! Sign him up! It doesn't matter if you asked him this a few days before Halloween, or a few weeks. He's going to demand that you summon him, so you two can go shopping for the best pair of costumes. If you do summon him, know that he'll refuse to leave until Halloween has passed. And that, unfortunately, won't happen, because Lucifer is going to come and drag him back to the Devildom in a few hours. Maybe several, if you can talk the first-born into it.

 But don't worry! You can just summon Mammon again when Halloween actually comes. You'll spend the day watching horror movies-- something the beloved idiot suggested himself-- and getting dressed up in your costume(s).

 He'll be so jumpy during the trick-or-treat trip. Every fake hand that jumps out of a candy bowl. Every person pretending to be a manikin. He'll even be scared of the kids screaming with joy! You laughing at him won't help; it'll only fluster him. But don't worry, all fear and embarrassment will leave him when you get to that one house that gives out crappy presents. A toothbrush?? Seriously?!

Asmodeus:

 Isn't surprised that you invited him to come, but that doesn't make him any less excited. Similarly to Mammon, he's demanding you summon him, so you can go costume shopping together. But there's no way you guys are dressing as anything scary! Why? Because those costumes require masks, blood, atrocious makeup, and/or ugly outfits.

 You summon him again the morning of Halloween, you guys spend a good few hours picking between the costumes you bought a few days prior. These consist of a nurse and doctor, a maid and master, and a princess and knight. (Can you guess who's who?) After choosing, you spend the rest of the day getting dressed up. When you're finally done, Asmo sets up a bucket of nail polish next to your bucket of candy. He's got a pretty sign for it two, covered in glitter and hearts, asking for only one to be taken.

 He isn't jumpy like Mammon when he gets jumpscared, but he'll still jump into your arms. He, of course, preens from any compliments he gets, and always tries fishing for more. Gets so salty at any crappy treat-givers, and will definitely use his charm on them.

Beelzebub:

 A night of constant candy? With you? That sounds like paradise to him. You're gonna have to remind him to get a costume. And you're probably gonna have to do it a couple times, because every time he goes shopping for one, he gets distracted by food sales. But don't worry, he'll manage to hold off his hunger when you tell him that only people in costumes get candy.

 The day of Halloween, it doesn't take him long to get into his werewolf costume. So, depending on what you're going as, and how many details there are, he'll probably be waiting for you to finish. He could help you if you want? If not, then he'll be munching away on the bags of candy you bought for him. And on that note, you're gonna have to command him to stay away from one of the bags if you want to set up a free candy bucket. Because it'll be long gone by the time you leave.

 Actually trick-or-treating is pretty peaceful and fun! His bag remains empty throughout the night, because everything that goes into it goes into his stomach shortly after. As for the crappy-treat-giver? You warned him about them, but he still goes into a rampage. You have to command him to stop and walk away, and he only calms down when the next person gives him some more candy.

 On the bright side, you think the fake "treat-giver" is going to be handing out actual treats next year.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om #omswd #obey me x reader #obey me x y/n #obey me x you #om lucifer #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x you #om mammon #mammon #mammon x reader #mammon x y/n #mammon x you #om asmodeus #asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x y/n #asmodeus x you #om beelzebub #beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub x y/n #beelzebub x you #lucifer x mc #mammon x mc #asmodeus x mc

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @autumnal-dcthings; JayKon soulmates, TimKon datemates, and the wrong Superboy. TW for some very vague nsfw themes/thoughts and a touch of dubcon; cut for length.

“Who says you’re the one who deserves entertained here?” Jason snorts, baring his teeth. Fake Superboy’s smirk turns decidedly dirty, and he rolls his hips up against Jason’s jock. His dick feels at least as hard as the armor.

Like, not in the sense that the guy actually has a hard-on right now. Just in the “his dick is definitely indestructible” sense. Jason’s fucking stupid brain is having a little bit of trouble parsing the difference right now, though. 

Also part of him’s kind of wondering how that works in the–for fuck’s sake, he’s going to book two extra therapy sessions this week. Maybe more! Who the fuck knows, at this point! 

This whole thing is just such fucking bullshit. 

“TTK is like, a passive perception thing, you know,” fake Superboy mentions casually, which seems like an interesting piece of information for a body-hijacker to have, Jason notes to himself, barely resisting the urge to narrow his eyes assessingly. “I can feel everything you’ve got whenever I want.” 

“That doesn’t sound very ‘passive’,” Jason observes dubiously. Pretty much the opposite of it, in fact. 

“I can feel it when you look at me, too,” fake Superboy hums, tilting his head, then grins wickedly. “Even through the mask.” 

Jason, immediately, regrets every time he ever checked out Superboy when he had a mask or helmet on and the opportunity, including the pre-soulmate-realization times. And also, it’s seeming increasingly likely that this asshole might have access to Superboy’s memories, assuming that wasn’t just a lucky guess or a cold read. Definitely not reading his mind, though, or they’d know the jig was already up here.

But if the actual Superboy is actually aware of just how many times Jason’s checked him out, he should maybe just go face-first into another crowbar. 

He should definitely do that, actually. 

“High opinion of yourself there,” he says, and fake Superboy preens. 

“Yeah, you’ve been giving me one,” he says with a sharp grin. Jason longs for those theoretical kryptonite brass knuckles. “Makes a boy feel downright pretty.” 

