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#used a cleaner brush for this one
motherdanger · 15 days
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pov: theyre grateful to be alive and are about to pull a reverse uno card
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painfully-unoriginal · 8 months
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more chibi example drawings for kofi :^)
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sneakobee · 1 year
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Rooftop of stars 💫
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b4kuch1n · 1 year
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so sorry if this is an annoying question, but what brush do you use for lineart? the soft, crunchiness of it compliments your style so so much...
it's not annoying at all! I do fully recognise that the specific brushes I use to draw contribute hugely to my process, least of all because they have a certain kinetic "feeling" to roll out onto the canvas lol. this is the brush I currently use to ink!
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it's a lot less 'textured' and much softer than my previous inking brush, but just as hard to magic wand when I need to color in lol. the SAI textures and brushmaps I have on this setup can be found over here - the person who originally made them was on deviantArt but has deleted their account a long time ago, and I still haven't been able to find them again 😔
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sandwichhour · 2 years
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Artfight attack for @smarmimo !!
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nonbinaryaubrey · 1 year
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The face! And the way the lines for the drawing looks, I love how you do the expressions of the characters and even though the lining isn't entirely done neatly, it's still so nice to look at and I really like how it's done!
oh thank you :D!! hehe ^_^
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baby-prophet · 4 months
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what a beautiful bouquet
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searchingformylostpan · 6 months
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This is what 5 years(probably more considering when I went to see my house for the first time landlord couldn't figure out his carpet cleaner so pretty sure he just didnt 😳) and a month of puppy nastyness looks like after a day of carpet cleaning... 🤢
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greenstudies · 1 year
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Random pieces of advice
The world is less scary and chaotic if you lie down on the floor
Noticing different kinds of light (stars, candles, sunshine or city lights) can bring back the feeling of wonder and hope
If you can't shower, washing your hands and face will help you feel better and cleaner
If you can't clean anything else, changing and/or washing your bedsheets can do wonders
Fresh air and being outside in general can help with depersonalisation
Spending time around animals can help you recognise what's important and calm anxious thought cycles
Techniques for emotional regulation in children can really help adults too
Putting random asortment of food on a plate without creating an actual dish still counts as a meal
Drink something warm
Delete that app
Treat yourself as if you were a kid. Buy yourself a toy, play around, learn about cool new things
Fast paced life isn't morally better and it's not good for everyone
There is no good reason to keep yourself hungry
Singing to your full lung capacity can be a great way to let out built up emotion
Tension in the face can cause headaches. Try to massage your face regularly
Nothing is as important as your health
You are a whole person on your own, you don't need someone else to be there to deserve love and attention. Your life can be full as long as you are present
You should cry things out whenever you feel like it
Slow walks are still movement and they do count
It's never as bad as you imagine it
Try changing your toothpaste flavor if you hate brushing your teeth
Anything can be a stim toy - one of my favourites is a heavy dragon necklace that has a complicated surfice. It's fun to touch and hold and it's not even "actual" stim toy
Procrastinating and feeling bad about it is true waste of time. Learn to truly rest. It takes the same amount of time but it is useful
Sometimes you have to force yourself to do the things that make you feel better
Don't trust the thoughts you have after not sleeping for a while
Friendships don't have to be forever to mean something
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reiderwriter · 14 days
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Hi Kacie!! Now that your requests are open... Could I request a smutty fic where Spencer finds out reader has a not-so-common sensitive spot (like her legs, hair, arms, whatever body part you want). Maybe he finds out kinda in a public setting after she gets all flustered and wants to keep pushing to test his theory?? You can take as much inspo from this as you want<3
(If this emoji's not taken)-💃 anon
A/N: Hello! Sorry for going MIA for a while there. It was the beginning of a new school year here in SK, so I've been really busy! I've been chipping away at this one little by little, and it's finally done! I hope you enjoy it ♡
Warnings; Smut, 18+ Minors DNI, case details, misogyny from a bartender in the opening scene, Semi-public sexual experimentation, edging, PinV sex, use of pet names (good girl), slight degradation, cum play, etc.
Masterlist
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The back of the bar was dimly lit as you walked through it, keeping pace with your teammate as you kept one eye on the shady inhabitants of the bar. 
You'd been sent - with Spencer of all people - to ask the local dive bar staff about suspicious regulars. A fact that didn't exactly take into account his general lack of intimidating looks and your status as the newest member of the team. 
A trial by fire if you'd ever seen one. 
You tried your best not to stick out like a sore thumb, but the people in these parts could spot a Fed from a mile away. And though Spencer was remarkably pipe-cleaner-like, they'd certainly recognised enough FBI in him to clam up upon your entrance. 
“We got some visitors, I see. What can I be getting you, little lady?” The barman greeted you as you reached the first stool at the counter, a patronizing smile on his moustache clad lips. 
“If it's okay, we'd like to ask you some questions. I'm Agent Y/N with the FBI. This is my partner, Doctor Spencer Reid.”
“You're a Fed? Now, why would you bother doing all that hard work when you could be warming my bed, girl. It's definitely more honest and satisfying work.” 
The way the man leered at you over the counter has you freezing momentarily. Your instincts were saying fight, but you held your tongue just long enough to not ruin any rapport your team could build with locals. 
“I'm flattered, but already spoken for I'm afraid. Have you seen any suspicious men in here in the last six months, one that would pass through only semi-regularly, maybe with a few female companions, though never the same.” 
Professionalism at the cost of your peace of mind was going to be a hard learn for you as you grit your teeth and swallowed the bile in your throat. 
He just continued to leer at you as he dried up beer glasses. 
“You're looking for a man who likes cheap whores? Maybe you are in the market for a career change after all.” 
That was about all you could take, and luckily, Spencer Reid was well aware. 
Quickly grabbing you by the wrist, he pulled you behind him defensively and leaned over the bar, his voice low and somewhat chilling. 
“Disrespect my partner like that again, and I'll have you charged with aiding and abetting a murderer who has kidnapped and ended the lives of three local girls. Local girls whose fathers you're more than likely acquainted with, who absolutely have multiple acres of property and just enough bullets to put you in the ground.” 
The blood rushed to your ears at his voice, but the light grip of your wrist held you in place indefinitely. 
All the fight left your body, as you found yourself coming dangerously close to melting into Spencer in relief. 
He forced the man to answer some more basic questions, but it wasn't as if you could hear them. He stroked a quick thumb back and forth across your wrist as all the thoughts fled your head, and the words fell asleep on your tongue, resting there until he released you from his grip. 
You'd known that the area was slightly sensitive for a while, having accidentally brushed up against things and felt serious chills shoot up your spine. What you hadn't known was that it was that kind of sensitivity. 
Though, in all honesty, you hadn't exactly known that you could feel that kind of excitement for Spencer either. You just hoped he wouldn't notice. That much. 
Having finished his line of questioning and reiterating his threat, he moved his hand from your wrist to the small of your back and adeptly guided you from the restaurant and out of the line of vision of every pair of eyes in the place. 
“Are you okay?” He asked when he finally got you to the car, voice still quiet and low, and slightly too close to let you fully relax. 
“Peachy. He talked to you at least.” You turned away from him and began opening the passenger side door. 
“Nothing new or useful, though. Your bpm is high,” he joined you in the car, putting on his seat belt while you completely let go of yours, letting it zip back into itself.
“My… my what?” 
“Your bpm is high. Your heart was beating so fast,” he said, reaching over you to help you reclip it. “Were you nervous, Y/n? Or just sensitive?”
“Your mouth is entirely too close to mine to be asking that question,” you breathed out, cursing your eyes from stealing a glance at his lips. 
Only five minutes into this sudden attraction to Spencer Reid, and you were already mortified and extremely horny. In equal measures. 
“What would be the appropriate distance to ask that, then?” 
“I hear Australia is lovely this time of year.” 
He chuckled softly at you as he finished adjusting your seat and then moved far enough away to let the ground swallow you in peace. 
Never one to leave well enough alone, it seemed that Spencer took it upon himself to experiment with you for weeks on end after that. 
He'd constantly ask you to pass him papers, pens, anything that'd allow him to run a finger across the inside of your wrist. On more than one occasion you'd caught him staring into your eyes as he did it, and it took a nearly embarrassing amount of time to realise he was checking how dilated your pupils were before and after. 
When he'd gathered enough data for that line of questioning, he moved on to bigger things. 
You knew you were in danger of seriously falling head over ads when he offered to walk you to your motel door in a seedier case location. 
You, an FBI agent with a real-life gun and badge and job at Quantico, and you were jumping at the chance to have a man walk you to your room. You'd have been embarrassed if you weren't burning with anticipation. 
You hoped that like every other man in history, he was gently trying to insinuate himself into your bedroom, and by extension, your bed and more intimate places. 
So you were more than slightly disappointed when he started wishing you a good night. All of the aforementioned disappointment fled your body, though, when he picked up your hand and dropped a kiss to the inside of your left wrist, repeating the action on the right before wordlessly retreating. 
You stared at his back as he walked purposefully down the corridor and into his own room, leaving you to pick up your jaw and retreat to your room to lick your wounds. 
You wished it was him picking you up instead and found your brain imagining just that as your fingers dropped between your thighs that night. 
It became a case tradition for him to tease you like this, kissing your wrist after innocently walking you back to your hotel room. The others thought it chivalrous, almost cute and childlike, a form of courting that graced the good old days. They didn't know he grabbed you by the waist and held you against his hard-on every time you rode an elevator together. They didn't know his tongue darted out a few times to lick your wrist on occasion. They didn't know how you once mentally begged him to bite you there and how you shuddered as he ran his teeth along the vein there. 
Spencer was coming to the crux of his research regarding how far he could push you before you cracked. Only now, it was how far he could get without pushing you against a wall and jumping your bones. 
You knew you were in danger when he offered to escort you home after a case. 
“To walk you to your door, you know? Like always,” he smiled at you, the picture of innocence as you became damp between your thighs. 
“Sure. Yeah, okay, I'll get my keys, let's go.” 
You weren't sure how no one else noticed that Spencer didn't have a car to drive himself home after taking you to yours. You were unsure if they'd connect the dots between him escorting you home and his own apartment being 45 minutes in the opposite direction. 
Luckily for you, you could keep your hands at 2 and 10 the entire journey, away from his grasp. If he'd have touched you right then, you're sure you'd have driven both of you right off the road into a ditch. 
Or a pedestrian. 
The drive was calm, but pulling up forced your heart to your throat and kept it suspended there, almost like it was frozen at gunpoint, a deer in the headlights. 
“We're here.” 
“Great. Let me walk you in.” 
In. You swallowed hard, wishing very much for him to be inside of your apartment. 
“Okay.” 
Stepping into the elevator a few minutes later, he waited mere seconds after the doors began closing to pull you into his personal space. He was hard, he was so hard once again and his cock was now straining against your ass.
“Spencer, we need to talk about t-that,” he stroked your wrist as his hand splayed across your stomach, holding you firmly against him. 
“About what, Y/N?” 
He pulled your arm up almost as if inspecting the wrist for imperfections, and your head melted back into his chest. Why was this elevator so goddamn slow? 
You sprung out quickly when the doors pinged open finally and moved straight towards your door without a glance back, but you felt him close behind you. 
“Y/N, wait for me, wait, I'm sorry,” he called out quietly as you forced your keys into the lock as fast as possible. 
“Y/N, I'm sorry if I stepped over the line, I didn't mean too, please look at me-” 
You got the door open and turned back around to grab a firm hold of his tie and yank him into the apartment behind you. 
