#American manicure

[mrs-trophy-wife]

#nails #ombre #ombré nails #American manicure #Rolex #Cartier #love bracelet

[obsessedho]

#american manicure #american nails #nails #french tips #french manicure

[nailsandinspo]

#native american #culture #native woman #native #indigenous #manicure #mani #nail blog #nails #cute nails #art #beauty #nail art #art nails #videos #nail video #nail videos #@honeybabysets

[mydollsaregay]

Last night, I was thinking about the twins and was able to put my finger on what was still bugging me about them.

Despite it making us feel old, the 90s IS history (hell, yesterday is history!). AG is saying it, but I’m not sure they… mean it?

From the hints of the girls’ stories I’ve seen so far, the only anchoring historical event seems to be y2k. Everything else is nice enough, but certainly not unique to the 90s, and could be given to a goty instead.

Honestly? Y2K is not enough. It’s a little too safe. Yes, it was a big deal to the people who lived through it. However, it was literally just New Years, but cooler (and with a lot of programming work in the background to change years to be stored as four digits). What are the lasting effects that kids can recognize today? Because I see very few that can’t just be chalked up to the passage of time.

There was a lot more to the 90s than fashion, pop culture, and the biggest new years ever, but it kinda seems like those are the only parts AG is interested in portraying. When you put y2k up against some of the other historical events that other American Girls live through, even just the ones from the 20th century, it seems pretty silly. Second wave feminism, the Great Depression, the civil rights movement, and now….. new years but the number changes a bit more than usual!!!!!! Like. Cmon.

Even if they were wedded to portraying y2k, columbine, the effects of which are VERY much felt by kids today, happened that same year. But I kinda doubt AG will have the guts to even discuss it in the girl’s stories, which is really sad (and honestly one of the biggest downsides to more modern historical dolls - the history they’re covering is still too touchy for a lot of parents to be comfortable with).

Also, by pushing the girls to be in the late 90s, I’m betting AG is trying to worm their way out of having the 2000s girl live through 9/11 (i.e. watching it on tv) and the start of the war on terror. Which like. I get WHY (still too touchy for parents) but it’s really frustrating. 9/11 and it’s aftermath is arguably one of the most impactful events in American history, it’s stupid to dance around it. Felicity gets to live through the actual revolution but god forbid a more modern girl actually live through recent historical events.

#american girl #agblr #american girl dolls #isabel hoffman #nicki hoffman #the twins #my posts #my opinions #to be clear: I don’t actually care if the 2000s girl watches the towers fall live. but the stuff that comes immediately after NEEDS to be in #her story. or there would be no reason at all besides nostalgia to make a 2000s doll. #which is kinda the problem I have with the twins. it really seems like had no reason besides nostalgia to make them 90s dolls. #which is also reflected heavily in the author interviews which like :/ #the literally just answer the question of ‘why does this story matter’ with ‘they’re twins and that’s neat :)’ #ok so like….. nothing about actual 90s history outside of pop history remember fondly? #nothing about their lives as part of an interfaith family????? #girl what????? #(to be clear that is on ag - not the authors. those interviews were HIGHLY manicured. ag was telling the story they wanted there. idk what #the authors actually think about it)

[spabeautysalon149]

Liệu rằng cắt móng tay vào ban đêm có nên hay không ?

Theo như khoa học: thì móng tay móng chân của con người là một lớp chất sừng, nó có tác dụng bảo vệ phần da thịt mềm ở các đầu ngón tay, ngón chân khi phải tiếp xúc với nhiều vật khác nhau. Nó được xem như là một tấm lá chắn bảo vệ, giữ gìn tính ổn định và sự an toàn cho các chi, tăng cường sự mẫn cảm và phản ứng của các chi khi tiếp xúc với môi trường xung quanh. Không những thế, các dây thần kinh ở đầu ngón tay rất cần có móng tay, chúng có tác dụng điều tiết mạch máu và điều hòa nhiệt độ ổn định cho cơ thể.

Còn theo quan niệm dân gian: ông bà ta, thì không nên cắt móng tay móng chân vào ban đêm, nhất là ở trẻ nhỏ đang ngủ. Vì vào thời điểm buổi tối, hệ thần của chúng ta khá là mệt mỏi vì đã dồn năng lượng vào hết cho các hoạt động ban ngày. Nên khi cắt móng tay móng chân vào thời điểm này, sẽ làm tác động đến sự mẫn cảm của hệ thần kinh thì không nên chút nào.

Trong dân gian ta cũng thường truyền miệng nhau rằng, nếu như cắt móng tay móng chân vào ban đêm sẽ rất dễ bị nhiễm bệnh nấm móng hoặc bị vô hồn mất đi ý thức. Nguyên nhân của điều này cũng bắt nguồn từ những câu chuyện dân gian mang đậm tính chất tâm linh, huyền bí và cũng phần nào dựa trên các nguyên lý phong thủy âm dương ngũ hành.

Nên để móng tay vuông hay tròn đẹp hơn

Móng tay vuông hay tròn đẹp, nhiều bạn khi làm móng tay sẽ quan tâm đến màu sơn móng và các họa tiết nhưng lại ít quan tâm đến hình dáng móng tay. Tuy nhiên dù mẫu móng tay của bạn có xuất sắc đến đâu nhưng form móng không phù hợp với bàn tay và hình dáng móng nguyên thủy thì nhìn tổng thể không ăn khớp một tí nào cả và 2 mẫu thường được chọn là móng vuông và móng tròn, trước khi quyết định bạn hãy xem chi tiết về 2 form móng dưới đây.

Hướng dẫn tự cắt móng tay vuông ngay ở nhà

Nếu bạn yêu thích một phong cách gọn gàng thì móng tay vuông chính là lựa chọn dành cho bạn. Đây là kiểu móng có nguồn gốc từ nước Pháp và đã trở nên thịnh hành trong những năm gần đây, Cách cắt móng tay hình vuông cần thực thiện các bước sau:

Chuẩn bị trước khi cắt móng: Nước ngâm tay mềm ra, kềm bấm cắt móng, dụng cụ lấy khóe,giấy lau gel và bông gòn, dung dịch tẩy sơn móng.

Làm mềm móng dể cắt và loại bỏ vết bẩn ở kẻ

Tiến hành cắt móng.

Dũa móng và hoàn thiện.

Móng tay vuông dài nhọn: Kiểu dáng móng dài cổ điển với phần đầu được vót nhọn. Những bạn có ngón tay ngắn để kiểu móng này sẽ tạo cảm giác bàn tay thon dài hơn rất nhiều. Móng vuông ngắn: Nail vuông đơn giản kiểu dáng móng có độ dài trung bình với đầu móng tương đối bằng và hai góc móng ở hai bên. Những bạn có ngón tay to, giúp mang đến một ấn tượng mạnh mẽ và cá tính. Cách cắt móng tay vuông bầu oval: Nail móng vuông đẹp kiểu dáng móng có độ dài trung bình và đầu móng được bo tròn dựa theo dáng móng tự nhiên. Những bạn có ngón tay ngắn với phần đệm thịt rộng và đầy đặn.

Cách chọn mẫu móng tay tròn nhọn đẹp

Các mẫu nail móng tròn nhọn được giới làm đẹp yêu thích và ủng hộ mạnh mẽ. Cùng xem ngay những kiểu nail tròn nhọn cực xinh.