Prick. 

“Shut up,” Jason says, and picks the least annoying option of several very annoying options and kisses him again. Fake Superboy makes a surprised little sound, barely discernible, and then a performatively smug one, and kisses him back. 

This sucks. And not because fake Superboy is such a lousy kisser. 

. . . mostly not, anyway. 

Sue him, Jason would rather the stupid presumably-evil doppelganger he's making out with right now knew how to kiss no matter who they looked like.

God, his life is fucking pathetic and weird and his priorities are absolutely fucked. He seriously needs to get a fuckbuddy with complementary psychological issues to his own. Meet a nice vengeful bastard and work out some stress or whatever. 

His therapist would not agree, but his therapist isn’t getting hit on by a fake version of the soulmate who’s dating her brother, is she, Denise.

This whole situation is actually even more stupid than telling a woman named “Denise” all his issues translated for civilian ears, but such is his fucking life. 

Why didn’t he just stay dead again? Because he definitely could’ve just stayed dead. Like, there were multiple opportunities for that. He was in fact spoiled for opportunities for that. 

“I like it when you look at me, Hood,” fake Superboy murmurs between their mouths, his voice low and throaty and sounding just like all of Jason’s dirtiest daydreams. Jason, again, thinks longingly of kryptonite. This asshole can’t kiss, no, but he sure as shit can talk. “Gets me kinda . . . excited, you know?” 

Jason wants to blow up this entire fucking building. Or block. 

Or city, maybe.

Where the fuck is his backup? Is there an all-hands going that nobody thought to mention to him? An apocalypse he somehow didn’t notice? For fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be a goddamn panic button, not a “hey, if you’ve got a sec” kind of thing! 

Not that he has any personal trauma about anybody showing up too late to do him any good or anything like that, of course. Definitely not. 

Maybe it’s gonna have to just be daily sessions this week. 

“Did I tell you to shut up or not?” Jason says, baring his teeth again and internally promising himself he’s going to read Bruce for filth after the bastard’s fucked up the response time here so phenomenally, whenever said bastard can actually be bothered to show up. He doesn’t care if his fucking spine’s broken again, at this point.

Fake Superboy laughs, and kisses him again.

#dc-autumnalthings #wip: jaykon soulmates and timkon datemates #dubcon

[abeautylives]

Just Ours, Tonight

a/n: Part 2!! Read Part 1 here, and if you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU thank you thank you for reading ❤️

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: somewhere around 7.5k

summary: He’s your best friend, but that may be about to change.

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, more friendly fluff, allusions to sexual situations, graphic sexual content, oral (f. receiving, I am a slut for cunnilingus, sorry not sorry), unprotected penetrative sex

Outside, unbeknownst to anyone else, Josh had just told Jake the first secret he’d ever been successful in keeping from him. He’d also told him the only secret he’s ever kept from you.

Inside, you’re blissfully ignorant as the casual after-dinner chit chat has turned into a party. Sam and Joy are fighting for control of the music, which has created a pretty interesting playlist, and you’re feeling loose from the bottle of wine you’ve now finished. You've been dancing with Jita in the living room, switching styles to match the vibe of each song, laughing loudly at how ridiculous the mix is. Where’s Josh?

It hits you that the twins have been outside for a long time. Way too long for the smoke they’d apparently left for. You have Jita’s hand in yours, your arm wrapped around her waist, and you spin her away from you just as the current song ends.

“I’m gonna go find our boys, we need to switch up dancing partners!” She waves you off and sits to catch her breath as you move toward the back door.

You catch a glimpse of Jake’s face through a window in the living room. He’s got one of those huge smiles spread across his lips, curled up at the corners, pretty as can be. When you turn the doorknob and step over the threshold into the night air, his smile drops and a matching pair of guilty faces snap to yours.

“Whoa, what am I interrupting boys?” Your tone is playful, you haven’t imagined they’ve gotten up to anything too serious out here. Glancing at the ashtray you see they’ve gone through almost half a pack of Jake’s cigarettes. “What the fuck guys, you couldn’t invite anyone else?”

“You don’t smoke, princess. You’re a fraud, a fake, a phony if you will,” Jake offers up in reply. Josh hasn’t looked away from your face but guilt and… fear? still remain in place on his.

“What have you been doing to him, Jacob? He looks like he’s seen a ghost,” you’re still joking with them though anxiety has settled in your stomach. What have they been talking about?

“Ah, he has seen something my dear, but a specter it is not.”

“Okay Captain Jake Sparrow,” your eyes roll. “Let me guess, it was your dick. A: that’s gross, you’re brothers. B: I’ve heard from your girl that it is scary. And not scary big, scary weird.”

They both laugh out loud at your teasing but the only sound you comprehend is Josh. When he laughs, it’s loud and abrupt and when you look down to him in the chair, he finally looks normal again. The huge smile splitting his face shows all of his teeth and most of his gums and it’s definitely reached his eyes. Your anxiety quells but doesn’t disappear completely.

Jake returns fire, “I can prove to you right now that that is simply untrue, darling.” He’s moving as if he’s gonna drop his shorts right here on the deck.

“Shut up Jake,” Josh finally speaks, fixes his face into an expression resembling amusement, but he hasn’t quite achieved it. The giveaway is his mouth, his smile now looks forced, his eyes slightly narrowed in Jake's direction.