“Months. Spencer, you have been edging me for months, and I am sick of it.” You half growled at him, slamming the door behind him and then pushing him up against it. 
“I can feel how hard you are right now. Obviously you want to fuck me, so why aren't you?” 
His face went from shocked to intrigued, then shot straight for mischievous as he cracked a smile, and you felt his hands wrap around your wrists slowly. 
Before you could react, he had your positions swapped, your arms above your head pinned at the wrists and his breath hitting your neck as he answered. 
“I wanted to see how long it would take you to break.” 
Your lips leapt to his, hitting him angrily as you searched for more pleasure in his touch, one leg pushing up to wrap around his waist as his hips settled between yours. 
He met you at your level, giving just as good as he got.   
“Call it scientific curiosity,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck, but hips pinning you in closer to the wall, keeping you trapped there. He made his way along your shoulders and then pressed light teasing kisses up your arms while rutting his hips into you, dry humping you against the wall as your eyes glazed over in lust. 
“You react when I touch you, you heat up. But it gets worse if I touch you here, right Y/N?” His lips again found your wrist, but this time his teeth grazed across the veins he found there. 
“You get so horny now when I look at you. I can grab your wrist and make you beg for my cock, isn't that right?” His mouth was back by your ear as your legs went limp under you. He still had you caged against your own door, and you had no idea what to say to that. 
Part of you wanted to protest purely because of the rough tone of voice he was using. The other wanted to flood to the floor and tell him yes, beg him to just fuck you and be done with this pure torture. 
“I asked you a question, Y/N. Isn't that right?” 
“Yes, yes, Spencer fuck, I don't care anymore, yes. You can touch me and I'll react to you, please help me.”
“Good girl.” 
He pulled away instantly, but his hands wrapped firmly still around your wrists. Slowly, he pulled you towards him as he slowly walked backwards further into your apartment. You thought for a second about just throwing yourself back into his arms, to close the space he'd created again between the two of you. 
You tried it, lifted your head slightly, begging his lips to return there, but he held firm. Each step was an agony of need, and you fought to hold your tongue, begging yourself not to beg him so pathetically. 
“Such a good girl, I'm holding you by the wrist, and you won't even protest about how slow I'm being.” 
Your mouth fell open as you registered his words. 
“You're being an ass.” 
“What was that? You want me to touch your ass?”
“Spencer!”
“Don't worry, we'll get to that.”
His back finally made contact with your bedroom door, and you stumbled forward into his chest as he kept his grip even still. 
“You're going to listen, right? You're going to listen to me and do what I ask you to do, aren't you?”
You wavered again. He'd been teasing you, but now he was serious, his tone light and his voice soft, but you could feel the strength in his grip. You could feel his arousal at your hip. 
“Yes, Spencer.”
“Good. Get on your knees on the bed. No clothes.”
He released your hands and opened the door for you as you tried your best to walk forward calmly. 
By the time you reached the bed, you'd removed most of your clothes, but you hesitated at the underwear as he watched from behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder saw him palming his cock through his pants, still leaning against the door he'd opened for you. 
He was getting off watching you, and you were frozen in arousal. 
“No clothes, Y/N.” 
“I know.”
“Underwear is clothing.” 
“I know that, too, Spencer.”
“Then take it off.” 
You shot a quick glare over your shoulder as you unclaimed your bra behind your back and threw it to the floor. 
“On my knees, right?” You said, climbing on the bed still clad in your panties. 
“I also said no clothes.” 
“If you're so invested in my state of dress, how about you come and help me rectify it.”
His lips twitched in small annoyance, but he followed the trail of clothes you'd left, ridding himself of his tie, shirt, jacket, and pants along the way. 
He climbed on the bed slowly behind you, not opposite as you'd presumed he would. His hands reached out to touch your back before slowly sliding all the way up to your neck and pushing your upper body down into the sheets. 
You let out a little squeak in shock, but let his hands guide you, feeling especially pliant when he grabbed your hands and crossed them behind your back. 
“Maybe the panties can stay. I'll just decorate them afterwards,” he said, and with that, he pulled your hips up with his free hand  guiding you into the position he wanted you in, and pushed two fingers into you. 
“Fuck, Spencer-” your brain short circuited as he pumped the digits slowly in and out of you, setting an agonizing pace but holding you so tight that.you couldn't even press your cunt back into his fingers. 
“What? What is it, Y/N? Tell me how you feel?” 
“Feel good, so good Spencer, p-please more.” 
He shifted slowly behind you, pulling his fingers out almost completely before pushing them back in, this time with another finger added. He didn't quicken his pace as you assumed he would, but he took his time stretching you out further as you moaned and whined underneath him. 
“More. You wanted more,” he reminded you, and his voice was like a sharp hit straight to your cunt, rough and hot and filling you completely. 
You barely registered the orgasm that flowed over you, your brain replaying his words on a loop as he continued pleasuring you. 
“That's it. That's a good girl. Get my fingers nice and wet.” 
When you finally grounded yourself in the moment again, your cheeks flushed as you realized just how wet you'd gotten. You felt your arousal still dripping down your leg and turned your face further into the sheets to hide your embarrassment. 
He pulled his fingers out of you, though, and with his now free hand he crouched over you and hooked his fingers under your jaw lifting your head and body up, forcing your crotch back into his as your back arched. 
“Don't hide from this. Look how wet you are for me, Y/N. Taste it.” He tapped his fingers against your mouth and you were ashamed at how fast your lips dropped open, tongue falling out to let him wipe his cum stained fingers against your pretty little lips. 
You tasted yourself on his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and sucking as he dragged his dick across your back, trying to relieve himself in any way he could. 
“Good girl. It's time for one more, Y/N.” 
You released his fingers with a wet pop as he pushed you back into the sheets. Lining himself up, he entered you easily, your cum providing ample lubricant. 
You whined at his first few pumps, certain he was going to continue his torturous pace and leave you begging for more hours into the night. 
Instead, he let himself work you up to it, each thrust gaining in speed and strength until you could hear the slap of your skin against his more vividly than your own heartbeat. 
His cock was thick, filling you perfectly as you lost yourself in the sensations. 
“One day, I'll handcuff you to this bed,” he said, leaning down and whispering in your ear as each part of your body vibrated with lust. 
“I'll tie you down to this bed, and I'll treat you like a princess. I'll eat your cunt for hours until you cum every time my breath hits your cunt, and I'll cover your pretty tits in my seed. I'll let you use my cock as your personal sex toy, and I'll fulfill every single need you have.” 
His hand released your wrists as both of his hands came to wrap around your waist, pushing you deeper into the plush covers and changing the angle of his dick. 
You screamed at the pleasure, forgetting the paper thin walls your apartment boasted. 
“Fuck, Spencer.” 
“And you're going to love every single second because your brain switches off every time I touch your delicate little wrists.”
With that, another wave of pleasure spread through your body, sending prolonged shivers throughout your body. 
You felt him withdraw and heard the sticky mess of him stroking himself behind you until he made good on his promise and sprayed his generous load across your ass and panties before collapsing on the bed next to you. 
The two of you laid there for what felt like hours, sharing nothing but your labored breaths and the space of the bed before he finally rose. 
You tried not to sleep, but your entire body felt stiff from the awkward, if enjoyable, position he'd held you in. 
Your eyes drifted shut, and you just listened to his movements. A creaking floorboard here, a stumble against some furniture there, culminating in some running water and a return to your space. 
“Y/N,” he whispered, cautious to rise you from what he assumed was much needed sleep. 
“Mmmm,” was all you could reply.
“I realize now that I made a pretty big mess, so we need to get you in the bath.” 
“Mmm,” you protested, brows furrowing as you tried to gather your sheets closer around you, cradling yourself in the warmth. 
But doing so only made you more aware of the sticky wet mess around your torso and legs, and you let out a small, frustrated sigh. 
“You're stubborn, you know that, right?” He said, admiration coating his tongue as he lifted you slowly and helped you place your feet on the floor and walk towards your bathroom. 
“Spencer, shouldn't have a bath, too sleepy.” 
“I know, I'm going to stay.”
“In the bath?” 
“In the bath.” 
“Good.”
And it was. You let him lift your legs one by one into the scorching water and melted back into him, your head resting on his shoulder as if it were the most comfortable pillow you'd ever used, and you slept. 
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A quick reminder for those observing Wash Your Water Bottle Wednesday: if your water bottle has a straw or a spout, give it some extra attention! Get in there and scrub the crap out! Use a little straw-cleaning brush if you've got one--you can generally find them at the grocery store--but even a craft pipe cleaner or just a little stick can help! The critters that might be living on the hard plastic walls of your water bottle are nothing compared to the nightmare monsters being incubated in the warm embrace of a silicone mouthpiece.
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pullhisteeth · 11 months
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classified | eddie munson x reader
summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]
contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).
author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!
-
Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.
It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.
So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins. 
Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).
He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.
He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:
WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.
He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.
Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.
The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.
"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.
"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."
-
The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.
Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.
And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.
And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.
By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.
"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.
From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.
His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.
Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.
Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.
The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all. 
When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.
"Hello?"
He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.
"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"
"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.
"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."
"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.
"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"
"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"
"I'm twenty-three."
You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.
"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."
He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.
"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."
He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.
"Uh, thanks," you say.
Shit.
"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.
You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.
"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"
"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"
"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.
He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.
"Y'still there?"
"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.
"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."
You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.
After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"
"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"
He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.
"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."
You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.
You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.
"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."
"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."
Can't argue with that logic.
"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?
"How do you want to do this?"
"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"
"What?"
"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."
"Hah, okay. 1965."
"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"
"Shit, yeah, one sec."
His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.
"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.
"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.
"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."
"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.
"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"
"Eddie. Munson."
"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.
That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.
It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.
There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.
What if you're great?
He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.
He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.
He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.
One hour.
-
He's early.
It's ten to six, and he's early.
The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?
Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.
Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.
"Eddie?"
He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.
You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.
You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.
As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.
You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.
"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.
"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"
He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.
"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."
"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.
"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."
You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.
"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.
He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.
"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.
"What?"
"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"
With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.
"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."
"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."
"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.
"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."
Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.
"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"
"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."
"Oh."
You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.
You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.
Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.
He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.
You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.
"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.
"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."
"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"
"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."
He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"
You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.
"Okay."
"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."
"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"
"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."
"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."
"Okay," you sigh.
"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."
"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.
"So did you grow up here?"
Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.
"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."
"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.
"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."
"And you got the job?"
"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."
"How's that going?"
"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."
He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."
He looks up at you. "Do your worst."
"Did you grow up here?"
"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."
"Why'd you move here?"
"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.
"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."
"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"
"Kind of, but that's also complicated."
"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"
"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?
You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.
"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.
You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.
"Yeah, sorry."
"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"
"We haven't even-"
"Will you?" he presses.
"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
"Mm-hmm."
"Why are you so far away right now?"
He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.
It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.
"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."
He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.
You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.
There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.
"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"
All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.
He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.
"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.
"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."
When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"
You look up at him and nod again.
"I need to hear it, sweets."
You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.
His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.
"Eddie?"
His hand stills and he looks at you.
"Yeah?"
When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.
"I've never been this close to anyone before."
He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.
"That's okay."
There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.
"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"
You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.
It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.
"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"
You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.
"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.
"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.
The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.
When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.
"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.
"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.
"Sure you're okay?" he asks.
"Yeah, yeah, I just-"
"Yeah, take a second."
"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."
You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.
"You alright?"
You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.
"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.
"What do you mean?"
You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"
He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.
"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.
"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.