Nail móng tròn nhọn màu đen: là một trong những màu sơn được yêu thích bên cạnh màu đỏ quyến rũ. Đây là mẫu móng mang hơi hướng của nét bí ẩn và gây sự tò mò cho đối phương. Bạn có thể kết hợp thêm các nét vẽ sọc đối xứng để ra các hình dáng ô vuông sẽ giúp bộ móng ấn tượng hơn. Bên cạnh đó, các bạn có thể chọn màu đen nhám hay đen bóng để phù hợp với phong cách của mình.

Nail tròn nhọn ombre: Sự chuyển sắc khéo léo từ cách sơn ombre là lựa chọn không thể thiếu trong danh sách những mẫu nail móng nhọn tròn hot năm 2023. Bạn có thể chọn mẫu nail ombre theo phong cách đối xứng hay chuyển từ đậm sang nhạt đều được.

Cách cắt da thừa móng tay không làm chảy máu

Các bước cắt da thừa ở móng tay chuẩn nhất theo các spa, salon khi phục vụ khách hàng.

Lấy nước lạnh hoặc dùng nước muối, đặt đôi tay vào và để yên từ 10 đến tầm 15 phút. Chờ cho vùng da tay mềm hơn thì lấy khăn lau thật khô bộ móng. Tiếp đến thì thoa một lớp mỏng vitamin E hoặc kem dưỡng ẩm cho da tay. Bước này chủ yếu để da mềm hơn, không bị khô da khi cắt da thừa móng tay.

Đẩy lùi toàn bộ phần da chết ở khóe móng, xung quanh viền da móng tay bằng cây sủi da. Thực hiện động tác này lưu ý nhẹ nhàng, lực vừa đủ để không gây tổn thương cho làn da. Lựa chọn kềm cắt da phù hợp với nhu cầu sử dụng. Đẩy kềm lên trên bề mặt móng tay. Quá trình thực hiện nhặt da, dùng song song với miếng bông nhỏ để vệ sinh liên tục, lau sạch kem dưỡng ẩm còn sót trên da.

Khi đã hoàn thành cắt da thừa móng tay, bạn lấy cây dũa móng tạo khối cho móng tay. Sau bước định hình móng, hãy lấy khăn ướt lau sạch móng thì bạn đã sở hữu được đôi bàn tay xinh xắn rồi đấy. Riêng đối với ai có móng tay yếu, giòn và dễ gãy thì sơn một lớp mỏng dầu dưỡng móng để phần móng chắc khỏe hơn.

Mong rằng sau đọc xong về kỹ thuật cắt da thừa móng tay chuẩn nhất, bạn đã có đủ kiến thức cần thiết và hữu ích.

Cắt móng tay ngắn bị bệnh tim không

Cắt móng tay  ngắn sẽ hạn chế vi khuẩn, bụi bặm bám vào, dễ vệ sinh móng tay sạch sẽ… hạn chế được vi khuẩn xâm nhập tránh được các bệnh đường tiêu hóa.

Tuy nhiên, cắt móng tay quá sát dễ cắt chạm vào da, làm tổn thương da vùng đầu ngón tay gây đau và viêm nhiễm. Ngoài ra, khi em làm việc các đầu ngón tay dễ bị va chạm, nếu cắt móng tay sát quá làm thiếu phần bảo vệ đầu ngón tay sẽ gây đau. Về chuyện cắt móng tay sát quá dễ gây đau tim, điều này chưa có cơ sở khoa học nào chứng minh cả.

Do đó, tốt nhất chúng ta cũng nên cắt móng tay vừa sát để bảo vệ móng và sức khỏe.

Xem thêm:  kim bam mong tay tot va cat mong vuong hay tron dep hon

https://www.slideshare.net/BeautySalonspa/kim-bam-mong-tay-tot-va-cat-mong-vuong-hay-tron-dep-hondocx

mong-tay by Spa Salon Via Flickr: https://spabeautysalon.com/tag/mong-tay

#a nail salon manicure #beauty nails #hair #hairdresser #huong dan lam trang rang bang vo chuoi #manicures #nail #nail artists near me #nail design #nail enhancements #nail salon #nails salon #offers beauty #outstanding nails #pedicures #spa beauty salon #the best nail #the best nail salons in american #the nail bar #waterless manicure #waterless manicure near me #waxing #mong tay #mong tay dep #Ho-Chi-Minh-Stadt #Vietnam #flickr

[cursedauxiliary]

Ngl polish house makeover shows are 10x better than american

#they actually paint with color!! they decorate so nicely and uniquely #there was a little girl that loved dogs so they bought her stuffed animals put doggy wallpaper and etc! #hell they even stock the fridge they say hi and talk to the ppl building #buy panczki and flowers #ah its just nice and so much more wholesome #like american hosts feel so superficial #like too manicured #.txt

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still no reply.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From bugs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackpot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there he is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[unasyestetica]

Nueva entrada en Uñas y Estética

Nueva entrada en https://www.unasyestetica.com/american-manicure-style/

American Manicure Style

American Manicure Style

Hoy te traigo una manicura francesa que es un rotundo éxito entre las beauty lovers, la american manicure. Esta tendencia se ha convertido en la preferida para esta temporada 2023 junto con la mani nipona.

No es ninguna novedad que la manicura francesa es un clásico, absolutamente atemporal, y una de las opciones más demandadas por las fans del nail art minimalista y discreto.

Se trata de una tendencia con un potente estilo, elegante,  y con un efecto sumamente rejuvenecedor,  y que no decepciona.

Los diseños de la american manicure style se caracterizan por llevar una base ‘desnuda’, muy sútil y que estilizan al máximo las manos. Esta simpática tendencia tiene su razón de ser e inspiración en la manicura francesa donde se utiliza una base más natural, semejante al tono de la piel, y un blanco más apagado. En la american manicure style el blanco y el tono nude o rosa prácticamente se funden, de manera de conseguir un acabado con una apariencia de la uña sin esmalte.

Muchas celebrities e influencers se han sumado a la tendencia de la american manicure, como una forma de complementar sus looks y estilismos en general.

Si quieres ser parte de esta manicura anímate y sigue estos sencillos tips.

En primer lugar hazte con los esmaltes necesarios. Los esmaltes que van ideal con esta manicura son los tonos nude, blanco roto, beige. Es decir te aconsejo utilizar tonos más suaves que los que normalmente se llevan para hacer la manicura francesa tradicional.

Te vas a enamorar de este estilo de manicura, simplemente porque estos esmaltes rejuvenecen tus manos y son súper versátiles y combinables con cualquier look. 

Estamos en condiciones de afirmar que la american manicure style es un diseño de uñas discreto pero con estilo, y que te permitirá presumir de uñas muy prolijas sin tener que realizar mantenimiento todo el tiempo. Esto es una gran ventaja, ya que al ser un tono de apariencia tan natural, no se notará tanto el crecimiento e imperfecciones.

#American Manicure Style

[elstoy]

um your writing is so fucking good i’m nervous 🏃🏾‍♀️

okay i think ellie would wear her strap out in public and one day reader would decide to give her a handy like- half joking but ellie actually LOVES it. like her eyes cloud over instantly and she’s spreading her legs for more

if you could do something with that i’d be forever in your debt

if you can’t i still thank you sm for your time 🙏🏾🫶🏾

she’d be kinda shy at first but seeing your palm on her shaft makes her heart skip a beat lord!!!!!

this would probably occur in one of the first time she has ever worn her cock out in public so she’s extra nervous. what absolutely doesn’t help her nerves, is how it keeps rubbing against her crotch and how you keep damn eyeing her little bulge!!!

she’d be blushy and so awkward, frantic whispers like “babe stop gawking at it…” “jeez people are gonna see, stop looking at my dick!!!!” “seriously, babe, m’never doing this again” as if it doesn’t turn her on to see your gaze drop down and your all knowing smile every two secs. rolls eyes.

it all starts when you tell her you gotta pee in the middle of lunch at an all american diner. usually, you’d go alone, but you’re begging her to come with you this time. she obliges out of innocence but has no idea what you plan to do in there. honestly, neither did you, but you just had to… touch it, for some reason. so you fondle her everywhere, squeezing her butt and making her squirm, then pressing your palm atop the bulge. she winces like you just touched her cunt in the middle of a public speech.