“I’m kidding, Jesus lighten up.”

“You all need to lighten up, come back inside and dance with us before I steal your girlfriend and make her mine, Jakey,” you can’t take the awkward tension out here any longer.

“Oh fuck that,” Jake says as he pushes past you to re-enter the house. You watch through the window as he makes his way through the living room to Jita, grabs both of her hands and hauls her body out of the chair and into his arms, instantly beginning a sort of swing dance with her. They’re both laughing wildly.

Left in silence on the deck, Josh hasn’t moved from his seat in the Adirondack. You step over to stand in front of him, knees bumping his.

“Hey handsome.”

He lifts his eyes to yours, his expression is strange and you have trouble placing it. “Hey princess.”

You hold a hand out to him and he reaches up and grips it tightly.

“I don’t know what’s been going on out here but… are you okay?” Your smile is soft and encouraging, your friend’s discomfort is turning into your own and you’re trying to suppress it for you both.

“Um.. yeah. Yeah I’m good.” He lifts his other hand to rub nervously across the back of his neck. You use the hand holding his to pull him up out of the chair and his body collides with yours, arms going around you, face tucking into your neck. He takes a deep breath there through his nose before mumbling against your t-shirt, “I’m great actually….” His head lifts and he pulls it back to look into your eyes. “Are your tits out? Lemme see.”

There he is.

On a laugh, with a hand slapped to the center of his chest, you giggle out, “You’re sick! But yes they are, dummy. And no you can’t see them. Now come dance with me.”

Taking a hand in yours again, you tug him along with you back into the house and through to the living room where a hip hop song that sounds vaguely familiar is playing, the beat encouraging your body to move, the boys sitting this one out. Joy bounces over to you and you dance with her, bodies pressed together, her ass pushed into your hips, your hands roaming down her ribcage to settle onto hers. All eyes are on the two of you until the song ends.

“Hot. That… was hot, get back over here,” Sam grabs Joy around the waist and pulls her back against his own body as the song transitions into one of his choosing. It bleeds out of the speakers slowly, smooth and jazzy, they sway together with it. You watch Jake pull Jita to him in a similar fashion and her arms wrap around his neck, their noses almost touching.

Turning to Josh, who had planted himself on the couch as soon as you came inside, you again extend a hand to him. “Dance partners?”

“M’not much of a dancer.”

“Bullshit, get up here.” He obeys, grabbing your hand and standing to move in close to you. You don’t give him time to hesitate, pulling him flush against you, arms thrown over his shoulders and cheek resting on one as he wraps his own arms to rest loosely around your lower back. Your chests are pressed together and he can feel the bareness of yours through the thin material of your t-shirt, but he resists tightening his hold on your body. From the outside, the two of you look like you’re sharing an affectionate but friendly hug, it’s not all that intimate and your hips aren’t even touching as you rock slowly from side to side. It’s hardly a dance, but every pair is doing their own version of the same movements. You watch over Josh’s shoulder as the actual couples steal moments alone, though you’re all in the same space. Sam is whispering into Joy’s ear, something that makes her grin and blush a little before hiding her face against his chest. Jake and Jita are completely silent, swaying softly and sharing something with each other that’s being conveyed simply through their eye contact.

Maybe that would be nice.

The thought enters your brain but confusion clouds it just as quickly, you can feel your eyebrows knit together with it. You and Josh are not together, have never even given each other the impression that this is more than it is. Ever. Josh has been pushing for a few weeks now to tell the others that you’ve been sleeping together, but only so you wouldn’t have to be so sneaky about it when you wanna get off. Right?

The song comes to an end and you can feel how your mood has shifted. Lowering your arms from his body, you take half a step back from Josh. He hasn’t released his hold from around your back yet as you meet his eyes. They’re immediately searching yours as he can tell your mood has changed too.

“I think the wine has gotten on top of me, I’m super tired all of a sudden,” you lie. “I think I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed.” He unlinks his arms from around you and watches you deliver a general “goodnight” to the room and then turn to leave it. As the bass of an upbeat tune starts to boom through the living room, he turns to say his own goodnights, that he’s gonna clean up and do the same, but no one’s paying attention.

Except Jake.

It’s not lost on him that his twin is eager to follow you, and he wonders if it’s about sex or love. Probably both. Communicating without words, as they do half the time anyway, Josh catches Jake’s eyes before turning out of the room.

Are you gonna tell her?

Josh offers only a slight shrug of his shoulders before leaving to follow you up the stairs.

You’re only a few steps ahead of him and he picks up the pace, taking two at a time to reach the landing at the top just after you. You’ve heard him following and turn to face him there, going to speak but your words are stopped behind your lips as his crash into yours, a hand already ensnared in the hair at the nape of your neck. The kiss is instantly deep and all-consuming, and you’re ready to melt into it and just make out with him there in the hallway, but he breaks it quickly.

Speaking lowly, words only for your ears though the music downstairs is loud enough to drown out any sounds from up here, he says, “Go take a shower. I’m gonna do the same, then I’ll meet you in your room. I owe you an orgasm and I will be fucking you in a bed tonight.” Even without a light on up here, you can see his devilish grin in the darkness. He doesn’t await a response, simply turns your body and pushes it away from him, toward the opposite end of the hall. You move that direction but glance back at him over your shoulder as he disappears into his own room.