"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."
"How so?"
He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."
"Okay."
"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"
For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.
"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.
"What does that mean?"
"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."
Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.
"What the fuck, dude?" 
You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.
"I didn't-"
"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."
"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."
"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.
You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.
He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.
"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"
You scoff, turning away from him.
"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."
"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."
"Yeah, that. Not this."
"This is part of that."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.
"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"
His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.
He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.
"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."
"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.
"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."
"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."
He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.
"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.
"You're really pretty, you know."
You just look at him.
"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."
"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.
"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.
It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?
"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."
You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.
"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."
"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"
"Yes, but…"
Just like before, the words stall in your throat.
"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.
You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.
"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.
"Go on."
"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"
"That's the definition of a fantasy."
"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"
"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."
"Can I sit on your lap?"
"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.
"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."
"Go for it, baby."
He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.
It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.
"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"
"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.
"'Course you are, here-"
His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.
"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"
"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."
"Oh, for fu-"
He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.
It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.
You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.
You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.
"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.
"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.
"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.
His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"
His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.
"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"
You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."
He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."
The fucking nicknames.
"I know, I just… Can you just-"
You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.
"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."
You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.
"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"
"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."
"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."
"Okay."
You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.
"Shit," he hisses.
"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.
"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."
The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.
This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.
His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.
You trace them with gentle fingers.
"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.
"Okay."
You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.
You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.
As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."
You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."
There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.
He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.
"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"
You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up. 
And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.
"Good girl."
Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.
"Good?" he asks.
"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.
"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."
One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"
"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"
"'Course."
"And can I… Can I undo yours?"
"Shit, sure you can."
You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.
He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.
When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.
"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.
"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.
"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.
There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.
You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.
His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.
"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.
"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."
He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.
But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.
"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.
"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.
"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."
You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.
"Christ, yes, okay."
His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.
You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.
"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.
"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.
"Yes, yeah."
Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.
His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.
"Yes," you respond too quickly.
As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."
"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"
"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.
You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.
Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.
They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.
The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.
He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"
"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.
The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.
The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.
"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"
It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.
"No," you pant, "no, never."
"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."
"Okay," you agree.
He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.
"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"
"No," you bite defensively.
"It's okay."
You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.
"Do you ever…"
Another sigh.
"Do you ever touch yourself?"
There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.
"Yes."
"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"
"I, uh…"
"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."
Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.
It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.
"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.
With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.
You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.
You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.
"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.
You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.
"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.
"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"
His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.
All you can say is, "That was insane."
He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"
"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.
He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.
"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"
It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.
"Uh, yeah, okay."
He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."
"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."
"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."
Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.
"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.
"Yes, ma'am."
Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.
He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.
"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.
"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."
He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.
"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him. 
"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"
"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.
It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.
"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."
You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.
So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.
"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"
He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.
"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"
You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.
When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.
With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.
"You got condoms?"
"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."
"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."
His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square. 
He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.
It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.
He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"
He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"
You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."
"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"
"Yeah."
There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.
He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.
"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.
"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."
"I've got you."
He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.
The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.
"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.
When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.
"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.
"Yeah."
"Good girl."
He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.
"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."
"Okay."
The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.
As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.
"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"
"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"
Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.
"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."
His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.
"You close?" he asks.
"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.
All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.
There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."
When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"
You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.
The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.
Sighing, he says, "Shit."
You laugh, scrunching your face.
"Yeah," you agree, "shit."
He squeezes your hand.
"Did you like it?"
"Yeah. Really liked it."
"Okay for your first time?"
"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.
"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.
He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.
"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.
There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.
You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.
"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"
"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.
"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."
"Is it a date?"
"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."
"No one's ever asked me on a date before."
He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.
"Well, wanna come?"
"I'd love to."
He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.
He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.
"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.
"You should," he says, a little deflated.
You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.
"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"
"I can go now, if you want-"
"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"
Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.
"I'll stay, if you want me to."
"Yes, please."
He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.
"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.
"I'll be here."
-
"Munson! You made it!"
In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.
He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.
"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.
"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.
Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."
"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.
"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."
"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.
"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.
"Hi."
"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.
Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.
"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.
Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.
And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.
"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"
"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.
"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"
You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.
"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time. 
"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."
"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."
The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.
He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.
-
Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!
6K notes · View notes
mochinomnoms · 15 days
Text
Shrimpy Chronicles: First Mating Season
NSFW!Jade Leech x Shrimpmer!Reader X Floyd Leech
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Synposis:
Maybe Floyd was being prophetic when he called you ‘Little Shrimpy’. “But I’ve noticed, you’ve been getting pudgier lately, and feverish. Do you have a mating season, amor mia? I wasn’t aware if shrimps did.” She’d been pointing out your latest symptoms of late. Sensitive, soft and plush, hot, and red-cheeked, like your body was preparing you for something. It didn’t help that the waters had been warm of late, or that your husbands had been extra attentive with your meals and treats. And their attention. Especially their attention. The gold wedding bands and pearl ring on your left ring finger probably helped with that, though.
[wc} - 6,873
[cw/tags] - afab!gn!reader, merfolk-sex, breeding kink, prehensile dicks, twins stated to have both sets of sex, double-penetration in one hole, pregancy mentioned at end
[notes] - womp womp, this is my first smut fic, pls be nice. also i cracked and am shrimp-brained i love shrimp reader so fun to write!!!!
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If you had to decide between going back home, and leaving Twisted Wonderland, by this point you’d happily stay here for the rest of your days! 
The gold wedding bands and pearl ring on your left ring finger probably helped with that, though. You were admiring them as your mother-in-law Narissa Leech swam to your side, her tail brushing against yours. 
She was a beautiful mermaid, long and slender with an aquamarine tone to her skin, and a speckled snowflake pattern. Her eyes were a bright yellow-gold, and gleamed at you with delight. 
“Mia cara nuora, whatever is going through your head? Still getting used to all this?” She gestured to your legs. Or your tail, you suppose. 
You’d gotten married to the twins just two months ago, and made the commitment to become a merperson, just like them. The first second of your honeymoon consisted of you permanently becoming a merperson, gaining scarlet scales that covered your lower back and hips, clustering into your shrimp tail and white stripe from the hips to the tip of the tail. Between that and the shrimp legs on their hips and upper tail, it was quite ironic that you ended up becoming a cleaner shrimp.
Maybe Floyd was being prophetic when he called you ‘Little Shrimpy’. 
“Yeah, it’s weird. Being in your own body when it wasn’t always your body. I think? I don’t know, it’s strange.” Despite never having 8 legs and a tail, they just felt surprisingly familiar and instinctual. 
“Oh nuora, you’re a natural! Don’t you worry, if my sons could pick up human movements, you’ll be like a true-born merfolk.” She cooed, curling her arm around yours and tugging you along back to your home.
“But I’ve noticed, you’ve been getting pudgier lately, and feverish. Do you have a mating season, amor mia? I wasn’t aware if shrimps did.”
She’d been pointing out your latest symptoms of late. Sensitive, soft and plush, hot, and red-cheeked, like your body was preparing you for something. It didn’t help that the waters had been warm of late, or that your husbands had been extra attentive with your meals and treats. And their attention. Especially their attention.
You’d been filled with the need to be taken care of by your mates. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that you’d been given a mating season with your merform. And with how touchy your husbands had been, they were quite aware, and anticipating the start of your season. 
“I think…I might.” You sheepishly admitted, embarrassed to discuss such an embarrassingly intimate fact. She seemed unbothered and content. 
“Oh how lovely, I have been looking forward to the possibility of becoming a grandmother!” She giggled, delighted at the thought. “You know, morays always have such small broods, but shrimps always have plenty of fry. Will you be considering giving me plenty of grandbabies?”
You flustered and stuttered at the idea of having babies, let alone many. It wasn’t something you were discontent with, in fact the thought of making Mini Yous and Jades and Floyds. 
You wonder how many times you’d have to go to give you your first. Would you be easy to knock up? Or would you need to be fucked over and over to ensure their seed took? 
You had to shake your head to settle down the heat in your cheeks and belly, making you feel all sorts of ways. 
“We’ll see Mama Narissa, I can’t say I’ve thought too much about it.” You lied.
Narissa laughed, twirling you around in a little dance. By the time she stopped, you were so dizzy that you couldn’t swim straight, pushing against her for support. 
“Oh darling, trust me, my boys certainly have. Don’t let them rough you up too much, cara, they’ve always been insatiable!” She laughed at your darling cheeks, teasing you as she took you to the rest home. 
She always swam you to your home, bringing you back from daily mother-in-law excursions. Narissa would take you out to the local town and introduce you to the folks, saying that it would be a good idea to make friends in town and start networking as the newest member of the Leech family. You were…faintly aware of the type of reputation your new family had, and while neither Jade nor Floyd cared about pushing you to maintain any sort of image. 
While their sons might not care (in fact the twins seemed content to just keep you to themselves), but their parents, Narissa and Bruno Leech, did. Narissa scolded her sons when they tried to hide you away, switching shifts at work so that you’d never be alone. 
It was her who insisted that you go out to town, meet with associates, and get you established in your spot in the family. The twins quickly gave in, as few could argue with the head of the Leech family.
You’d been surprised to hear that Narissa was the family head, or Donna, as you’ve heard others call her. From your conversations, Jade and Floyd had made out their father to be the one in charge, while their mother was overprotective and stayed home. While she was protective, she knew many people of various “backgrounds”, and spoke and held herself in a manner that demanded respect. 
Her husband, Bruno, was much more wry and relaxed compared to her, though he’d been the main liaison between Narissa and any associates. He also liked going to the surface for meetings and outings, unlike Narissa who preferred to stay in the sea. 
So, she’d been more than happy to drag her sons to work under their father, while she took you under her wing. You’d been suspicious, and felt that you could safely assume that the Leech parents were grooming you and their sons to eventually take over their positions. 
You appreciated it, since it kept you busy. Plus, you got to see how people really live under the sea, or the Leeches at least. Based on how spoiled the twins were, you were a bit surprised at the lack of servants of any sorts at home, except a small school of cleaner wrasses that immediately scattered off at the wave of your mother-in-law’s hand. 
The home for you and the twins was settled closer to the Rosarian reef, rather than the Northern Coral deep sea. In fact, the home was a coral bed built around a sea cave, apparently a luxurious real estate under the sea! Though, the main appeal was that it was close to a beach on one of the Queendom of Roses’s islands, which you visited to meet with Ace, Deuce, and Grim. 
“Oh, Mama Narissa? Perhaps we can go up to the surface next week when we go out?” You swam into the kitchen together, the meal that Narissa had helped you prepared earlier on the counter. 
“My friends are coming to the beach to visit me, I thought that you might like to meet them?”
Narissa wrinkled her nose, but smiled politely, “I’ve never been a fan of the surface, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I’d love to meet your human friends.”
She clapped her webbed hands, gesturing to the food on the counter as she twirled around in the water. 
“Now, let me show you how to make this dish. The boys loved it as kids, I think you humans called it sushi on the surface. Come one!”
You two had made it home just an hour shy of your husbands’ return. Narissa was diligent in making sure you’d always be able to greet your husbands’ return with sweet words and sweeter kisses. 
And they did enjoy it so, she stayed for 30 minutes to help you finish preparing the supper for the evening, then taking her leave so you could have some alone time for yourself up the remaining 30 minutes. Floyd cooed about having a cute stay at home spouse to come home too, while Jade delighted in the domesticity of it all. 
But between your earlier conversation with Narissa, and the burning need growing in your abdomen, you were yearning for your husbands’ touch and love. 