“baaaabe” she complains but that reddish blush gives her in. you keep toying with it above her baggy jeans, pressing it and releasing it and running your fingertips on its length. you’re giggling, she did too at first, but now ellie’s fully panting.

“i know you’re playing but this isn’t…”

you unbutton her jeans. you’re no longer giggling too.

“a game”, she breathes.

if it’s extra thick, so your palm doesn’t close all the way it makes her size kink go brrr. because as much as you love her hands she loves yours a billion times more. especially if they’re perfectly manicured, acrylics and all… you spit on your palm and smear it on her tip as u look at her like this “🥺” and her hips immediately buck like a middle schooler getting his first handy.

“wanna play with it” you murmur against her neck. her fine hairs rise, this has definitely unlocked… something.

you move your hand slow, up and down, not failing to keep eye contact with ellie for a second. her lids close, eyebrows furrow, lips forming a near pout. maybe she grew a phantom dick, or maybe it’s the pressure of the base against her clit, but she swears a pool of sweet sleek forms right below her slit.

“you’re so s-s-stupid… this isn’t funny… soooo, good” ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

#꒰｡•ॢ༝ -｡꒱ ˚◞💌 : luvrxbunny #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams concept #ellie williams #ellie x reader

[djnailsspasalonrayford]

Điểm danh các cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp mới nhất

Sở hữu bộ móng tay đẹp giúp bạn trở nên cá tính, hiện đại, tự tin hơn rất nhiều trong giao tiếp. Trong đó, cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp là yếu tố ảnh hưởng lớn nhất đến tính nghệ thuật, thẩm mỹ cho bộ nail của các nàng.

Không ít cách phối màu sơn móng tay dưới đây sẽ khiến nàng phải trầm trồ và lưu ngay về máy, chờ ngày áp dụng. Sự kết hợp hài hòa giữa các màu móng tay màu trắng, màu đen, màu đỏ, màu xanh pastel, màu hồng, màu tím…

Cùng chúng tôi tham khảo những cách phối màu sơn nail cho bộ móng luôn thời thượng và phù hợp với từng cá tính.

Cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp mới nhất 2023

Cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp giữa màu trắng và màu đen

Để có được một bộ móng tay đẹp phải kể đến sự phối màu hài hòa giữa đen và hồng. Với hai màu này sẽ tạo điểm nhấn cho bộ móng của bạn trong mắt người khác. Do vậy, đây là sự lựa chọn hoàn hảo cho những ai vừa muốn theo đuổi phong cách nữ tính, vừa pha lẫn chút cá tính

Các họa tiết màu đen trên nền sơn màu hồng giúp móng tay thêm nổi bật, tăng thêm nét nữ tính hơn. Một gợi ý dành cho bạn đó là bạn có thể vẽ nền móng màu đen và sử dụng sơn màu hồng để vẽ thêm họa tiết. Cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp này phù hợp với những người có gu thời trang hiện đại và cách ăn mặc tươi trẻ.

Phối màu móng tay đẹp giữa màu hồng và màu đen

Một trong những xu hướng được nhiều người lựa chọn nhất ở hiện tại là sự kết hợp giữa đen và trắng. Cách phối màu sơn móng tay đẹp này mang một phong cách khá cổ điển, thêm một chút kì quái, được rất nhiều người ưa chuộng.

Với cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp này bạn có thể sơn một số mẫu nail có nền đen rồi điểm thêm một chút họa tiết có màu trắng lên. Hay ngược lại một số móng với nền sơn trắng kết hợp họa tiết đen. Từ đó, giúp bàn tay bạn trông cá tính và nổi bật hơn ở những nơi đông người.

diem-danh-cac-cach-mix-mau-son-nail-mong-tay-dep-moi-nhat by Spa Salon Via Flickr: điểm danh các cách mix màu sơn nail móng tay đẹp mới nhất

#a nail salon manicure #beauty nails #hair #hairdresser #huong dan lam trang rang bang vo chuoi #manicures #nail #nail artists near me #nail design #nail enhancements #nail salon #nails salon #offers beauty #outstanding nails #pedicures #spa beauty salon #the best nail #the best nail salons in american #the nail bar #waterless manicure #waterless manicure near me #waxing #cach mix mau son nail mong tay #Ho-Chi-Minh-Stadt #Vietnam #flickr

[focusonthegoodnews]

How the No Mow May environmental movement spread

How the No Mow May environmental movement spread

Good News Notes: “A super green, perfectly manicured lawn has long been the vision of American landscaping. But a growing number of homeowners are letting their lawns evolve into a more nurturing habitat for the whole month of May.  The “No Mow May” movement originated in the UK in 2019, but now includes dozens of participant cities in the US. By leaving their usually clean-cut lawns untouched,…

View On WordPress

#American landscaping #Appleton #bees #businesses #clovers #dandelions #eco-friendly trend #good news #happy #help #homeowners #Israel Del Toro #joy #kindness #Lawrance University #local governments #manicured lawn #Midwest #need #No Mow May #Northeast #nurturing habitat #pollinators #positive #promote biodiversity #teaches biology #UK #US #violets #Wales

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

[spabeautysalon149]

Tìm hiểu các trò chơi trong lễ hội halloween 31/10

Halloween là một lễ hội truyền thống và đặc biệt ở phương Tây, nó thường được diễn ra hàng năm vào ngày 31 tháng 10 năm 2022. Halloween là thời điểm đánh dấu một mùa vụ thu hoạch đã kết thúc và đón chờ một mùa đông băng giá.

Nguồn gốc xuất hiện lễ hội halloween ở mỹ

Lễ hội Halloween ngày nay bắt nguồn từ dân tộc Celt, là một dân tộc sống cách đây hơn 2,000 năm trên các vùng đất bây giờ là Anh quốc, Ái Nhĩ Lan và miền Bắc nước Pháp. Dân tộc Celt bắt đầu năm mới vào ngày 1 tháng 11 Dương Lịch. Một lễ hội được cử hành vào đêm trước năm mới, để vinh danh vị thủ lãnh đã quá cố là Samhain. Ngày lễ hội này báo hiệu sự bắt đầu của mùa lạnh, của những ngày tối tăm thường được liên kết với sự tàn tạ và sự chết của loài người. Dân tộc Celt tin rằng Samhain cho phép những linh hồn người chết được trở về nhà trên trần gian vào đêm hôm đó.