You shower quickly but thoroughly, washing the residue of salt and sunscreen from your skin and letting your conditioner soak in as you scrub. When you’re done you feel like a new woman, having let some of your worry and confusion slip down the drain with the bubbly suds of your body wash. Wrapped in a towel secured around your waist, the top half of your body remains bare as you run a blow dryer over your hair for a minute, knowing you don’t want to climb into bed with it soaking wet. You don’t hear the light knocks at the bathroom door, and jump slightly when it swings open, switching the dryer off and moving an arm to cover your chest.

It’s only Josh. You drop your arm.

“You scared me, you idiot!” You’re doing the same whisper-yelling he had heard from Jake out on the back deck. He’s dressed similarly to how he has been all day, a pretty tiny pair of sleep shorts now slung lowly on his hips, no shirt to be found. He closes the door behind him, though your bathroom is an en-suite.

“They can’t hear you babe, they’re still engaging in the festivities downstairs,” he laughs as he speaks, his eyes locked onto the reflection of your naked breasts in the mirror as if seeing them for the first time. You notice how he looks a little mesmerized and keep your eyes on the reflection of his face as you set the dryer down on the counter. You watch him as he watches closely, bringing your hands to your own body and running your fingertips up from your stomach and over your ribs before cupping a breast in each hand and pushing them up attractively.

“Enjoying the view?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror and he swallows before speaking.

His voice now comes out as a near whisper, “I am… please let me touch you.” He’s already moving towards you, hands reaching.

“Oh I actually insist that you do, don’t you owe me something?” There’s a smirk on your face but he doesn’t see it, he’s directly behind you now, hands on either side of you and fingertips trailing over the skin exposed just above the towel still hanging at your waist, eyes closed and face once again pressed into your hair and breathing it in. His fingers move to the front of the towel where it’s tucked into itself at your navel, and though you’re ready for him to snatch it off of you he hesitates and speaks again.

“Need to see you, it’s been too long.”

“Josh we had sex in the shower outside, you’ve seen me.”

“Not enough… You’re so pretty right here,” he finally tugs the towel open and drops it to your feet, stares directly at your cunt in the mirror, chin now propped on your shoulder. Your gaze drops to it too. His hands connect with your hips before he moves one across the front of your body and slips it down between your thighs, tucking it there and cupping it against you. When he pulls it back, he drags his middle finger against your skin before moving both hands to knock yours away and replace them with his own over your chest. Both sets of hooded eyes follow his movements.

“Pretty here too. Gorgeous everywhere, really.” He shifts to press a kiss into the shoulder he’s been resting on, doesn’t take his eyes off of his hands on you.

“What’s with the flattery Josh? Trying to butter me up for something? Oh my god, I’ve already told you you can’t put it in my ass,” you end on a giggle and he offers you one in return, the sound makes your heart flutter.

His hands are moving again, slowly back down the front of your body before finding their home back on your hips. He uses them to push you forward, closer to the mirror, until the cool surface of the edge of the countertop meets your skin. His own hips are pressed against you, you can feel his dick, already hard and tucked into the cleft of your ass.

“I’m not convinced that I couldn’t persuade you into that, eventually, but no. No ulterior motives. Just want you to know you’re beautiful and that I’ve always appreciated it.”

“Always, huh?”

“Always.”

You turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck, the counter now pushed into the flesh at the top of your butt. He watches in the mirror as it presses into the skin there before meeting your eyes. “You’re pretty too,” you’re whispering again, not in fear of being overheard, but the words feel special and significant as they float off your tongue. He leans in to kiss you, starting at your lips then trailing them back over your jaw. When he reaches the spot hiding just behind your earlobe, he murmurs into your skin.

“Jake knows.”

You’ve heard his words but the significance escapes you. “Jake knows what?” It comes out a little airy, breathless as he continues to work his lips and now his tongue against the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. In between kisses, he answers you.

“He knows we’re sleeping together.”

Your body jerks away from his mouth and your eyes snap to his face, which he hasn’t lifted but he’s looking up at you through his eyelashes, a small guilty smirk on his lips.

“Josh, you told him? I told you I wanted to wait.”

“He sort of figured it out. He didn’t seem that surprised, honestly.”

You can’t really tell how you feel. You’re not… angry. Surprised, maybe. A little sad. This is over.

“Hey… don’t do that. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want them to know yet. He promised he wouldn’t say anything. You know he keeps his promises.” Josh watches your lips, set into a small frown, as you begin to work the bottom one in between your teeth. His hand raises to your face, cups your jaw and he uses his thumb to pull that lip free. He kisses you sweetly, soothing the bruise that threatens to bloom under the mark your teeth have left behind.

“Are you mad?”

“No. No. Not mad. I guess it’s not our secret anymore… maybe we should tell the rest of them.”

“Tomorrow. It can still be just ours, tonight.” He punctuates the sentence with a firmer caress of his lips against yours and you give into it, not wanting to linger on the uncertainty creeping up your spine. Josh can feel how tense you are in his arms though your lips are relaxed and moving against his fluidly, a dance you’ve perfected together over time. Your arms are still around his neck and he reaches up to tap one, signifying that you should hold tighter. When he feels your hand move to grip your opposite forearm, he grabs you at the waist and lifts you to sit on the counter. A hiss is sucked between your teeth as the cool granite hits your skin but he doesn’t break the kiss, instead taking the opening to slide his tongue past your lips and connect it with yours.