Narissa noticed before she left, cooing at you like she would a baby. “Oh nuora, are you alright? Maybe go lie down and rest. I’ll send a text to the boys that you’re feeling unwell.”
“Mm, okay…that be…nice…” You clumsy swam past her, clutching to the walls with your hands as she gently grabbed you by the waist. With Narissa as your guide, she helped you lay down on the love seat in the living room. You think she might’ve had a mischievous smile on her lips, but you couldn’t tell as you wearily curled into the cushions to nap. 
You think you could make out her mumble something about ‘babies’ and ‘grandchildren’, but you’d passed out by the time you processed her words. 
The next you woke up, there was a slender hand brushing through your hair, which still retained your color and cut from when you were human. You made out the familiar voices of Jade and Floyd, the latter right above you, as the former sounded like he was in another room. 
“Mmmph, Flooyd? Isss that you?” You murmured, reaching out blindly for Floyd as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. 
“Heya, look at my little Shrimpy.” Floyd cooed, sinking down to be face level with you, pushing his forehead against yours. “Mama said you weren’t feeling great. Did you need us?”
Floyd spoke with a baby-voice, nuzzling against you with delight. The scent of salt and lemons, something you’d associated with Floyd, filled your nose as you happily sighed, throwing your arms around his neck to bury your nose against his skin. Floyd made a sound of surprise, though he immediately clutched onto you in response.
“Aw, cute! Hey Jade!” Floyd was giggling as Jade quickly swam back into the room carrying a potion in his hands. His gaze softened, seeing you curled into Floyd’s arms. 
“Oh, look at our sweet pearl.” Jade sighed, smile growing as he watched you pull away from Floyd to open your arms up to him.
“Jaaaade! You’re home too! Give me a kiss~” you weren’t sure when you’d become so blunt and bold. Normally, you’re more reserved, if a bit teasing, with your affections, the twins loved making a game out of who could fluster who first. But right now? You felt…different. 
Your mind felt like it was floating out of your body, watching everything happening from third-person. All of your senses felt more aware, from the sounds of the water currents outside, to the beating of your heart, to the humming of your skin. It was like you were both drunk, high, and yet neither at all. 
None of that mattered, though, not when Jade so sweetly embraced you, the dark markings and freckles on his skin glowing as he teasingly peppered kisses over your flushed cheeks as Floyd did the same to the back of your neck. 
“Aw, why didn’t Shrimpy ask me for a kiss too?” Floyd whined, huffing as you dragged Jade’s lips to yours. He glowed too, pretty like an aurora. He grazed the points of his teeth over your neck, making you whine and shiver. 
“I’m—mmh—sorry, Floyd!” You separated from Jade to tilt your head back, moving one hand to cup Floyd’s cheek. “Kiss! Lemme kiss you!”
Floyd eagerly met your lips with enthusiasm, moving with Jade to sit on the love seat again in his lap, facing Jade.
You hadn’t been intimate since your transformation, so it was slightly embarrassing to be curled into the cushioned shell loveseat, sweaty, lascivious, and sensitive at your husbands’ touches. 
Floyd hummed against your lips as he tangled his long tongue against yours, Jade busy with fluttering your chest and tummy with wet kisses. 
“Darling, look at you, how messy and sweet you look! You’ve missed our touches. You’re craving them, aren’t you?”
Jade chuckled against your belly button, something you kept from being a human, and kissed it. He eyed your tummy, the skin there and the slight translucent sheen to it. 
It wasn’t off-putting, not to them. Why many fish in the sea had see-through skin and muscle, allowing you to see their skeleton and organs. Yours was quite tame compared to those creatures, the rest of your body retaining either a pink or red opaque hue, with only your lower abdomen and stomach having the translucent skin. 
“Of course they have Jade, they’ve gone months without their tummy bein’ filled up.” Floyd purred, moving away from your panting mouth and unfurling his tongue, dragging it down your chest to your navel. “And their body is telling them to breed. Just look at how puffy their slit is getting~”
You whined as both of them moved to direct their heady gaze to your cunt, hot and throbbing for attention. The scales around your slit had been slowly pushed to reveal lips and a clit, trembling under Jade’s hot mouth. Another whine was drawn from your throat, his tongue dragging on the skin around your lips. 
Your entire body felt like it was melting, all the need and heat from this week amounting on top of you like the earth on Atlas’s shoulders. But now? It was all crashing down on you like your body had been waiting for this point. For the touches of your mates along your body, claw tipped fingers just grazing around where your hips and slit were. 
It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been touched, or touched yourself, in weeks with the confusion of a new body. Though, it seems that the twins were all too happy to help you learn mer anatomy. 
“Jade! Please, I need you to touch me, lick me, drink ‘n eat me up—AH!” You shrilly gasped as he shoved his tongue in your hole, his long tongue rubbing against your walls. You arched your back at the sensation, an intoxicating spike of energy crawling up your spine. Jade drank in your juices, humming as he tapped your g-spot with the tip of his tongue. 
The sensation was quickly becoming like a drug, spiking as Floyd took a long, slow and coveted lick to your clit until he reached the tip of his tongue, flicking it as he drew it away. He giggled at your yelp, staring into your eyes as he started sucking on your clit, suckling like a baby to their mother’s teat. 
And he certainly was sucking the life out of you, keening as you shook from an orgasm that blended into a paralyzing stream of pleasure. 
Yet, you still felt like you were missing something, as the heat in your belly hadn’t dissipated. Rather, it felt like it was getting stronger, begging for something to fill the empty void in you.
So it was helpful that neither twin cared for leaving their meal, waiting for you to either push their heads away, or for them to get bored. You of all people knew that they have a hard time getting bored from things they find interesting, and you were certainly captivating.
Their tongues worked nonstop, Jade tongue-fucking your sweet spots as Floyd made a particularly hard suck to your button, making you buck your hips against his. In fact, they seemed content to just switch places, Jade feeding on your pearl and Floyd pushing his tongue so far in that you’re sure he brushed your cervix. 
Moans and cries freely left your lips, as several smaller orgasms rocked your body. Your chest heaved as you gasped, your gills filling with water. The twins giggled, Jade kissing up your body and Floyd dragging his tongue through your slit. 
“Hmm, Floyd. Look at how needy they are.” Jade melted into your embrace as you wrapped your arms around him, placing wet kisses against his cheeks and lips. “How cute, who knew that they’d get so desperate when in their mating season! No wonder Mother was pushing for us to get home so quickly.” 
Floyd cackled, nuzzling against your chest as he squeezed you against him. “Yeah! No wonder! Do you wanna be filled?”
“Oh, of course they do~” Jade grazed his teeth along your ear, tugging it before letting go to whisper in your ear, “They want to be bred silly! Don’t you, my love? Just ask, and I’ll fill you up over and over again. I’ll fill you up until you’re utterly full, and then eat my cum out of you just to fill you back up again~ Do you like the sound of that—ow, Floyd, that hurts.”
Floyd had reached up to pull at Jade’s strand of hair, a chittering growl reverberating through his chest as he hissed, “Don’t be selfish! They’re my mate too!”
Sleekly, Floyd slid up your body to take his place on your other side, pulling at your chin with his cheek. He let out a high-pitched whine as he did, his words muffling. 
“You want me to fill you up too, right?” Floyd pouted, smacking ticklish kisses to your face and neck. “Floydie will give ya lots of baby Shrimpys! How many do you want? Two? Think we can get three in one go?”
Your body was getting hot again, and you felt empty. There was a desire to be stretched out around your husbands’ dicks.
“Ah, I want—I want,” You cried, moving your hips up, grinding against the water. “I wanna be filled! Both! I wan’ both of you in me!”
Both of them froze and shared a look, their sudden stillness making you feel upset, as you began babbling half-coherent begs and sobs.
“Aw, (Name). Don’t cry.” Floyd shushed you, rubbing his nose against yours as he smiled. “It’s not that we don’t wanna. We really, reeally wanna give you what you want!”
“Mm-hm.” Jade hummed, cupping your cheek as he drew your gaze to him. “Yes, of course we do. But you’re just a bit small, darling.”
Floyd and Jade had always been big, especially in their merforms. And even as a merperson, you didn’t even reach half of their length. There was no question that their dicks would be equally proportional.
“We don’t want to end up breaking you, love.” Jade breathlessly murmured against your ear. Though, from the heady tone of his voice and the grip he had on your hips, you were sure that was a lie. 
“Unless you ask us. Then we’d be happy to.” Floyd cooed into your other ear, hand wandering down to caress your still slick slit, using your juice as lube to rub your clit. “Ask us. We’ll take real good care of ya after, we promise~”
It wasn’t even a question, more a matter of you coughing up your ‘yes’, but your voice was caught in your throat as they resumed their movements. 
Jade took delight in marking up your neck with hickies and suckling your nape, his free hand squeezing your chest and slipping under your cover to pinch your nipple. 
“Ah! I want—fuck!” You gasped as Jade started fondling your chest and suckling from your nipple. “Shit, Jade! Mmh!”
Between his mouth on you, and Floyd whispering sweet, arousing words into your ear, asking you, “don’t you want us to make you feel good? To fill you up?”
Jade hummed in agreement from your chest, tugging it with his teeth before resuming his sucking. You rapidly nodded your head, opening eyes that you didn’t realize were closed. Two gold eyes were watching your expressions. 
Floyd continued being the prettiest devil on your shoulder. “Just say ask. Ask. And say ‘pleeeease’, say ‘Floooyd! Jaaaade! Fuck me pleeeease!’”
Mimicking your voice, Floyd made mean, mocking moans into your ear. You’d be offended if it didn’t make you hot. You’ll fuck him first, then complain later.
A pinch to your clit, and a nibble to your nip, and you were arching and walling, “GAAAH! FLOYD! JADE! FUUUCK ME! PLEEEEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASPLEASEPLEASE—”
You yelped mid beg as Floyd let out his raspy laugh, picking you up in a bridal carry as he zoomed to the bedroom. He’d shoved you into the sheets, adjusting so that your head was hanging off the edge of the soft coral bed. 
The taller twin settled to grind his navel and slit against yours, groaning as his cock was coaxed to slip out to your sticky opening. Jade, gently and firmly guiding your head, pushed his own softening slit to your lips, sighing as you licked around the slit. 
Your own tongue dragged its entire length along Jade’s lips, the salty taste of this slick making your eyes close in bliss. It took but a few more licks for his long cock, green and pink-tipped like a flower, to come out. It followed your tongue and was easily coaxed to thrust into your mouth, prehensile and wrapping around your tongue. 
It was gentle, only thrusting softly into your mouth, until it shuddered around your moaning mouth, Jade groaning from the vibrations. Floyd’s own dick had made its way out, pushing against your tight hole and slowly filling you up. You swear, it took up your entire womb with its size, rapidly thrusting and pushing against your walls with the intent to breed. Floyd seemed unaffected, beaming in delight at your muffled cries and begs as he grinded against your clit. 
“Haah, Jade! Our shrimp’s pussy feels sooo good! It’s so tight and soft.” Floyd took heaving breaths as made out with you messily, groaning and giggling into your mouth. “It’s like they wanna make sure my seed fills them up~”
You cried out, muffled moans filling the air as you tried nodding in agreement. You’d tried answering against Jade’s dick, but only served to further stimulate him. 
“Mmh, and it’s like they want to milk my cock. Greedy, greedy darling. You’re so—hah—lucky we love spoiling you.”