CÁC TRÒ CHƠI TRONG LỄ HỘI HALLOWEEN

TRÒ CHƠI HALLOWEEN TRUYỀN THỐNG CHO KẸO HAY BỊ GHẸO Trò chơi Halloween này xuất phát từ câu chuyện về vị thần Druids. Khi tham gia các bé sẽ được hóa thân thành nhiều nhân vật rồi đi đến từng nhà gõ cửa, nói “cho kẹo hay bị ghẹo nào!” và những người hàng xóm tốt bụng sẽ “đối xử tử tế” cho chúng kẹo, hoa quả với mong muốn thoát khỏi những trò ghẹo tinh nghịch của lũ quỷ nhí. LỄ HỘI HÓA TRANG HALLOWEEN Hóa trang được xem là linh hồn trong những bữa tiệc Halloween, người tham dự có thể tự do hóa trang theo những nhân vật, hình thù mình yêu thích, nhưng đặc biệt là phải càng kinh dị càng tốt. Nhiều người cho rằng việc hóa trang trong ngày Halloween còn giúp xua đuổi, hăm dọa những hồn ma, để không bị “đoạt hồn chiếm xác”. ️TRÒ CHƠI HỒN MA BOWLING Đây là một trò chơi đang rất được ưu chuộng ở mọi nơi trong ngày lễ Halloween. Đối với trò chơi Hồn ma bowling, sẽ có nhiều đội được tham gia. Mỗi đội sẽ dùng những cuộn giấy vệ sinh màu trắng trang trí các quả bóng bowling làm sao cho nó thật ngộ nghĩnh và đáng sợ. Sau đó, những sản phẩm này sẽ được xếp lên nhau. Đại diện nhóm sẽ sử dụng một vật tròn, nhỏ như trái bóng cầm tay, ném liên tiếp vào những hồn ma bowling mới hoàn thành. Nhóm nào ném được hồn ma bowling đổ hết xuống sàn sớm nhất thì nhóm đấy sẽ giành chiến thắng. TRANG TRÍ BÍ NGÔ Trong trò chơi Halloween này, cha mẹ cùng các bé trang trí những quả bí ngô bằng những hình thù đẹp mắt và vui nhộn, hài hước để kích thích sự sáng tạo của bé cũng như để cả gia đình cùng trải nghiệm những phút giây thư giãn tuyệt vời bên nhau. TRANG TRÍ LỒNG ĐÈN KINH DỊ Lễ hội đèn lồng bắt nguồn từ tập quán của người Ireland. Theo truyền thuyết kể lại, Jack là người nổi tiếng vì nghiện rượu và tư chất thông minh. Anh đã lừa con quỷ Satan trèo lên ngọn cây, sau đó khắc hình một chữ thập lên gốc cây và trói con quỷ trên đó. Jack thỏa thuận với con quỷ nếu nó không trêu chọc anh nữa thì anh sẽ thả nó xuống. Do phạm nhiều tội lỗi cho nên khi chết, ông không được lên thiên đàng hay xuống địa ngục. Do vậy, ông phải đi lang thang nhiều nơi tìm kiếm một chỗ trú chân. Hơi ấm duy nhất sưởi ấm cho ông trong giá lạnh là ngọn nến leo lét trong quả bí ngô. Trẻ em thường chơi trò đục khoét quả bí ngô, củ khoai tây hoặc bí đao; sau đó khắc hình thù những khuôn mặt lên đó, đặt nến vào bên trong để thắp sáng. Những chiếc lồng đèn này được gọi là “Jack O’Lantern”.

Kể câu chuyện ma và xem phim kinh dị halloween

Nhắc đến Halloween, người ta thường nghĩ ngay đến những linh hồn. Do đó, những câu chuyện ma quỷ càng trở nên ma mị hơn trong đêm lễ hội. Tập phim của series truyền hình và đặc biệt theo chủ đề Halloween (đặc biệt thường dành cho trẻ em) thường được phát sóng vào ngày Halloween hoặc trước kỳ nghỉ, trong khi bộ phim kinh dị mới thường được phát hành rạp trước khi kỳ nghỉ để tận dụng lợi thế của không khí ngày lễ. Hy vọng thông qua bài viết, gia đình và các bé sẽ có một mùa Halloween thật vui vẻ bên nhau và đừng quên bỏ lỡ các khóa học tuyệt vời tại spa beauty salon 149 nhé!

Ý nghĩa của ngày lễ hội hóa trang Halloween

Halloween là một dịp lễ linh thiêng và quan trọng thuộc về tôn giáo, mang nhiều ý nghĩa sâu sắc như: Tưởng nhớ và tôn vinh những người đã khuất, trừ tà và xua đuổi những điều xấu xa,...Đừng bỏ lỡ những hoạt động thú vị và ý nghĩa trong ngày Halloween sắp tới.

Sơ lược về bộ phim Zombie Halloween

SAU THỜI ĐẠI CÙ LAO SẼ TỚI VIRUS CUỒNG LOẠN - BỘ PHIM VỀ ZOMBIE THỨ 2 CỦA VIỆT NAM Năm 2022 sẽ là năm zombie Việt Nam bùng nổ, bởi sau Cù Lao các sống, một bộ phim cùng đề tài sẽ được ra mắt vào dịp Halloween tới đây: Virus Cuồng Loạn. Nếu Cù Lao Xác Sống xoay quanh những zombie miền Tây chân chất, hiền lành, thân thiện và đầy nhân tính, thì qua trailer, ta thấy Virus Cuồng Loạn là zombie miền Núi, có vẻ sống trong hang nhiều nên nhìn mặt trắng bất thường và có phần giống với cương thi. Cảm nhận đôi nét về trailer Virus Cuồng Loạn: Lỗi font, giả trân, ba xu, lộn xộn. Xem trailer xong khỏi muốn xem phim

ve-halloween-tren-mong-tay by Spa Salon Via Flickr: ve halloween mong tay

#a nail salon manicure #beauty nails #manicures #nail #nail artists near me #nail design #nail enhancements #nail salon #nailbox #nails salon #offers beauty #outstanding nails #pedicures #spa beauty salon #the best nail #the best nail salons in american #the nail bar #waterless manicure #waterless manicure near me #waxing #ve halloween #halloween #ve halloween tren mong tay #Ho-Chi-Minh-Stadt #Vietnam #flickr

[nomazee]

enough to make me cry

blade is your only roommate, your only friend, and your only way home from this terrible party you found yourself in.

blade x gn reader — 3.3k — college & roommates au!, very americanized college experiences, frat parties, mentions of drinking & vomiting, could be read as platonic but there are definitely romantic undertones, feelings of inadequacy/being out of place, hurt/comfort, social anxiety, blade is probably ooc i'm gonna be so honest, mild kafka & reader friendship, erggg im probably missing something

notes: no i have to be so honest blade is probably completely out of character i have not played a single side quest with him in it but i just think he has reluctant roommate-to-best friend potential and i wanted to pour that into a fic,,, this is mostly unintelligible but i did proofread! love you all

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and the first thing that you think is Blade’s hands are supposed to be cold.

It’s really pathetic. You’re somewhere in a stupid frat house, the thrumming of music around you. There’s the flashing colors and sounds of Mario Kart on the TV, the smell of puke (probably yours) and corona lite, and a hand on your shoulders that you’ve discerned is not your roommate, Blade’s. 

Looking to the side, you follow the hand (painted, manicured nails, definitely still not Blade’s), and it leads up to an arm up to a shoulder up to a face, and—oh. 

“You’re—” you pause, getting your words in order before you puke them up, “you’re Blade’s pretty lady friend?” It’s supposed to come out as a statement, but leans more to a question. She looks down, a bit of a teasing grin on her face, but her eyes are a little soft so you trust her. 

“Is that what he calls me?” she jokes.