You’re lost to it now, thoughts of concern pushed deep down and taken over by thoughts of more, more, more. You haven’t even realized that his hands have found your thighs until they move inward and slide down between your knees to push them further apart. You spread them even wider than his hands have demanded and he hums against your mouth before pulling away to look down at what you’ve presented him with.

“Mm, have I told you how pretty your pussy is today?”

He makes you laugh, like he always does.

“You have, just recently in fact. Tell me more.”

His eyes are still on it, you both watch as he brings a hand back up your thigh toward you and slips his thumb between your folds, through the slick moisture that’s dripping from you, then up to press light circles into your clit. Your eyes close as the subdued pleasure blossoms from your core and moves through you, amplified by his next words.

“It’s perfect, really. Pink and soft, always wet for me” His ministrations against you stay soft but never waver as he continues. “Do you really just always need me that bad?”

His dirty words sound like poetry in your ears. You only nod your head and hum your approval. More.

He seems to know what you want, quite often actually, and he continues. “No matter when I call, you’re wet and waiting for me. Then you let me do whatever I want to your body, so good to me all the time.”

In truth, it’s usually you who calls, but he’s not completely wrong otherwise. You call when you’re horny, empty and needing to be filled with him. And it’s usually you telling him what you want done to your body. But you also call when you miss him, his presence is comforting and his company has always been enjoyable. He might be your favorite person.

His thumb has found its way back to your entrance, your arousal is dripping onto the granite and he gathers it and spreads it around, coating your folds with it before tucking that finger just inside you. A low moan rolls up through your throat and past your lips. More.

“Can I have a taste, princess?”

“Don’t call me that, not right now,” you’re practically panting the words. “Your brother calls me that too, ya know.”

“I could call you something different, something that’s just mine.” I could call you mine.

He pulls his thumb from your cunt and you watch as he brings it to his lips, slipping it into his mouth without hesitation, sucking the taste of you from it.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I like it when you call me that, when we’re alone.”

“Hmm but you’re sweet, like peaches, or honey. I could call you honey.”

You don’t love the way it sounds, despite his voice coating it in sugar and making it even sweeter, but you need him to keep touching you, to taste you like he’d asked to, so you agree.

“Call me whatever you want, just don’t stop.”

“Of course not honey, not gonna stop.”

With that, he drops to his knees between yours and wastes no time getting his mouth on you. No teasing, no build up, his tongue is lapping at you, his lips sucking you into his mouth. The sound is graphic and indecent and driving you wild. Both of your hands find their way to his hair, fingers laced into his curls that are now soft from his shower, keeping him close. Not that he needs assistance, he has no intention of stopping, not until you’re whimpering his name and cumming on his tongue.

Focusing his attention to your clit, he’s already got you pretty close. Alternating between flicks of the tip of his tongue to it, and sucking it past his lips to roll the flat of his tongue against it, you’re already whimpering. He has to fight against your hands to pull his face away just long enough to make a request.

“Let me hear you.. No one else can, tell me how good it is.” You pull his head back to you as you let his name escape your mouth.

“It’s so fucking good Josh, you’re so good. Please don’t stop, I’m almost there.”

He doesn’t change a thing, maintains speed and pressure, he knows exactly how you like it and he’s tailored his talents to suit you. Anything for you. He also knows you’re right there on the precipice, and he’s drawing your pleasure out as you teeter on the edge, selfishly, just so he can hear his name on your gasps and moans. When it comes out on a long drawn out whine, he knows you’re bordering overstimulation. He brings the same hand up that’s already been on and inside your cunt twice today, and taking only a moment to swirl the tips of his first two fingers through the mixture of your slick and his saliva, he plunges them into you.

“Josh,” he sucks your clit back into his mouth, hard. “JOSH!”

There she is.

He doesn’t know what he loves more, the way his name sounds when you’re screaming it or the shape of your body, the way your back arches when you cum. The combination has him straining against the soft fabric of his shorts.

His lips and fingers haven’t left you as you ride out and come down from your orgasm, and once it’s faded away he’s leaving kisses across your pussy, featherlight over your clit, as he eases his fingers from you. Your hands have dropped to your sides, your back leaned up against the mirror. The glass is cool against your hot skin. When he’s standing again, still nestled between your legs, you open your eyes.

His are dark, pupils wide and locked onto yours. His hair is unruly again, disheveled by your hands and it looks good on him. You must be in a similar state.

“You look positively fucked, honey.” The name is growing on you.

“Mm, I’d like to be.” You drop your eyes from his, trail them over the skin of his chest, then his stomach. All of it looks soft, edible, and you know that it is. When your eyes reach his shorts, they widen just slightly. He’s hard, which you’d expected, but there’s a small wet patch in the material right at the tip of his cock. You know he hasn’t cum in his pants but the size of the spot lets you know that he’s been leaking, desperate for you.

Without words, you slip off the counter and take his hand to lead him into your bedroom. Walking ahead of him, you reach the bed first but before you can climb on and turn to him, he’s pushing you gently onto it on your hands and knees. You stay in the position he’s put you in, but look back over your shoulder. His shorts are already pushed to the ground and he’s looking down at his dick in his hand, stroking it slowly with a loose grip. It looks painfully hard, the tip is red and still leaking precum. On an upward stroke he rubs his thumb across it, spreading it over himself. A tiny sound comes from his throat, a whimper.