Jade thrusted harder against your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat, making your gag and choke. Even so, you relaxed and let him face-fuck you with no remorse. It wasn’t like you needed air anymore, not with the gills on your neck.
Besides, it wasn’t Jade fucking your mouth that took the oxygen from your lungs, but way Floyd stretched you out and rubbed his own clit against yours. 
“You feel that? You feel how good you're making me feel? Yeah~” Floyd purred, roughly grinding against you as he breathlessly laughed. “Making me feel all sortsa ways, like I could keep fucking his hole of mine forever~”
One of the first delights you learn before transforming was that, as eelmers, your darling husbands were built with both sets of sex, their slit hiding away their hastily growing cocks and tight openings. You wondered if you could return the favor and eat them out instead, the thought of a trembling Jade and keening Floyd as you feasted utterly delicious. 
“Now Floyd, what did you say earlier?” Jade asked, pushing your hair away from your face as he kept at his meal. “Don’t be selfish! They’re my mate too!”
Jade mimicked Floyd’s pouting tone, mocking his brother with a shit-eating grin as Floyd growled, clawed hands digging into your hips and upper tail to fuck you even harder, making you bounce against the bed and Jade’s dick. 
A particularly rough thrust against your cervix brought you back to the moment, Floyd’s teeth digging into your right shoulder as he suddenly came in you. 
His cum was thick and filling, dripping from your hole from the sheer amount Floyd busted into you. And as Floyd pulled away, you pulled away from Jade and looked down to see inches and inches of his dick leaving your throbbing cunt. You weren’t even sure if you came with him at this point,  all the euphoric bliss you’d been feeling blending in. 
What you were sure of was Floyd’s length still being hard and firm, moving around his hand as he pumped it. That fact that he was still able to keep going made you ravenous as you wiggled your hips at him, hoping that Floyd would keep going. 
You needed to feel fuller. You needed to take up as much cum in you as possible. You needed to be bred like a good little mate. At least until you could return the favor. (You pushed that last thought to the back of your mind, confused as to why your sex-filled brain conjured that.)
“Hey Jade.” Floyd ignored your cranky whines, you’d be filled up again soon anyway. “Switch spots with me. I wanna feel their mouth, besides, our mate is nice and tight, ‘n squeezes you juuust right~”
Floyd giggled, his signature laugh, slinking up your body as Jade snaked down, dragging his hands down your body as he did. Jade was quick to take his spot, his dick slick with his precum and your spot slipping into you with little resistance. 
Both were big, but Floyd was slender and longer, whereas Jade was shorter and much thicker, stretching you out to the point that you were sure you’d be ruined for anyone else. As if you’d ever want anyone else. 
Jade was ever so gentle with you, slowly pushing the tip of his cock as he used Floyd’s cum as lube, his girth filling you up deliciously. You groaned as you felt the cum in you push out of your hole to make room for Jade, until he eventually made it to the hilt. His length was pressing against your walls, swirling in you, as Jade started grinding his slit against you. 
“Damn!” Jade cursed, gasping as he pressed his head against your chest, teething at the skin. “You’re right, Floyd, they feel so tight and soft against me! I could get drunk from your walls, my love~”
Obsessed as he’s always been with your chest, Jade took to occupying his mouth with your chest, back to suckling you like a baby. It was like he was opening for milk to come out and fill his insatiable tongue with your taste. 
“Yeah! Can you imagine how much tighter they’ll be when we both fill them up? Haha! You’ll be begging to have our dicks in ya forever, our cute lil’ shrimp!” 
Floyd, rougher than his brother, pulled at the hair in your scalp, firm but soft, and pushed his dick towards your mouth. He threw his head back, sighing as you took a long, slow lick from the tip of his cock to the base. It trembled against your tongue at the stimulation, surprising as it tried wrapping around the muscle before shoving itself into your mouth. You choked as Floyd began pistoning into your mouth, cackling as little tears dripped from your eyes. 
Between his fast pumps, and Jade’s tortuously slow thrusts, you were slowly being driven insane.
“Ngh, d-did you just cum again?” Jade stuttered, pulling away from your teat with a string of saliva connecting you two. “I felt it…I’m close, you know. Mmmph…Want me to fill you up again my love?”
“Mmmm! Mmmphmm!” You cried against Floyd’s dick, tongue massaging his length as you sucked. You’d managed to keep rolling your hips against Jade, the stinging effects of overstimulation starting to take hold.
“Ha! I think they want it Jade~” Floyd cackled, finally shoving your face against his groin, forcing you to swallow around his dick. “Give it to ‘em, if our shrimp wants us to breed them, then we oughta make them happy~”
A chilling growl left Jade’s mouth as he clenched his teeth into your left shoulder, near the crook of your neck as his prehensile dick pounded into, practically fucking your womb, like it wanted to nestle in and never leave. 
Your tummy felt hot as Jade filled you up, finally moving your head away from Floyd to cough and gasp at the feeling. Managing to lift your head, you saw a bulge on your stomach where Jade was filling you up with his own cum, right along Floyd’s. 
“Aha, I’m so full!” You moaned, giggling deliriously, all thoughts from your head fucked out, as you rubbed the bulge. “It feels so goooood~” 
The heat coursing through your veins has dissipated quite a bit, now a comfortable hum and tingling on your skin instead of an insatiable need to get fucked. You beamed as Jade, still in you, leaned down to kiss you sweetly, his hands cradling your face as he nipped your nose. 
“We’re glad, aren’t we Floyd?” Jade purred, grinning down at you with a hungry look still. You made a noise of confusion as he moved away, rolling to his side. Whimpering as a few inches of his length slid out as he did, but he stopped, keeping most of it in. Looking down, you could make out the pearlescent cum of your husbands leaking out of you, thick and viscous. 
“Hmm, yeah.” Floyd sighed, tracing along your pudgy tummy, briefly squeezing down to watch more cum leak from your hole. “Let’s fill them up even more!”
“Huh?” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, blinking rapidly as Floyd took your otherside and positioned his dick against your still stretched out cunt. 
“You said you wanted both of us in you, right?” Floyd started pushing, long tongue licking over your cheek, down your neck, and slathering over the bite he made. “You wanted both of us at once. We’re giving you what you want.”
Your brain function was still yet to completely return, as you barely managed to process his words at the last second. “Wait, wha—AAAAH!”
Your hands went flying up to their hair as Floyd pushed in against his walls and Jade’s dick, stretching you beyond comprehension. Pulling at their teal strands, you could hear both of them ominously chuckle, Floyd’s hand going back down to your nub as Jade’s lips made their way home to your chest to feed. 
“Fuck! Too much! Too much! Aaaaahahaha!” You gasped, laughing as the heat returned to your belly as your eyes glazed over. “Ooooooh shit! F-floyd, Jaaade…uwwwaaah…”
Throwing your head back, you started letting out open-mouthed moans, blubbering as you started speaking nonsense to your mates. Any coherent thought was yanked from your brain and tossed out like garbage as they started moving in you, lengths pushing up against all your most deliciously sensitive spots, tips hitting your cervix like they were fighting to take up the space in your womb first. 
“Aahaha! Look at you! Fucked stupid~” Floyd lovingly nuzzled against your temple, kissing your forehead as he continued his mean words. “Do ya like it? You gonna cum again? Cum as much as you want~ Only we can make you feel this good~”
Floyd cackled again, bringing your head back up to make out with your drooling mouth, his tongue tangling with yours. 
“Mmm, morays can go for hours you know,” Jade cooed, cheeks flustered and eyes drunk on your body as he flicked your nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Do you want us to keep going? Use you? Make sure our little mate is filled with plenty of seed for their eggs? Do you want to keep getting fucked~”
“Yesh!” You cried, muffled against Floyd’s sloppy kiss. “Fuck me more! I wa-wanna feel your cocks here!”
You placed your hand over your navel, feeling the bumps of their dicks as they pounded against your insides. Pulling away from a whining Floyd, you looked down at your belly, and gasped at the sight. 
You could just barely make out the blue, glowing lines on their dicks as they moved in you, the outline just visible under the transparent skin of your belly. You could even make out the pearly white sheen of their cum filling you up under the skin. The sight shocked you into coming, tossing your head back as you panted for oxygen. 
“Sho good! It feelsh shooo good! Don’t stoooooop~” You were slurring as you bawled your eyes out, shaking as you came once again for the nth time that night. Yet they didn’t stop, not from your overstimulated tears, nor your walls tightening against them.
“Floyd! Jade!” You gasped, your insides feeling raw and like they were burning, finally being pushed past your limits. “W-wait, I can’t…I just…I just came—FUCK!”
Your husbands pulled you up, wrapping their tails around yours and each other to be closer to you, as Jade forced you to look down at your extending belly and their lengths moving in and out. As soon as one slipped out, the other thrusted in, ensuring you were never empty. Unfortunately, as they did, more of their cum was slipping out as well, making Floyd whine. 
“Aw, Jade! Look at how our Shrimpy is wasting our seed!” Floyd pulled on your ear with his sharp teeth, playfully chittering in your ear. 
Jade clicked his tongue in disappointment, bumping his forehead against yours, “How wasteful, we’ll just have to go a few more hours then, to make sure our seed takes. Can you handle it, my love? You can, can’t you?”
You blinked open your eyes, the algae lamp on the nightstand providing a dim blue light to the room. Yawning, you tried stretching your arms, wincing at the pain that shot up from your lower back. 
“Mmh? (Name)? You already wanna go again?” you heard Floyd sleepily giggle to himself, spooning against your back as his tail was wrapped around your fins. “We already went a couple of hours, but I’ll go again for my shrimp, hehe~”
You reached a hand over to pinch his nose, grumbling, “Stop it, you know exactly what yawning is.” 
Floyd pouted, digging his head against your back again as he tightened his grip. From your front, Jade groaned at the movement as he nuzzled his head against your chest, arms gripping your midsection and tail tightly wrapped around your hips. At this moment, you were just a body pillow to him. 
“Stop moving…it’s still early…” Jade mumbled into your skin, nipping at it briefly. “...Want to…sleep.”
“Nah, I’m awake now. I wanna eat somethin’, wanna come to the kitchen?” Floyd asked, kissing his bite mark on your shoulder as he did. He untangled himself from you, stretching and wincing from the scratches you made on his shoulders stung.
You tried moving, but felt a cramp in your hips and pelvis as you did. Between that, and Jade’s displeased growl as he tightened his grip, you were trapped. 
“I don’t think I can move…you guys did a number on me.” You were just noticing your entire torso and navel covered in hickies and bruises, the most prominent being the hand marks on your hips. 
“Heh, nice. Oof!” Floyd grunted as you threw a pillow at him. You had half a mind to smother Jade too as you felt him smirk and chuckle into your skin. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for him), there was a cheery knock at the front door. 
(Or the frame of your front door. Homes under the sea didn’t have doors, though you had a rather intricately designed curtain over the entrance for privacy). 
“I miei figli! It’s been a few weeks now! Can I see mia nuora?”
Since your mating season started, you’d been going at it nearly nonstop with the twins the first week until your libido managed to die down to a more reasonable amount. Granted, at least one of the twins was with you at all hours as they took turns going to work. This week, you’d taken to just resting your incredibly sore body. Nearly 5 days since you were last fucked, and you were still wincing as you swam. 
Unfortunately, Narissa missed you just a bit too much to wait a few more days to see you. 
“Oh my god, Mama Narissa!” You bolted up, Jade grumbling as he let you untangle from his grasp. He settled for grabbing your pillow and shoving his face in it to drink in your scent. “Shit, has it really been weeks?”