“No, I’m— I came up with that.” If you had any dignity left in you, you’d be embarrassed to admit that to her. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure that Kafka (the pretty lady friend in question) just held your hair back and wiped your face as you puked into a frat-house toilet, flushing your dignity away with your dinner. Your eyes burn with tears and mortification, and you pray that only Kafka saw your embarrassing mishaps.

“I called him to pick you up,” she tells you, already looking away from you and scanning the room as if looking for something, or someone. “I would take you home myself, but I’ve got some things to take care of. And I’m assuming you didn't bring your keys with you?” 

A quick pat-down of your pockets confirms that, yes, you somehow managed to leave your keys at home, the one personal necessity that you were supposed to bring besides your phone. Which, thankfully, you do at least have.

“Umm, the…” you mutter, tongue tangling uselessly as you try to find a way out of here without facing the impending doom of Blade’s aggravated scolding and his I told you so’s. 

A week ago, you went to him with an invite to this frat party and begged him to come with you, saying something like You don’t go out much, this is your chance! He’d adamantly refused, calling it a bad idea and rolling his eyes whenever you brought it up. But you were stubborn, and you wanted to have a fun college experience, so you forced him to drive you to the party with the promise of paying for his next gas payment and getting your own ride back home at the end of the night. 

“I can go,” you finally tell Kafka, mind stringing along memories and thoughts and alarm bells of get your ass home before you have to sit in an awful car ride with Blade, “It’s, like, a fifteen minute walk, don’t call him.” 

“It’s a little too late for that, kid,” Kafka drawls, amusement in her words. She’s smiling down at you, and you’re reminded of how small you feel. “He’s already on the way.” 

“No!” you protest, a little too loudly, but not loud enough to be heard over the thumping of music and bodies and voices. “It’s— Kafka, please, just tell him to turn around, I really don’t want him to deal with me today.” 

If you knew her even less, you’d misinterpret the twitch in her expression as concern—but you’re not too dumb, so you read it as amusement. “Trust me, he’s not going to have a problem with that. You’ll be fine.” 

Whatever that means. Kafka’s too cryptic for your liking, but you won’t complain. She wiped up your vomit from the dirty bathroom tiles and stayed with you to make sure you didn't get trampled, and she didn't complain about any of that. In a week, when you have enough strength to face her again, you’ll treat her to a good, expensive, flaky pastry. She seems like the kind of person who would love those. 

Her phone buzzes with a text notification, and she clicks her tongue, standing up and pulling you with her. Her hand is still warm, seeping through the sleeve of your shirt as she takes you by the forearm, gentle but guiding. Your stomach churns at the thought of seeing Blade, the thought of him seeing you like this. Freshly-puked-out with a nasty stomachache all because of a party that he told you not to go to. 

You hold back your protests as Kafka leads you through the still-crowded frat house. What time is it? Has nobody gotten bored yet, seriously? At least you didn't kill the mood by running to the bathroom and weeping into the toilet. It seems like nobody noticed, except for Kafka, and you don’t know if that should make you feel comforted or just more upset. 

The cool air of the night hits you as you step through the front door, eyes tracking your feet as you walk down the concrete steps. You see the silhouette of Blade’s ugly blue car in your peripheral vision, but you don’t want to look up in fear of seeing the disappointment on his face so soon. He’s going to rip you a new one, and then call you a slob and kick you out of the apartment and say I can’t have a party fiend living with me even though this was your first party ever, honest. 

You barely register that you’ve reached the passenger side of Blade’s car, only coming back to awareness when Kafka opens the door for you and starts nudging you into the seat. A really pathetic part of you wants to grab onto her arm and cry hard enough that she just relents and lets you walk home, but you’re already half into the passenger seat, looking everywhere but Blade. 

“Take care of them, won’t you, Bladie?” Kafka commands lightly, her hand leaving your arm as you get situated and buckled up in the car. Blade lets out a little huff in response and your stomach sinks. He’s already annoyed. 

The car ride to your apartment is only five minutes at this time of night. You just have to survive five minutes in silence and pray that he doesn’t tear into you and scold you like a disappointed parent. A glance at the clock on the car’s console confirms that it’s half past midnight. What the fuck. What were you even doing at the party for that long, besides vomiting and crying? 

The car rumbles, exhaust sputtering a little bit as Blade pulls out from the side of the street and drives slowly, carefully, as if not to rattle you, and you really just want him to speed up and throttle the car around so you feel more guilty about waking him up in the middle of the night to come pick you up. Blade goes to bed at eleven, the latest. You can’t imagine why Kafka thought it would be a good idea to call him, of all people, but then you remember that you kind of don’t have any other friends on campus. Your chest tightens at the thought. 

Blade makes some kind of sniffling noise, his way of trying to initiate some kind of conversation. There’s not even any music playing, because he always drives in dead silence because he’s abnormal, and on any other day you’d tease him about it like you always do. You see him turn his head to you in the corner of your eye, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You wish he’d just start scolding you, yelling at you or something. 

Tears prickle behind your eyes, painfully so, but your hands tighten around each other in your lap as you will yourself to not cry like a baby in front of your roommate. He lets out another sigh, but it doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and somehow that makes you feel worse. 

“What were you guys even drinking?” is his question of voice, and it’s the one question you didn't want him to ask, and you can’t help it when the tears spill over and you bring your hand up to wipe them away frantically, hiccuping a little bit as your gut churns. 

“What—” Blade stutters, and he never stutters, and you see him whip his head around to look at you, crying into your hands over a simple question, and you just want to leave the car and walk home like you told Kafka you would do. He pulls over to the side of some residential street. There’s a dog barking in a yard and wind chimes clinking together, and you think of your handmade bottle cap wind chime hung in the balcony of yours and Blade’s apartment, and it just makes you cry more. 

The car comes to a full stop. Blade puts it in park and turns completely to you. You spare a quick glance at him through the gaps between your fingers, and there’s something like worry on his face, which you’ve never seen before. His face is pinched, lips parted as if wanting to say something, but he can’t. He’s waiting for you. 

“I didn't drink anything, Blade,” you sob, feeling miserable at the state of yourself, at how you went to a frat party with nobody you knew and just walked around like a lost child, too scared to drink or talk to anyone, too anxious to say a word. “Not even a shot, or a sip, nothing from the fridge. It was so stupid, you were right, okay? It was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have gone.” Your breath catches in your throat, and the car is dead quiet as Blade lets your words sink in. 

You try not to make so much noise when you cry, but you’re sniveling and wiping your face and wishing that he would just stop looking at you like that. You can still see the ruby-red of his eyes even when you can’t bear to look up at him, and it makes you so viscerally upset. 

Blade is beautiful, really, and it makes you so upset that he looks better than you right now despite him being dragged right out of bed by Kafka’s phone call with a request to pick you up just minutes ago. You, who spent hours selecting an outfit, just to feel inadequate and wholly ugly the minute you walked through the door. It felt like you were back in middle school, spending hours with your parents picking out an outfit to a school dance, looking through ties and pants and shoes, just to show up and feel both overdressed and underdressed, feel like a fool, feel like you just can’t look the way everyone else does. Like something is always a little wrong. 

“Kafka said that you got sick. You didn't drink anything? You’re sure?” 

“No,”  you confirm pitifully, wanting him to just drop the topic and drive the rest of the way home and never talk about this again. “I was just anxious, and I puked like an idiot. Kafka helped me, she was the only one that I knew at the party. I don’t know. I don’t remember anymore. I was just anxious.” 

He says your name, not unkindly, but with a prying tone that just makes a fresh wave of tears stream down your face in rivulets. “Why would you go if you didn't know anyone?” 