“Josh…” You’re whispering again. The sounds from downstairs are quieter than before, the music seems to have stopped but a movie may be playing in the living room.

“Need you, babe. Come on.” You wiggle your ass, still on full display for him.

He moves forward, hand still around his cock, and kneels onto the edge of the bed behind you. Silently, he glides himself through your folds, gathering the wetness there before pressing his hips into you just enough to tuck the head of him inside.

“Jesus,” He pulls out of you completely before doing it again, this time sliding into you slowly, watching as he disappears into your cunt.

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding when he’s seated inside you to the hilt, unmoving.

“You can move Josh, fuck me, c’mon.”

“Yeah, yeah… I will.” His emotions are waging a war within his head. He needs to fuck you, he’s actually aching for it, but he wants to love you. Show you how he feels, if he can’t tell you.

Pulling his hips back, he watches himself retreat from your body before slamming back into you. “Yes! Keep going!” He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress and the other wrapped around your hip. He pulls back and thrusts sharply into you again before leaving a kiss to your shoulder, then he uses his hand on your hip and his own body weight to maneuver you off of your hands and onto your elbows, lowering your chest to the bed. You’re sure he’s going to lift himself back up and unleash on you from behind but he doesn’t. He continues to push your body down with his hands and his weight until you’re flat on your stomach, legs spread and straight out behind you. He leaves you again and does lean back long enough to push your legs together and straddle them. He hasn’t done this before and you’re a little disoriented.

“Hey… what are you…?” You let the words trail off as he grips himself and runs the tip of his dick down the crack of your ass before pressing it against the entrance of your pussy with his thumb. Pushing his hips down and forward, he slides into you slowly until he’s pressed firmly against you. Oh.

Leaning forward, he brings his body over yours, propping himself up on just one elbow. He watches his other hand smooth down the soft skin of your back before sliding it up the sheets and grabbing yours. You tangle your fingers together as he places his lips to the skin of your shoulder again and begins rocking his hips against your ass. He’s buried himself so deep inside you that you can feel him nudging your cervix, then dragging just over that one spot with every shallow backstroke. The pressure is building again slowly and it’s clear that he’s in no hurry to get you there. Your cheek is pressed to the mattress, both arms bent at your sides, one hand gripping the sheets and the other joined with his.

“J-Josh,” It comes out quietly, almost muffled by the bedsheets. It hasn’t ever felt quite like this before.

“Yeah honey..” His voice sounds strained.

“Harder.” Just a little bit.

He doesn’t respond with words but with compliance, pumping into you with just barely deeper strokes. You bend your knees, lifting your feet and crossing your ankles and they’re bouncing lightly against his ass as he moves inside you. With the leverage of your knees against the bed you arch your back, your hips lifting to meet his strokes. The sound of his hips colliding with the plushness of your backside fills the room.

“Oh god just like that,” the slight change in angle is delicious.

Voice still tight, he asks how it feels. Kisses your skin again and leaves his lips against you. He’s all around you, pushing you into the mattress and you can barely move aside from where your bodies connect. It feels amazing, but something feels different. His behavior seems off, he’s quiet.

“It’s s-so good,” a sharper thrust punches the words from your lungs on a soft moan. “Talk to me, please…”

He grunts once, twice as he pumps into you just a little harder before speaking.

“You feel like heaven, so fucking tight around me like this. Can you feel how deep it is?”

You nod your head wildly against the mattress, “Yes, fuck it’s so deep, you’re so good.. keep going.”

“M’not gonna stop, never wanna leave you ever. Could live here forever…” His voice trails off as he imagines it, his cock twitching. Suddenly he’s shifting, lifting off of your body.

“Josh?”

He pulls out of you slowly, watches himself do it, before he’s flipping you over. You assist him, propping yourself up and rolling to your back. He pushes your knees up, almost to your chest and he’s back inside you immediately with a deep thrust.

“Shit!” He’s pumping into you with more force now, eyebrows knit together but a small smile on his lips and he looks down at you.

“Cum again for me, touch yourself. I wanna watch.”

You’re smiling back up at him, hands wrapped around his wrists where his are still holding your knees. You let your eyes move down his body for a moment, there’s a sheen of sweat glistening over his chest, the muscles of his stomach are flexing as he moves, the V of muscles that lead to his dick are taut and prominent right now. This is what you’re used to, your fun and ridiculous best friend who’s also dirty and sexy and worships your body behind closed doors.

One hand drops it’s hold on his wrist and you raise it to his face, his lips already parted and waiting. Pushing two fingers past them, they land on his tongue and he swirls it around them quickly. He’s close to his own release and needs to feel yours around him before he lets go. When your fingers leave his mouth, so does, “Touch your pretty clit for me, babe. Cum with me, I’m almost there.”

Your fingers are on it before he finishes the sentence, rubbing swift circles into the sensitive flesh. A low whine slides up and out of your throat, past your lips and into the air between you.

“That’s right.. Feels. So. Good. Doesn’t it?” His words huff out of him as his hips meet the backs of your thighs, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.

“So good- fuck Josh, I’m there I’m gonna cum, cum with me please!”