“Mm-hm,” Jade hummed, finally opening his eyes to look at you. He was never a morning person, surprisingly, so it took him sometime before he was fully coherent. “You were insatiable the last few weeks…begging to make sure you stayed filled up. I was surprised at how long you lasted between rounds.”
Jade rubbed a hand against your belly, staring at it intently as he slow blinked, ready to fall back asleep at any moment. 
“...It’s twins.” He said, very matter-of-factly. You blinked in confusion, but smiled at the idea.
You covered your hand over his, lacing your fingers together as you shrugged and smiled. “You think? Humans usually have just one, but I’ve also never had a mating season, so I don’t know.” 
“Hm, it is.” 
You blinked again, staring at Jade as he lovingly smiled at the bump on your stomach. Shrugging again, you pushed his bangs back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making the effort to trudge through the pain and swim out to greet your mother-in-law. You sharply inhaled as you tried straightening your tail, feeling like your muscles were being pulled. 
“Ah!” You hissed, rubbing your lower back as Jade perked, getting up and letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he carried you on his back. 
“Here, I’ll take you.” Jade rubbed his eye, now fairly awake as he blissfully took you through the hallway into the living room, then the kitchen as you heard voices coming from there. 
“It’s been weeks! I just wanna see my nuora too, especially since neither of you have been at work at once for nearly a month!” You could make out Papa Leech’s, Bruno’s, raspy voice from the kitchen. 
“Oh relax, amore mio!” Narissa purred, kissing her husband’s cheeks as he visibly softened. He was stocky, built much like his sons, but much longer and covered in old scars. He was also a darker, muted shade of green, his eyes hazel and hair a familiar shade of black. You could look at Bruno and obviously see the resemblance between his sons and him.
“They’re fine! Look there, they are with Jade now.” Narissa chirped, swimming past Floyd to ruffle his hair as he tossed a scallop in his mouth. “Save some for your mate, Floyd. I’m sure they’re starving. 
Floyd looked offended at the suggestion, replying with a full mouth, “We’ph kefft ‘em fed!”
Narissa scolded him for speaking with a full mouth as Bruno excitedly made his way to you, snatching you from Jade, who made an annoyed hiss, and twirled you around. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing hug as he spoke. 
“There you are! Our family shrimp! Don’t be mad at me now, but you’ve kept the boys plenty busy! I’m gonna need to steal them back, why don’t you and Nari go—”
You yelped as four pairs of arms snatched you back from Bruno’s embrace, a hair-raising growl and clacking of Floyd’s jaws echoing in the kitchen. Floyd was holding you between him and Jade, the latter protectively curled over your stomach as he eyed his own father. 
Bruno looked less than amused, rolling his eyes as he clacked his own pharyngeal jaws in response. 
“Just playing ‘round with mia nuora, what’s wrong with you two?! Hissing at your own father?!” He snapped, briefly looking at Narissa as she turned his face to hers. 
She had a smile on her face, gold eyes locking on Jade’s hands covering you. 
“Amore, you need to be careful with (Name)! Of course, they’re hissing at you, you’re roughhousing with a berried mate!”
Berried?
“W-what? What’s that mean?” You asked, confused as Bruno immediately brightened, rapidly sinking to the ground to be at eye level with your stomach. Narissa gracefully followed, as did your husbands, now relaxed. 
“It means our Shrimpy is gonna have baby Shrimpies.” Floyd giggled as Jade reached up to direct your gaze to your translucent tummy. 
“See, my love? The eggs look like berries.” Jade tapped a finger against your slightly protruding stomach, right where you could make out the sight of two teal colored eggs. 
You gasped, placing your hand over Jade and Floyd’s. Effectively stunned into silence, Bruno had more than enough energy to loudly celebrate for all five of you. 
“WHOOP! NONNINO! I’M GOING TO BE A NONNINO!” Bruno excitedly swam around in circles, twisting and twirling around as Floyd darted to his father’s side, following his dance in happiness.
Jade chuckled, giving his mother a knowing look as they both straightened back up, moving to nip at your ear affectionately. 
“I suppose we should let everyone else know the good news.”
You nodded in a daze, the thought of letting your adoptive parents up on the surface of the news dizzying. 
“Yeah…” You finally smiled, breathlessly laughing into Jade’s shoulder as you reached for Floyd, who immediately met your embrace, nearly knocking you into Jade’s arms in excitement. 
Between the rings on your left-hand ring finger, and the two eggs in your stomach, it was no question: you’re happy to stay in Twisted Wonderland for the rest of your days. 
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comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷
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moonstruckme · 3 months
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i don’t really request so idk if this is where i should be asking but I wanted to know if you could do a Sirius x reader story where Sirius is trying to ask out or “woo” the reader but she is rarely noticed romantically and sort of confused and surprised by sirius genuinely liking her
You nailed it, babe! Thanks for requesting :)
cw: alcohol, mention of vomiting
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
The smell of vomit has escaped the bathroom and is seeping out into the hallway. You scrunch your nose and try not to breathe. Or hear. Your friend is purging all the alcohol she’s drank over the last few hours with your other friend holding her hair and murmuring slurred but heartfelt encouragements, and because you’re a sympathetic puker you’ve been put on bathroom guard duty. 
“Sorry,” you croak when another person comes up to you. “This one’s occupied. I think there’s another upstairs, though.” 
“I’d really rather people not use that one,” he says. His voice is silky smooth. “Last time I allowed that, everything in my medicine cabinet had moved around the next morning.” 
You blink. “This is your party.” 
“I’m Sirius.” He gives you a smile and sticks out his hand for you to shake. His palm is cool against yours. There’s something disarmingly intense about his gaze, the way he holds yours the whole time you’re touching. “This party is one-third mine. I live here with my roommates.” 
“Right, I—uh—” You try to reclaim control of your tongue. “I think one of my friends knows one of your—James?” 
Sirius nods thoughtfully. “Seems likely. Is she in there?” He nods to the closed bathroom door. 
You feel embarrassed at the scene now, though you’re not sure why. “Yeah. She’s helping my other friend, who’s, uh…having a rough time.” 
He purses his lips. The movement accentuates his cheekbones, which you can’t help but notice are ridiculously striking already. They certainly don’t need the extra help. “Think either of them will go through my medicine cabinet?”
Your eyebrows bunch. “No. What?” 
But he’s already knocking on the bathroom door, cracking it a tad. He brushes a piece of hair behind his ear as he bends at the waist to poke his head in. It’s a deep, impenetrable black which moves fluidly like dark water. 
“Hi.” His voice softens as he addresses your friend. You imagine the situation probably looks dire. “She alright? It’s—no, it’s fine, babe, it happens. Would you like to use my bathroom? It’s a bit cleaner, more privacy. I mean, if you think you can make the journey?” 
Someone must answer in the affirmative, because then Sirius is ushering them upstairs. You take up the rear, providing vocal but cautiously distant support and trying not to gag when your friend does. 
“Well,” Sirius says, closing the door to his bedroom behind him, “that’s taken care of.” 
“That was really nice of you,” you reply. “Thank you.” 
“Oh, it was mostly selfish.” He grins, leaning over the banister to look down at the party. “See that broad-shouldered, smiley bloke in the middle of the couch, looks like he plays every sport known to man?”
You laugh and acknowledge that you do. 
“That’s James. You can see, I’m sure, how it’d be fairly easy for him to shake me about by my ankles if I let his friend kneel on the dirty floor of our downstairs toilet. Plus, now I get to keep the general public away from my bathroom and you don’t have to look so green and uncomfortable at our party anymore. Everyone wins.” He turns his head to look at you, eyes twinkling. “But mostly me.” 
Fuck, being in this guy’s presence is like being in a dark room with a shining star. You’re blinded by the sheer presence of him. 
“Did I really look green and uncomfortable?” you ask him. 
Sirius smiles like he’s trying to stop himself but not really. “I mean, you were obviously stunning regardless, but yes. You’re much improved now, though.” He nods downstairs. “Let me get you something to drink, doll.” 
You’re concerned you might be actually reeling, but you manage to nod, and Sirius takes your suddenly warm and sweaty hand in his cool one, leading you down to the kitchen. You don’t know what’s happening, how it came to be happening to you of all people, but you’re more than willing to go along with it. 
A girl named Marlene has requisitioned the party’s alcohol. She pours Sirius a gin and tonic, giving him a meaningful look and a smile when he turns to you to ask what you want and you squeak out “The same.” He hasn’t let go of your hand. 
“So on a scale of want-to-leave-right-now to best-night-of-your-life, how good a time are you having?” he asks conversationally as he guides you into a loveseat.
You clear your throat, doing your best to act casual. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and talking to you like you’re halfway interesting. This night is ranking pretty highly. “That’s quite the range.” 
“Well, I want to allow for plenty of variance,” Sirius explains. “Earlier, you were standing outside our nastiest toilet and looking like you could be sick, so I might have interpreted that as a two and I’m hoping things have improved since then. What would you say?” 
You smile into your cup, hoping the lighting hides your blush. “Definite improvement.”
“Really?” He grins, sparkling. You try not to swoon. “That’s excellent news.” 
“Is it?” 
“Of course. I want you to have a good time, gorgeous.” 
Your heart does an odd, stuttering thing. You feel suddenly warmer. You wish any of that could be chalked up to the alcohol. If he keeps talking to you like this, you’re worried you’ll actually go into shock. These things don’t happen to you. 
“Why?” you ask, dumbly, before you can stop yourself, because you’re an idiot. 
“I mean,” Sirius swipes his hair behind his ear again, gaze dropping from yours for just a millisecond, “you might stay longer if you’re having a good time. I’ll take you for as long as I can get you.” 
His eyes have found yours again, but they’re different. There’s less bluster behind them. You feel the beginnings of a slow, shy smile spreading across your face. He actually does like you. Somehow, realizing his nervousness lessens yours. Maybe you’re on equal footing here.  
“I’m having a good time,” you tell him. “I want to stay.” 
Sirius mirrors your smile, and his charm is back in full force, but this time you can see through some of the smugness. It feels like he’s let you in on some sort of secret. “Thrilled to hear it, doll. Want to dance with me?” 
You find you really do.
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polaroidpascal · 20 days
Text
paradise city || joel miller
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AO3 || MASTERLIST
pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader
summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.
tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc
fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol (picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)
WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)
a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3
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You and your friends have had a week. 
Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.
Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them. 
“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”
The complaining did help them destress a bit.
You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers. 
You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.
“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.
You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.
“No. not yet,” you tell her.
“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.
“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.
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The bar is crowded. 
You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show. 
Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.
The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music. 
The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest. 
Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion. 
The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.
But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well. 
He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…
Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place
I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white
But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth
…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?
And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—
“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.
You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?
You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.
He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.
He put on a show. All just for you.
Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.
The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.
You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you
The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.
I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself
He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.
I wanna fuck you like an animal  // I wanna feel you from the inside  // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God
He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.
You have to have this man.
Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.
When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.
“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.
“So…?”
“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.
You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”
“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.
“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”
“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”
You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.
Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”
As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.
You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.
“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”
“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.
“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.
“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.
“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.
You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”
“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.
Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.
You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.
He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”
“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”
“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”
You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”
“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”
You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.
“How so?”
“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”
His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”
“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”
He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.
You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”
You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.
“No, we took an Uber.”
“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”
Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…
You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.
“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.
A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.
Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.
He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.
“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”
You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.
The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.
You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”
He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.
You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you. 
He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.
Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.
He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.
His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”
Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.
His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.
His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there. 
“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”
You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.  
You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.
You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.
He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.
His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right. 