“I don't know!” you shout, heated with embarrassment. You’re acting like a child, throwing a tantrum and crying and shouting in Blade’s car. The seatbelt is too tight on you. You fiddle with it, pulling it from the juncture of your neck and shoulder and loosening it, scratching your bitten nails against the scratchy cloth and looking out of the car window so that you can avoid Blade’s awful, terrible, intrusive gaze. 

“I just wanted to be normal, or something. I don’t know anybody from any of my classes. I don’t talk to anyone from my major. And then I got the invite for the party somehow and I just thought it would be fun. I don’t know, Blade, I know I should’ve listened to you, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop,” he says firmly, fully turned to you now, as if he wants you to look back at him, to listen to whatever he’s going to say, and that’s the one thing you don’t want to do. You hate that he’s being kind. You wish he’d be sarcastic and mean and cruel, bite into you and feed off your self-pity. But he’s being nice, nice in the same way that he’s nice when he buys the right brand of milk for you (because the others make you sick, and the taste is different), or when he drives you places in his car when it’s raining so that you don’t have to take the buses everywhere, or when he comes home with your ridiculous coffee order that costs a hellacious amount of money with all of your substitutions and additions and flavorings. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says resolutely, leaving no room for argument, “Just— I didn't know you were feeling like that. I would’ve gone with you if you told me you needed someone. I assumed you were going with a friend.” 

You don’t respond with I don’t have any friends, because you’re pretty sure that’s clear enough by now, and you don’t want to confirm what’s already been confirmed a million times over just from the way you act. The way you cling to yours and Blade’s apartment, the way you never spend a second longer than you need to in any of your classes, the way that sometimes, when Blade goes out for class or work, you sit on the couch in silence with your laptop out, doing your work for the week and checking the clock and taking naps so that you don’t have to feel so alone for so long. 

“You didn't want to go,” you say instead, “I wasn’t going to make you just because I’m— I don’t know.” 

“I would’ve gone for you,” he tells you, really tells you, with a force in his words, like he wants to drive the point into you with a stake, driven right through your heart. “I would do a lot of things if you asked. You just need to ask.” 

You don’t— you really don’t want to think about what that means. What he means. You rip your eyes away from the car window and turn to face him. He’s not too close. You almost wish he could be closer, but you would suffocate under the pressure in your stomach and behind your eyes. 

He shouldn’t say things like that, things like You just need to ask, because you’d ask for a lot if given the chance. You’d ask for him to come to parties with you, stay by your side, let you put a hand on his shoulder and guide him around another disgusting frat house as if you know what you’re doing. You’d ask him to sleep in the same bed as you some nights, just a foot away from each other, backs turned to each other but still close enough that you can feel the unnatural coldness that radiates off of Blade. 

You’d ask him to introduce you to Kafka and that other girl they hang out with, to say something stupid and funny like This is my abhorrent roommate, be nice to them, and that way you’d have more contacts in your phone that aren't just Blade and your parents and two old high school friends who you haven’t spoken to in a year. You’d ask him to be a lot more than just a plus-one to a party full of people you’ve never met. 

“I just want to go home,” you breathe out, a guilty confession burning your gums and leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying sorry,” he asserts for the second time tonight, making your lungs squeeze as you puff out a tired exhale. Blade turns back in his seat, taking the car out of park and heading back onto the road—driving slowly, yet again, avoiding cracks and potholes in the road. “You need to eat something. You’ll wake up with a hellish headache if you go to bed dehydrated.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“I said it, so it’s true,” he says petulantly, turning the car down into a road that’s definitely not in the direction of your apartment building. To your hidden delight, the glowing sign of a twenty-four-seven ice cream store comes into view, and you sit up just a little bit. Blade slows the car as he turns into the drive-thru, glancing at you with an eyebrow half-raised. 

“What do you want? I’ll order for you.” 

“I don’t have my wallet,” you admit, just a little bit embarrassed. “I didn't even bring my keys with me. Do you think they take Apple Pay?” 

A breathy laugh escapes him, and you catch sight of a dimple pressed into his cheek, and you want to press your thumb into it and look at his smile, just for a little longer. “Don’t be dumb. I’m paying,” he tells you, the same way he has every time he pays for your cafe drink, or when he comes home from work with your favorite, and says You’re broke enough without having to pay for these drinks, don’t pay me back in that snippy way he shows his care. 

You ask for a medium vanilla milkshake, with sprinkles, and he gets you a large instead, which you’re more than grateful for. He refuses to let you look at the receipt for the total cost, and hands you the milkshake with a comical severity that you often see in him. The sweet drink washes away any bitter taste left in your mouth, and you feel a little better, a little nicer in your haphazard party outfit and under Blade’s fleeting gaze. 

A deep sigh escapes you, one of relief, when the car finally parks at your apartment building. Blade puts a cold hand between your shoulder blades, unobtrusive and leading, and it’s a comforting contrast from the heat lingering on your skin from the party and the closed car. It feels right, more in-place than Kafka’s warm hands were when she wiped your face and kept you steady, though she was just as gentle. 

Blade all but tosses you onto the couch, claiming that it’s much too late for a shower and he’d rather not deal with you collapsing from exhaustion in the tub. You relent easily, the exhaustion of the night hitting you and soaking into your limbs. 

“I’ll let you sleep on the couch,” he says, and it’s a good and kind thing, because he knows that sometimes you hate your bedroom because it’s just too empty, and the constant sound filtering into the living room puts you at ease. He never lets you sleep on the couch, because it’s bad for your back, and he jokes about you developing adult onset scoliosis with the awful way you sleep. Letting you do it, just this once, is another one of his small mercies. 

The TV is on, humming at a low volume, and your legs are thrown across Blade’s lap. You’re shocked that he’s willing to fall asleep with you like this, but he’s kind, sarcastic and biting but kind all the same, as much as he loathes to admit it. It’s not too lonely, you decide, hearing the bottle cap wind chimes on your balcony clink together in dissonant harmonies. 

(There’s a missing text from a new contact on your phone when you wake up, coming from pretty lady friend, extending an invite to brunch in two days, and you kick your legs on the couch in giddy excitement, thinking about how you’ll rope Blade into coming with you, too.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

taglist: @tragedy-of-commons

(pssst!!! send me a msg or fill out the form in my navi to be added to the taglist!!!)

#blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #blade hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr ren x reader #thats his name right.......... #blade x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #begging myself to write something under 1k next time #i miss when i had the ability to write short drabbles instead of behemoths #i say this as if i don't have a supernatural blade fic thats already 5k and not even halfway done #THATS the real behemoth #he's so out of character here forgive me #i just like his pretty face #me writing about a frat party when i have yet to even touch the vicinity of a party house

[nicksolemnlyswears]

HAN LUE HEADCANONS

TOKYO DRIFT

pairing: han lue x waitress! reader

word count: 6.3k words

warnings: some smut

notes: after simping for this man for years i’ve finally caved and wrote some headcannons for him.

PT. 2 PT.3

-meeting him...the first time you ever saw han was at work, an american themed diner where you were a waitress. at the time you didn't think much of him, he was just another customer who came in and out. that was until he became a regular.

-once a week became three times a week. next thing you know he was there every night ordering a cup of coffee along with a plain old burger and fries. no pickles.

-han became a familiar face, something to look forward to on your late night shifts. you knew to expect him to come around at 2 or 3 am, never earlier.

-han always scoped the small diner to see which part you were working at and sat there. his excuse was that you already learned his order. "it makes everything so much easier, don’t you agree?" he'd say with a smirk on his handsome face.