He opens his mouth to ask, but you’re already answering. “Inside, wanna feel it inside.”

You almost always say that, but he loves it every time.

He feels your cunt squeezing him, tighter, tighter, he watches in what feels like slow motion as it hits you and your back arches off the bed, head thrown back. When you scream his name this time, it sounds muffled in his ears, his head is buzzing with the curses that follow it. His hips stutter and he cums, still fucking into you, pushing it deep. He drops his chin to his chest, eyes closed as he slows to a stop and you both drift down from the high. When he opens them your body is relaxed again, limp on the mattress and he lets your legs fall around him.

He stays inside you, softening but not ready to leave. Your arms are weak but they lift and reach for him, he leans into them easily, settling his weight over you again.

After a quick kiss to your lips he tucks his head into your neck and kisses you there too. Both of you are breathing heavily still, the sound of it is all you can hear and you realize it’s gone quiet downstairs. Shit, they definitely heard that.

You lay in silence for a few moments, arms around his back, fingertips tracing circles and swirling down his spine until he speaks quietly into the hollow where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Jake knows everything.”

Okay?

“I know, you already told me.”

He shakes his head against you. “He knows more than you do, he knows everything.”

You push yourself up to your elbows and he moves with you, propping himself up to look at your face. “You’re not making sense. What are you talking about?”

His eyes scan your face, take in what he can see of your fresh freckles in the dark, lit by the moonlight coming in from the window. He can make out the small scar on your forehead that you’ve had since you were three. There’s a tiny, almost invisible hole in the side of your nostril from where you’d worn a hoop that you had when the two of you met, but you’d soon decided the look wasn’t for you. He had liked it though. He meets your eyes again.

“I told him the truth. The whole truth.”

“And nothing but the truth?” You chuckle, the seriousness in his tone is making you nervous.

“I told him that I’m in love with you.”

You freeze with the shock of it for a moment, his eyes haven’t left yours and he watched as they’d opened wide, as your jaw dropped just slightly. You realize you’re just staring at each other and he’d just said… There’s no way.

Scrambling, you sit up further and push him away from you, out of you. He moves to sit back and tucks one leg up and underneath himself, the other flat on the bed. He looks so casual but you can feel yourself on the verge of freaking out. Before you can move too far away, he reaches out and grabs one of your hands.

“Please don’t run away. Not yet…”

He’s pleading with you, but there's no fear in his voice. The relief of saying it out loud for a second time has him feeling weightless, free, and he trusts that you’ll hear him out. You’re his best friend.

His hold on your hand is tight, and he tugs it lightly asking you again to stay. You settle onto the mattress, legs folded beneath you and you wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t right away, you whisper, “Josh what are you talking about?”

Before he answers he reaches his other hand out to grab your free one, now holding both of yours in his. He rubs soft circles into the backs of yours with his thumbs and watches the movement for a second before looking back into your eyes. The eye contact is intense and you almost look away but he squeezes your hands lightly.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have though, you’re honestly my best friend.” He pauses, in case you have anything to say but you remain silent so he continues. “But things… changed, for me.”

“When?” You say it without thinking, but you figure it has to be recent. Maybe that’s why he’s been pushing you to tell the others, because he’s been feeling something more. He doesn’t answer you, just smiles softly and shakes his head.

“When.” You repeat yourself, but it’s more of a demand than a question.

“The party we threw, at my parents’ house…” he starts, but it tells you nothing. You’ve known each other since you were nineteen, you’d thrown countless parties, celebrations of birthdays and after parties when they’d wrapped up a bar gig, parties for no reason just because their parents were gone. When the band started to gain traction and they started traveling, there was a party every time they came home. You’re still flipping through the events in your mind, trying to pinpoint a moment you may have missed.

“Our birthday,” he says in reference to his shared birthday with Jake, and you think he’s probably referring to three months ago. It would make sense. You’d already been sneaking around awhile, stealing kisses around corners and fucking almost every time you found yourselves alone.

“You pulled me aside to give me my present. I don’t know if you were embarrassed or you thought I would be embarrassed that you were giving me jewelry,” he laughs but your throat is tight. “But it was my favorite thing that I got that year. Because it was from you.” It was a necklace, just a pendant on a simple chain but it had reminded you of him when you saw it.

“Josh.. that was thr-“

“Three years ago,” he interrupts and drops his face to look back down at your joined hands. “Three years, three months, and four days ago.”

“You’re not serious.” You’re struck with disbelief but you know he wouldn’t lie to you, he never has in the past. But he has been hiding things from you.

“I have probably not ever been more serious, honey.” The name feels like what it is, sticky and overly sweet. You can taste it on your tongue and feel it creep down your throat and coat the inside of your stomach. It covers the wings of the nervous butterflies that have been fluttering there, calming them. He lifts his gaze back to yours, whispers, “Say something.”

“I- just… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well… I mean, we’d known you for less than a year at that point. But you were always around, hanging out with us. I loved knowing you, you were already one of my closest friends. I liked you better than Jake.” You both laugh, it’s always been easy.

“I didn’t want to ruin it. And believe me, when I made a joke about fucking a rockstar, even what, two and a half years later, it was still in my head that you’d run screaming from the house and never come back.” He’s smiling, remembering how you’d laughed when he said it but he’d watched you turn it over in your mind, consider the possibilities.