“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.
He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.
Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down. 
His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly. 
“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.
You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink. 
“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.
He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.
Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.
When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.
When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.
Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”
“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”
A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”
Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”
Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”
His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.
You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”
He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”
He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side. 
He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart. 
You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.
Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.
He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”
You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.
You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.
“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself. 
But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth. 
Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”
You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”
“You sure, darlin’?”
“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod. 
He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.
His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.
He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”
You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.
“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.
His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.
You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—
He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.
You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.
“Get back on the bed,” he demands.
So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp. 
He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”
You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.
He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”
You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.
“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.
You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.
You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.
“What d’ya mean?”
“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”
He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.
You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.
“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.
You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”
He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed. 
“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.
He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.
“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”
The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.
You need to find a way to keep this man.
The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.
You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek. 
He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”
“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.
He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”
You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.
“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.
“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat. 
“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust. 
“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.
“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby���” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it. 
“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you. 
You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.
You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…
“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.
“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.
“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”
“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.
You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.
My good girl…
That one little word finally hits you after a minute. 
My.
His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.
“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.
“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.
“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.
He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.
Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.
When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.
You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”
You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.
“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.
“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.
“Want you to come for me… Please…”
“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes. 
“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.
“Where, baby? Want it inside?”
“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.
“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”
You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.
“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.
Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.
“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”
Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.
Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.
Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.
“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.
You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”
“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”
You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”
“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”
“But I made a mess—”
“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”
You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.
He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.
“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”
“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.
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When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.
He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.
Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...
You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:
You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.
All yours.
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a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!
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luveline · 8 months
Text
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
you start to second guess your relationship when eddie doesn't waylay you with his usual abundance of kisses after work. meanwhile, eddie tries to work out what's upsetting you, how to fix it, and most urgently, how to ask you a super important question. fem!reader, 5k
cw: eddie skipping meals at work, suggestive flirting
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
Eddie's borrowed headphones slip down your head as you dance. Nothing dramatic, a shoulder wiggle as you do the dishes. You can't hear the racket you're making, plates crashing into one another on the drying rack, the hot water pounding the basin, the clip of your sock-clad foot against wooden slats as you tap it. 
Your hands burn at the high temperature. Your fingertips are pruned, palms chapped as you finish washing Eddie's mountain of dishes. His whole apartment was in similar disarray before you arrived, laundry to the eyes and one of his haphazard book towers collapsed in the bedroom. The dishes had been scraped and rinsed but not washed, the laundry designated to one corner of the bathroom; Eddie's not unclean, necessarily, but unfocused. 
You had time. You don't mind coming over to help him out. 
Though if he knew you were here doing this he'd blow a gasket. I don't want you wasting your time doing shit I should've done a week ago, he'd say. 
It isn't time that matters to you. You'd take a couple of days out if it helped him, if it meant he could enjoy the place he lives to the fullest extent. Plus, you spend time here too. And you get to borrow his Walkman the whole time. Eddie has the best tapes. 
You hum along to the finishing line of the song and set the last clean cup upside down on the draining board. Satisfied at a job well done, you wipe the sink basin clean, drain suds from the sponge, and turn off the water. Cool air floats in through the open window, kissing your lightly perspiring skin hello. 
You dry your hands on a cloth and push Eddie's headphones carefully down to your neck, more than careful with his things. He works hard for everything he has, days and nights and any shift they want him to take. Most of it goes into his savings account. His spare change gets dropped into a washed out pasta sauce jar on the sill for a forthcoming rainy day. Ridiculous amounts of it get spent on you, and if you asked Eddie he'd say it was perfectly reasonable, sweetheart. 
You're not asking him. You don't think new clothes and sweet treats nearly every time you see him counts as reasonable, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't appreciate it. 
Hence your unsanctioned use of his spare key. You buy him treats too, but money can't buy the satisfaction of a clean home. (Well, it could. Hiring a day maid might've been quicker and cleaner in the end, but would a day maid have put their heart and soul into dusting his figurines with a makeup brush for fifteen minutes?)
You turn around with Eddie on your mind, feeling grateful and tired at once. Your thoughts stutter at the warm body standing casually in the doorway, his shoulder pressed to the jam, a rucksack and a carabiner of keys hanging from his curled fingers. 
"Hey," Eddie says. 
You flinch like he's coming at you, startled by his sudden appearance. 
His laugh is apologetic, at least. "Woah! I thought you heard me, where's your head?" 
You slap a hand to your racing heart and huff out a breath that fans up your face. Eddie straightens from his cool guy slouch, dropping his keys on the counter and sliding his bag beside them. 
"It's around here somewhere," you say through a smile, trying and failing to glare at him as he puts his hands on your waist. "You scared me bad." 
"It was accidental." 
He pulls your hips to his and leans back. A close pressure without being particularly sexual. It's obvious that he's looking you over, like you might've miraculously run into harm in the sixteen hours you've been apart. 
"I didn't think you'd be back yet, sorry," you say breathlessly, still recuperating from your scare. 
"I'm the sorry one." 
He brings a hand to your face. If there's one thing you can count on with your boyfriend, it's that he's going to find an excuse to touch your face at least once a day, whether it be with the back of a ring-heavy finger trailing down your cheek lightly, or a flat, hot palm, calluses scratching ever so slightly as he squeezes it into whatever shape he feels like. Never cruel, but melding. 
He's in a mood. 
Not salacious. Teasing at most, he pulls a rough line down from the corner of your eye to your lips. 
"Why are you doing my dishes?" he asks. 
His hands smell like citrus scrub and white vinegar. They must've had him cleaning in the kitchen at work again. 
"So you wouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to let them pile up." 
"I'll find my laundry in the dryer, I'm guessing." 
"Nope. Folded in your dresser, more like."
He pulls your chest to his, the heat of his breath kissing your nose. It smells like the spearmint gum he chews obsessively during his morning shifts. Eddie has a theory that eating in the mornings is breaking a seal —you'll be much hungrier for the rest of the day than you would've been otherwise. Better to wait for lunch. 
You hate his theory (three meals a day plus as many snacks as he needs would be perfect,  if he could find the time) and his gum for what it represents. It reminds you that he likely hasn't eaten today, and you're quick to start brainstorming ideas for dinner from the ingredients you'd seen while cleaning. He has ground beef, enough eggs to make pasta, and a tupperware of frozen soup from last Wednesday. The world's your oyster. 
"What are you thinking about?" he asks. You don't have time to answer. "I wish you didn't do all the laundry, babe. Those stairs are a fucking killer." 
He leans that last inch. A kiss is coming any second now, your pulse capering between your ears. A hundred kisses shared between you and you wait for the next with the same calibre of excitement as you did for the first. 
"I owe you a deep tissue massage, right?" he murmurs. 
You beam at him, pushing the heel of your palm against his chest to widen the distance between you into something a little less heart-pounding. "You haven't eaten today, have you?" 
"I'm pretty hungry," he says, his voice smooth as angora silk. 
He looks, again, like he might kiss you. His eyes dip to your lips, a molten brown shining in the kitchen light. You wait, and you wait, but he doesn't close the gap. 
You push your smile to one side, your eyelashes twined in the corners from the force of it. Your smile isn't entirely genuine. It's cool if he doesn't wanna kiss you… sort of. He can do whatever he likes, of course, you'd never force him to kiss you just to keep you happy or for any other reason, but you're a little down at the idea that he doesn't want to. You love how they feel. You're used to them as both hello and goodbye. 
Eddie might not want to kiss you, but he isn't putting on a show, his amorous smirking a reality you battle with (read: give in to, enjoy, daydream about) on the regular. Perhaps he isn't eager to ravish you after a full day bussing tables. That's more than okay. 
However he might be feeling, you aren't going to let him go hungry a minute longer. "Dinner?" you ask. 
"I was thinking sloppy Joes," he says, his hand running down your arm. He turns for the fridge. You follow. "Brioche buns?" 
You step in front of him, the fridge door a cacophony of glass rattling as you tug it open. "I'm making them." 
Eddie wraps his arms around you, moving you bodily to the side. It's too quick for you to dig your heels in. 
"You used to be a gentleman," you complain. 
"No, I didn't." He taps your ankle with the rubber toe of his converse. 
You make dinner together, to each other's chagrin. Eddie steals spatulas and frying pan handles from your grip. You bump his hip away from the stove grill to toast buns. When you sit down together on the couch, it's at war, elbows digging into soft spots and cups placed out of reach on the coffee table. 
"Dick," you say. 
Eddie takes a bite, says, "You're the dick, dick," and starts shovelling fries onto your plate. "Giving me more fries is ridiculous. We should eat the same portions, we're the same age." 
"But one of us had breakfast and lunch, and one of us didn't," you say, using your fork to give his gifted fries straight back. 
And here's where you get the first inkling that something's making him not want to kiss you, emphasis on you. 
Eddie loves kissing you when he feels loved. For obvious starters, whenever you tell him you love him he makes sure to kiss your lips. When you make him laugh, when you wash his hair in the shower, when you draw stars into his palms, all those things garner a fond peck to the temple. He kisses the space just under your ear so often you're sure there's a contusion in the shape of his mouth there, permanent and purpling, his go-to whenever he's laying on top of you or hugging you from behind. 
You can count on a mildly greasy kiss no matter the meal. Eddie loves eating dinner together. He waits for you to get home, sometimes for hours, to share a plate with you. You've never not indulged him with a kiss. Tonight, he doesn't ask. 
It would be here. Name-calling dripping in affection, you elbow glancing off of his as you cut into your sloppy Joe, and the TV failing to cover the sound of a quick kiss before he digs in. You're gutted at the lack and surprised to have noticed it, but you don't go so far as to mourn the loss: Eddie's likely too hungry to think about kissing, that's all. Right?
Despite attempts to convince you otherwise, he's hungry. He finishes his plate in what feels like five big bites, hair tucked behind his ears, an innocent but far off look about him as he wipes his fingers in a piece of kitchen towel and leans back into the couch cushions with a small groan. 
"We should stop eating on the couch," he says. 
"You told me you wanted to sit here." You're confused. 
"It's like, testing fate. I'm a mess. I'll ruin it and have to get a new one I can't afford." 
You chew on a fry. "I mean," —you put your hand over your mouth, pleased when he turns to you with a ready-made smile, like the act of just looking at you is one he enjoys— "even if you drop something on it, we can Didi Seven it. Or get one of those fancy water vacuum things." 
"It's my couch," he says. "You wouldn't have to clean it." 
"You're my boyfriend," you respond, "so I wouldn't mind." 
"I'm your boyfriend," he says, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side. 
His lips close, his eyes tracking up and along the lines of your features with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. You'd like to say that it's love, but you're starting to think it's something else. 
"Don't say it like that. You sound too unsure," you say.
Amusement dances across his face. "Are you finished?" he asks, opening his hand for your tray. 
"No," you say, faux-stroppy. You take another fry. 
Eddie grabs his tray. He skirts around your legs and stops at your side. In his more dopey moods, he'd take your face into his hand again and hold your head still as he kisses your crown. 
He squeezes your shoulder. "I'm not unsure about anything," he says warmly. "I'll get you a drink, yeah? Ice?" 
A chuck under the chin with his forefinger and he's gone, leaving you sitting there wondering what's wrong with him. Home an hour now and not one single kiss? Is this the end of the honeymoon phase? How do people survive this shit, you think. It's agonising.
Your chewing turns morose. 