-you accepted it. it’s a harmless gesture and you'd rather serve him than the drunk american tourists that swung by the diner. that’s the thing with han, he chose you to serve him but he never acted weird towards you, no inappropriate comments or handsy actions. he made you feel comfortable in his presence, calm even.

-whenever you see him walking by the front of the diner you'd prepare him a fresh pot of coffee. as soon as he sat down on his chosen booth you'd place the steaming cup right in front of him.

-you've made it your mission to tell han how bad consuming one pot of coffee in such a short amount of time is. especially at 3 am but he always shrugs it off, taking a sip of his coffee and locking his eyes with yours, challenging your statement. you’d roll your eyes and mutter a ‘whatever,’ rushing to serve another customer.

-best believe han would watch you walk away to admire your ass, your tacky diner uniform framing it perfectly.

-han tended to order one of two things. either a bacon burger with fries. no pickles. or pancakes drenched in syrup with lots of bacon on the side. with time you get so comfortable with him that when you serve him his food you steal a fry or strip of bacon. its your service fee for being his chosen waitress.

-han is the only one that leaves a tip when he leaves the diner. in tokyo nobody tips, but he insists for the sake of the whole american diner experience. in reality, you're his favorite and he likes you so he doesn't mind dropping a few extra bucks.

-you use that tip money strictly for your manicure. every week a new color covers your nails without fault. han being so observant notices this and looks forward to every thursday to see what color you've chosen. he doesn't make his observation known but he can't help but compliment them when you get your nails done in the same exact orange as his car. pure coincidence because you've never seen his car.

-it takes months of seeing his face for him to make a move of any sort because at first he had no intention of pursuing anything. he went to the diner cause it reminds of home, california. seeing your pretty face was an extra.

-when han gets wrapped up in takashis business and skips a few days he finds himself missing you, wondering what you were up to. if it was a busy night at the diner, were there any rowdy tourists you had to straighten out, and most importantly, what color did you change your nails to?

-one slow night its just the two of you. the cooks are on the back, the other waitress is taking her break. its 4:30 am most drunks are home and the early birds are on their way to the diner

-for once han is sitting on the bar, you across from him, drying mugs and cups. it's now or never. taking one last drink from his coffee han says “you know i have a theory about you.”

“and what’s that?” you ask him, looking up at him through your lashes. your hands busy drying a mug that's already dry.

“you’re a vampire,” he says simply. no smile or sarcastic remark.

laugh bubbles out of you, “han, what the hell?”

only when you laugh does he allow himself to smile. “it’s the only explanation as to why i only see you at nighttime. you’re gone before sunrise too,” he says nonchalantly.

“where is this coming from?” you ask raising an eyebrow, a grin still plastered across your face. the damp towel thrown across your shoulder. you lean forward casually on the counter, coming face to face with the mysterious han.

“just that i’d like to see you during the day time to prove my theory.”

you stare at him, eyes slightly narrowed and he meets straight on. there's no fear in his eyes but there is a hint of expectancy. despite looking at you his hand twirls the remnants of cold coffee in his cup, emanating coolness and nonchalance.

“is this your way of finally asking me out?”

"is it working?" han asks, eyes briefly looking away, before landing on yours again.

"it is," you smile, grabbing a napkin and a pen from your apron to scribble down your number. "text me."

-the date takes place a few days later. han offers to pick you up from your apartment. when you walk out your building han falls harder for you. he always believed you were beautiful even when you barely tried when working at the diner but seeing you out of your uniform all dolled up for him with makeup and hair done. you were more than beautiful, you were stunning.

-you approach him as he leans on his car, trying to act cool. it doesn't make a difference, you already think he's the coolest ever. this is the first time you see his car and it's expensive. you don't know shit about cars but you do have expensive taste and the orange car was ringing alarms in your head.

-one thing is for sure...you have lots to learn about han lue. if all goes well he will not hesitate to tell you all about himself.

-“there you have it i'm not a vampire,” you say as you near him. he chuckles and opens up the door for you. "although i can't promise i don't bite."

“good to know,” he responds in his usual calm tone. your comment does nothing to deter him instead it eggs him on.

-han goes all out for the date. he impresses you with his driving skills, he pays for EVERYTHING, and acts like an outright gentleman. there isn't a red flag on sight. you're not one to put out on the first date but he's treated you so well you heavily consider it.

-something you had never experienced in the past is finding driving sexy. han dominates the car as if its an extension of himself. throughout the entirety of the car ride he's speeding 100 miles and you barely feel it. he swerves between cars to get past them without a beat of hesitation.

-you can look at the streets of tokyo another time. right now your focus is on him. how he grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other on the gear stick. he glances your way and smiles. he knows exactly what he's doing.

-by the end of the date you are more than turned on. the tension between the two of you is intoxicating. you tell yourself you just want to get rid of your dry spell but it’s all a lie. han turns you on in every way possible.

-at the end of the night you shyly invite him into your apartment, hoping he'll say yes and he does. you entertain yourselves with fake pleasantries, asking him if he wants anything, handing him a beer, making small talk.

-the space on your small couch turns smaller and smaller as you both inch towards each other. with one shy glance towards his lips, he takes it as an invitation and smashes his lips against yours. it’s game over. clothes are thrown around, beer is left to warm on the coffee table, and clumsily you make it to your bedroom

-although the moment starts rushed, he slows it down. enjoying your body and everything you had to offer. it's so good you're glad you broke your 'no sex on the first date' rule. because han takes you to highs you haven't experienced in a long, long time

-it’s laying in bed that night that han pops the question, "do you want to be my girlfriend?" he could've waited a few more dates down the road but you two had already skipped a few steps and you've known each other for so long as well. he couldn't wait any longer.

-dating han is unlike anything you expected. first of all you didn't expect him to have so much damn money. it's his treat everytime you go out no matter how much you argue, he already has his card out and manages to pay without you even noticing.

-if you manage to sneak around him and pay, he finds a way to make up for it by buying you stuff you don't need. teddy bears, flowers, jewelry, shoes, clothes, lingerie. okay that last one you really like because it's worth his reaction. he might've picked it thinking it would look good on you but the real thing is so much better.

-now that you're dating, han has even more reason to go see you at the diner. he has his late dinner and gets to chat with you in between serving customers. although your uniform is the definition of an american stereotype he adores it, especially when you pair it with a pair of beat up, high-top red converse that are reserved strictly for work.

-he takes you to the back of the diner to fuck you on your break, it's a given. since he loves your uniform and you are on borrowed time han only lifts the skirt up your hips to have his way with you in it. you brace yourself with your hands on the hard wall, panties pulled to the side, hans hard cock pushing into you from behind. his hands dig onto your hip as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts. the rest of your shift you spend it with sticky panties, a reminder of your activity with han.

-everyone and i repeat everyone knows what you're up. how can they not? you leave looking somewhat put together and comeback with a wrinkled uniform and messed up hair.

-han is such a good boyfriend that he picks up you after your shifts at the diner. either way most of the things he does in his life are at nighttime, waiting for you to finish work at 5 am is nothing. if he so happens to have business he leaves and comes back to pick you up without question. that way he can fall asleep with you in his arms.

-eventually you start wondering where han gets his money, he's never told you he has a job. when you ask him he responds that it's from a job he had in brazil. you don't question it because you refuse to get too in your head about it and ruin something great.