“I still can’t believe you went upstairs with me that night. I was fucking nervous, felt like my first time all over again.”

“It didn’t seem like it,” you chime in. “I was impressed. Why do you think I kept coming back for more?”

“Yeah I couldn't believe that shit either, trust me. Things stayed the same after that first time, and I was so fucking relieved. After the second time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get enough of you. That’s why I called you and asked you to come over… the third time. And, well, here we are.” He gestures to the room with his hands.

“Here we are…” You’re not sure what to say, or where you go from here. You’d literally just accepted the idea of revealing that you’d been having sex with him.

“Y/N… I love you. I have loved you, for a long time. If you tell me now that this is done, then it’s done. If you tell me this is just sex, fine. I’ll do whatever you want. Just promise me you won’t leave us.” Now he does sound worried, but the thought of leaving them behind hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You think for a moment before your next words. “Ya know, when we were dancing earlier? I was watching them. Sam and Joy, Jake and Jita. And I thought to myself, that could be me right now. We could have that. I don’t even know where the thought came from, I hadn’t considered it before.”

His expression drops a little, sadness clouding his features at your admission that you hadn’t even thought of him that way.

“Don’t do that, please. Let me finish.”

“I always let you finish. Unless you force me not to.” He raises his eyebrows in reprimand, referring to the shower stall, but then he’s smiling again.

“When you’re right, you’re absolutely right. Josh, I hadn’t consciously considered it before… but I think I had wanted it. Deep down, with you. I love being with you, I always have.”

“But you’re not in love with me.”

“No, you can’t do that to me, that’s not fair. I can’t change the way things have happened, the way I felt.”

He doesn’t offer a reply, because you’re right. Maybe if he’d had the balls to tell you sooner, even before you started hooking up, this would be different. He’d been hoping that if everyone knew what you’d been doing, if he could show you how he cared for you in the open, you’d start to feel the same for him.

“But we’re here now. You’ve just told your best friend you’re in love with her, and she didn’t flee into the night. I’m here. How do you feel?”

His hands haven’t left yours this entire time, but he releases them now to bring his up to your face. Cupping either side of it, running his thumbs across your cheekbones, you’re both moving in slowly, matching smiles stretching across your lips. Before they meet, he tells you, “I feel really fucking good about this.”

Me too.

You laid in bed together, ending the conversation there for now and just kissing and giggling about nothing for a long while until Josh asked if you wanted to go out on the deck and “fuck under the stars again”. The rest of the group had long since gone quiet, you assume they’d gone to sleep, so you agreed.

He slept with you in your bed afterwards.

The sun beating through your window wakes you up in the morning, and the first thing you sense is Josh still wrapped around you, an arm around your waist and one leg tangled with yours. He’s already awake and he presses a kiss to the top of your shoulder as you turn your head to face him.

“Mm, morning handsome.”

“Good morning babe.” His voice isn’t laced with sleep, he’s been awake for some time.

“Not ‘honey’? I was starting to like it.”

“Oh yeah? I will definitely keep that in mind… Should we get up? Greet the day and all that?”

You groan, “Ugh, five more minutes.”

“Whatever you want, princess. We should tell them today… like, sooner rather than later…” He wants them to know that you’re, whatever you are. He wants what they have, the freedom to touch and kiss you whenever he wants.

“We will, I promise. I want it too.”

When your five more minutes have turned into ten, you drag yourselves from the bed and get ready to head downstairs. Together.

At the top of the stairs you can hear voices and smell food cooking, and you’re not sure why you’re nervous.

Josh grabs your hand and squeezes it. “They’re not gonna care Y/N, it’s fine. Plus, Jake already knows and who gives a fuck about what Sam thinks?” Your favorite thing about him is the way he never fails to make you laugh. He takes the steps ahead of you and doesn’t let go of your hand. When you turn the corner into the kitchen, all heads turn in your direction.

Except Jake’s.

He’s standing at the stove cooking scrambled eggs, and he’s been expecting this. Waiting for it actually.

Sam is the first to speak. “What the fuck is this?!” You’ve known him since he was barely sixteen, and he hasn’t changed all that much.

Josh turns his head to look at you, letting you know with his eyes that he’ll say it, if it makes it easier for you.

“And good morning to you too Samuel. Um, just to get this over with and clear the air, Y/N and I-“

“Josh and I have been fucking each other. For a while,” you blurt out. Everyone’s eyes go wide. Josh just laughs, he laughs until tears are rolling down his cheeks while you stand there embarrassed and mortified at your delivery. The rest of them join in and Jake just keeps cooking and plating eggs, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles to himself.

When Josh catches his breath and wipes his tears, he grabs you by both sides of your face and places a smacking kiss to your lips, shaking you out of your stupor.

“I was going to say that we’ve been sleeping together and have decided to make things official, sort of.” Jake turns around at that, looking over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised, huge smile on his face. “I’m also hopelessly in love with her and would like her to return those affections at some point, so I need the rest of you to behave and not scare her away.”

Plating the last of the eggs, Jake sets his spatula down and leaves the stove. He comes around the island to stand in front of you and Josh, then pulls you both into his arms. With his face between yours in this group hug, he says quietly enough for only the two of you to hear, “I’m happy for you, I love you guys.”

He pulls back and announces to the room, “But I will never behave. Fuck that. Who wants a Bloody Mary?”

Part 3

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