You and Eddie go through phases, waxing and waning, as most people do. There's always love there, but sometimes there's so much of it you don't know what to do with yourself besides lavish in it. Only yesterday morning he'd been in your bed, shirtless (as you often wish he'd be), dark ink like bruises in the low light where it climbed the lengths of his arms and his bare chest. You were lax under his touch, his nose and lips pressing to your skin as he kissed you from rib to soft tummy. Slow, kissing you as though he had nowhere else to be but there. As though his next shift wasn't thirty minutes around the corner. 
You were mortified when he blew a raspberry. Now you're thinking you might peel out of your shirt and ask him to do it again if it means he'll kiss you in any definition. 
"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he returns, his hand sliding along from your shoulder to the other while he steps over your legs. 
"What are you thinking about?" you ask. 
"Feeling very repetitive today, are we?" he teases, no consideration for your dinner tray as he collapses into the seat beside you. 
You're expecting his cheek on your shoulder, his hair tickling your upper arm. It doesn't come. Worried he's discouraged by your tray, you place it on the coffee table and sit back. You really want him to kiss you. 
Kissing someone isn't something you thought you'd want to do before you met Eddie. To be kissed, sure. To give a chaste peck, absolutely. But to have someone put their weight on you, to press at the seam of your lips with their own and to wade in like a steady wave, one breath at a time, until you're unsure where the boundary of your mouth begins and his ends, that was all new. Eddie kisses like he loves, loud and brash, rough and eager. Gentle when he needs to be but arduous. 
He makes you feel wanted in a thousand ways and the first is his greedy penchant for stealing a kiss or three at every opportunity. It's weird that he hasn't kissed you yet. He's acting weird. 
"You're being super weird," you say. You feel like a pressure cooker with steam pouring from the release valve. 
Eddie smirks at you. "That so? Any explanation attached to that, or are we name-calling? I have some names for you, if we are." 
"Oh, I have to know." 
"Figured you would." He throws his leg over your thigh. The firm muscle of it tenses as he wiggles his foot. 
"What were you gonna call me?" you prompt impatiently.   
"Sweetheart. Angel." He turns his cheek into the back of the couch, bringing his pinky to your face and drawing a line from the smoothest skin under your eye outward. "Pretty. Very pretty." 
"Says you," you murmur. If he thinks you're so pretty, why won't he kiss you? "I can't work out your angle today." 
"Am I acting differently?" he asks, seemingly unperturbed. 
No. He just hasn't kissed you. There might have been a moment when he first came home where you thought he was hesitating to kiss you, but since then he's acted exactly as he usually does (minus kissing, therefore making it unusual). 
You sigh, half serious and half wanton sadness. "No." His nose twitches. You startle. "What?" 
"Nothing." 
"What, do I have bad breath?" you ask, bringing a hurried palm to your mouth to try and test it. 
Eddie pulls your hand down, admonishing through a laugh, "You obviously don't. You know I'd tell you, babe." 
"Oh." 
"I got gum though, if you want it." 
You bat his chest. "I bet you do… I don't know what it is, then. I give up." 
"What's what?" he asks. He takes a curl of his hair around a painted fingernail. It coils on his finger, where he pinches the end, bringing it up to your chin and drawing a smile under your lips with the tip. 
"I… do I have something in my teeth? A zit? What's the issue?" you ask, lost. 
"There's no issue!" He laughs, and he curves his hand gently around your neck. "Why do you think there's an issue?" he asks. A thread of his voice wavers. Impossible to notice if you didn't know everything about him, down to the stray hair. 
"No, because," —your voice shrinks— "you're being off with me." You won't cry, but it's impossible to stop the doubt that seeps into your voice. "You're not…" 
Eddie strokes your neck with his thumb, growing serious. "I'm not what?" 
"You haven't kissed me." You avoid his eyes. "Not since you saw me." 
"I'm sorry," he says, immediately dipping forward. 
You pull back. "Wait–" 
Eddie waits. "What?" he asks. 
"I don't want you to kiss me just 'cus I asked you to." 
Eddie pushes his hand upward, his index finger shaped to your jawline. He rubs a quarter circle from your chin to your jaw tentatively with his thumb, an awful sorry look in his eyes that he gets whenever you're upset. "Well, I always want to kiss you," he confesses. His eyebrows furrow. "You know that, right?" 
"But you haven't, today." 
Is that pathetic? you panic. Noticing, caring, it feels so, so silly all of a sudden, you can't believe you spilled it that easily. You may as well have written clingy loser across your forehead in glaring pen. 
Eddie sees it. He doesn't cringe at you like you fear he will. 
"Ah," he says, almost humming, his lips barely parted, "that's just not okay, is it? My girl waiting on a kiss." 
He leans in. You shy away, wanting his kiss but wanting the run up more. Eddie follows your lead, keeping space between you, rubbing a diligent and affectionate circle into your cheek. His touch is soft enough to tickle. 
"I'm not trying to act desperate, I just figured– I thought there was a reason you hadn't," you say. 
Eddie asks you in his softest, most genial tones if he can kiss you. 
You don't say yes so much as you lift your chin and close your eyes. Your relief is sharp as he closes the fizzing space between you, as he guides your face to his and holds it there like a treasured pearl cupped in two palms. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that kills any doubts of his affection stone cold dead. Your lips part a millimetre if that, and Eddie slots into the gap, his hands growing less and less careful by the second, the pressure of his touch amping up. He moves back only long enough to turn his head, your noses bumping, another breathy sound slipping past his lips. You smother it gracelessly with a rougher reciprocation. 
It's not your longest kiss, but it works. It's the reassurement you needed. Eddie pulls away to suck in a harsh breath, the feeling foreign against your tingling lips. His face dips, his eyes out of view. His hands move in twin down the slope of your neck, languish, feel along the thin layer of your t-shirt as though he's looking for some secret answer. 
"I'm not trying to act weird around you, I'm just nervous," he says.
You feel your back aching, stiff as a rod. "Nervous?" you ask quietly. 
Eddie rests his forehead on your chin. He whispers a cuss, and then he sits up very tall and looks you in the eye. 
It takes him five seconds to tell you what it is that's making him anxious. In that time, you come up with a handful of things. I lost my job. I don't want to be with you anymore. There's someone else. There's no one else, but you did something that pissed me off/made me uncomfortable/disgusted me. I'm sick. None of your guesses are good, and none prepare you for what he asks next. 
"Would you wanna move in with me?" 
His hand meanders along your thigh. An awkward smile catches his lip like a fish hook, tugging it up on one side. 
"I… what?" 
"I think it's a good idea. I was trying to ask you yesterday, and now today it didn't feel right. I don't want you thinking I'm asking because you did my laundry." His hand warms your thigh, a pervasive heat. Your face is similarly hot. "We could split rent, and you could keep saving. You wouldn't have to deal with your shitty neighbours. You'd be closer to your job, and– and to me. It's a good idea," he repeats. "There's a ton of reasons it would be good for you, but I'm asking 'cus I missed you so bad last night I couldn't sleep. I wanna be with you whenever we can be." 
"You'd really want me to?" you ask. 
"You'd never have to wait for a kiss again," he says hopefully. "I know it's a big move. I get it if you're not ready." 
"I'm ready," you say. You don't know it's true until you've said it aloud. 
Delight sparks and catches like sun-dried tinder. Elation lights his eyes. "Holy shit, yeah? You want to?" 
"Yeah," you say, nodding emphatically, trying not to yell. "Yes, I want to. I'd love to! That would be–" 
"A dream," he finishes, snatching your waist into his grasp, basically yanking you into his arms.
"Amazing," you say, your arms forced over his shoulders. 
You wrap your arms around the back of his head, curls that smell of almond oil and a generous dollop of hair mousse crushed to your face. Your eyes slip closed. You suck in an inconspicuous breath, though your self-indulgent action is interrupted by a groan, Eddie squeezing you hard enough to make the bones in your back click three at a time. 
"I can't believe you, sweetheart. I don't kiss you for an hour and you think there's something wrong?" He laughs.
"I'm spoiled," you say sheepishly. To draw his attention, you add, "I can't believe you, afraid to ask me that! Why would I say no? I love you." 
"I love you, too," he says, pulling the small of your back tighter still so he can dig his nose into the side of your head. 
He kisses you all over the side of your face until you're painted in little warm patches from overexposure. A loved up mess, and dizzy with relief.
Relief and excitement. "How soon do you want me in here?" you ask, sitting back. 
"How soon do you want another kiss?" he asks. 
"Will we be stealing each other's questions all day?" you ask. 
"For the rest of time, if I get my way." 
"That's so corny," you whisper, ecstatic. 
Eddie pushes you down onto the couch cushions. You know before he so much as pulls up a knee that he's going to climb on top of you. You make room for him, your heart feeling like it could breach through your ribs one bone at a time. 
"What are you doing?" you whisper with a smile. 
"Making up for lost kisses."
Two Weeks Later
Eddie wakes to a kiss. 
Your arm thrown over his waist, your hand feeling greedily at the trim curve atop his hip, you've well and truly wrapped yourself around him. Like an octopus. He imagines the popping sound of your suckers if he tried to detach you (not that he'd want to). 
You're dotting shy, soft kisses down the column of his throat. "I love you," you say softly between them, a melody that turns him to jelly. "I love you. Love you, love you, love you." 
Your kisses are a compromise —after the general holy fucking shit-ism of your conversation a fortnight ago, Eddie put his foot down. He was out of his mind knowing his apartment was about to become yours, but he was also incredibly unhappy about the faces you'd made before he asked. He remembers your voice, your apprehension as you mumbled, "No, because, you're being off with me."  
Eddie had been totally off trying to figure out how to ask what was potentially the second most important question he could ever ask you; he was distracted enough by it that he totally forgot about kissing you senseless. And your worrying asked a totally new question he hadn't thought of before. Why does Eddie always kiss you first? And why had the lack of a kiss been seen as a bar, and not an invitation? 
Hence Project Kiss Me, Stupid. Or Project Kiss Me Stupid if he's feeling particularly in love (because you aren't stupid at all, but you may have made an unintelligent assumption (Eddie not kissing you for a few hours did not mean even slightly that he isn't gross in love). 
The project was more like a proposal. Eddie decided you should be making the first move more often, so you weren't ever left feeling like something was wrong between you for lack of a kiss again. "If you ever think I'm mad at you, plant one on me. I promise I won't be mad much longer," he told you.
You're passing with flying colours, as far as he's concerned. Eddie thinks your moving in was gift enough, but fuck, all these kisses? He's been a walking vestibule of love, and lust, and sickening fondness for two weeks now. Project Kiss Me Stupid is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's a genius.
"Good morning," you say into his neck, a hint of teeth scratching him with the greeting. Eddie cups the back of your head with a weak, tired groan as your lips close over his pulse.
"Morning," he says. His voice is thick with the grit of sleep. 
"This is okay?" you ask, pausing in your kiss. 
Eddie tips his head back heavily into plush pillows, your pillows, fresh with new bedding to match the nightstands you'd decided on together. "Please," he says. His arm slides behind your back to belt you in. "I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore if you take any longer." 
"Very funny," you murmur. 
He knows he's forgiven for teasing when your face dives back into the crook of his neck. His eyes shutter closed, blissed, thinking, God, I could get used to this, when you nip him. 
"You didn't like my joke, I take it?" 
"It was funny," you say, giving him a scratching kiss.
"That's counter-intuitive," he warns. "I like it rough." 
You fall away from him to cover your face with both hands. He knows he's rubbing off on you at the sight, your head shaking a theatrical side to side that fails to hide real embarrassment beneath it. You look especially tortured. 
Eddie knows exactly how to fix it. 
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!
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