-inevitably you learn about the drifting underground in tokyo and hans participation in it. you're also not interested in that so whenever han invites you to the races, you politely decline. again, cars are not your forte. you'll get bored and wish to go early and you don't want to ruin anything for him.

-it all changes when han brings along an american kid named sean. when the kid finds out you’re his girlfriend the first thing that pops out of his mouth is, “no wonder you never go home with the chicks falling on your lap in the races.”

-your demeanor changes so quick, your smile gone, eyebrow arched, tongue in cheek, glaring intently at han while he avoids your deadly stare. it never crossed your mind that there would be groupies lusting over your man. you're many things and jealous is one of them.

-han begs silently for sean to shut the hell up. bringing him here was a mistake, next time the boy's homesick he’s on his own. until now you've never had a problem with han, if anything there have been stupid fights about him always paying for everything.

-the rest of the time they’re in the diner you act very passive aggressively, smiling at sean but glaring at han. almost slamming his plate on the table, barely any fries on there, while seans has double the amount. for once han has to flag you down to get more coffee to which you pour him a cold cup.

-after dropping off sean at his house he returns to pick you up, finding you walking to the train station when you know he’s gonna pick you up like always does.

“Need a ride?” he asks, sliding the cars window down.

you continue walking, arms hugged to your chest to shield off the cold. the crease on your forehead an indication you are still angry at him. “no.”

“come on, baby. why are you mad?” han parks the car and follows you, grabbing your arm to force you to stop walking.

“because,” you scoff, refusing to meet his eyes.

han holds your shoulder and with two fingers lifts your chin up to look into your eyes, “because?”

“you didn’t tell me that there are girls throwing themselves at you!” you exclaim with a pout, ripping your chin away from his grasp.

“you heard sean. i don’t pay attention to them. i didn’t think it mattered!"

“it does to me!” you yell, punching his chest lightly. “i hate to think that while i’m at home or working you’re out there wooing these girls making them think you’re single and shit.”

“the only girl i’m wooing is you,” han reassures you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a hug.

“but they don’t know that,” you say but it comes out muffled as you hug him back and burry your face on his chest. he always smells so nice.

“then come with me to the next race,” he says, rocking you both from side to side.

“fine,” you pout, tilting your head up asking for a kiss. han gladly gives you what you want, slotting his lips between yours and going as far as slipping his tongue in when you part your sweet lips for him. yeah you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk but who cares.

“can i take you home now?”

“please, my feet hurt.”

-as promised han takes you to the next race, to say everyone was in shock to see han arriving with a new pretty girl is an understatement. the girls you call groupies all glared at you from the moment you stepped out, because no matter how hard they tried, you had hans full attention.

-han has always been the mysterious guy in the underground who appeared out of nowhere and became partner with takashi. no one truly knew where he came from. he was seen with tons of girls at the races and was known to have slept with a few of them but none got as far as to be exclusive with him. the girl who achieved this has the underground intrigued.

-you’re intimidated by the whole situation, the girls glaring, the loud roaring of engines, the fast cars whizzing by you. the only comfort is hans arm wrapped around your waist.

-that uncomfortable feeling vanished when a random girl approached han. she fully ignored his arm wrapped around your shoulder and approached him hands all over his chest and free arm. your inner bitch came out. you said things you cannot repeat and sent her the nastiest look. she had no other choice but to run away with her tail between her legs. han enjoyed every moment of it, kissing you in front of everybody to see. your his girl and most importantly he's your boy.

-you didn't return after that day. you had asserted your dominance once and that was enough. to remind people he was still taken you would just leave hickeys all over his neck. that would do it.

-han still leaves you tips, it’s his way to give you your nail money without you refusing profusely. he’d pull you by your apron kiss you, and stick the money down your apron's pocket with two fingers. he wants to keep you pampered and happy. you're repping him now.

-further down your relationship han learns you’re a college dropout. your family forced you into a degree you hated and was not good at and when you tried to switch they cut you off. now you’re a waitress with no money for school. han assures you that you can be so much more than a waitress even without a degree. it’s a matter of my finding your thing. he would know.

-your passion is cooking. your family is wealthy and when you were young they'd take you to the greatest restaurants in japan and asia. your tastebuds have been trained your whole life.

-when han learns of this he asks you to cook for him and offered to be your sous chef. if this was your passion he wanted you to share it with him.

"what do you think?" you ask him, offering him a taste of the sauce you were making.

"it almost tastes as god as you," he replies, kissing your cheek when you blush. he'd been assigned to peel potatoes. that's as far as his ability went either way. he was more than happy to see you waltz around your kitchen chopping vegetables and sprinkling herbs into the pans.

"han, i'm serious," you whine, taking a taste of your creation yourself.

"so am i," he laughs softly, "it tastes really good."

-you want to impress han with your cooking skills. for some reason you feel the need to prove that you're good at something. you prepare your small table with a white tablecloth and skinny candles. you even decorate the dishes with extra herbs and sauces.

-han has been with you the whole time, refilling both of your wine glasses but when you place the plate in front of him, he's at a loss for words. you turned the chaos in the kitchen into this beautiful dish.

-you're cooking is incredible. his palate is not as developed as yours but he can see you owning a restaurant and earning a michelin star for your cooking. there's no hiding how much he enjoyed the mix of flavors you put together. you're a smiley mess for the rest of the night. seeing han enjoy your creation brings you lots of joy.

-from that day on han and you make it a habit to cook dinner once a week at the least. he takes it as an opportunity to learn as well. the more you cook together the more responsibility you let him have. one day you deem him ready to use the fancy knife chef you spent months saving for.

-something else he learned about you is that you are a freak for skin care. you do it in the morning, at night, and if you need some sort of boost during the day you’ll do it again. many times you’ve fallen asleep in his arms only to wake up in the middle of the night to do your routine. han does not understand it but let’s you be.

-because of this he spends a lot of time watching you apply toners and lotions to your face. face masks are a must in your house and to not make han feel excluded you apply one on him too, including the fuzzy headband so his hair doesn’t get in the way. you sit on his lap afterwards and massage it onto his face. he secretly adores it. especially when you peck his lips to signal your done. now at his place he keeps a stash of face masks. japanese, korean, chinese, american, all sorts of face masks.

-hans habit of snacking on chips and crackers doesn’t go past you. when you ask him he replies truthfully he was a heavy smoker and this is his way of coping and getting the edge off.

-you're relieved by his words. you used to suffer from asthma growing up and your mom did nothing to help as she herself was a 2 pack a day kind of woman.

-now your house is stocked with snacks. you have a stash just for han and whenever he’s in your apartment or you guys are going out he takes his pick and stuff them in your small purse. it's led you to have accumulated points in your rewards card from the convenience store. a win win.

-han is the first to say i love you. he had offered to do your skincare routine for you wanting to challenge himself. he believed he had it down to a tee. fully trusting him you closed your eyes and let him do his thing. he pulled through and only made one mistake throughout the whole thing. nothing catastrophic. when he’s done he kisses your pouty lips layered with some sort of berry lip masque and whispers it “i love you.”

you open your eyes and look at him with a smile. it was only a matter of time till either of you confessed. both of your feelings bubbling under the surface. "i love you too.”

-if there is one thing that shook han to the core was learning that you didn’t know how to drive…at all. you're lucky he loves you or it would've been the end of the relationship.

“here. you can drive today,” han says, throwing you his keys as you leave the diner.

you catch them and throw them back, “no, that’s okay. you can drive.” there's more than one reason as to why you don't give a shit about cars and that's that you never learned to drive.

“please baby. i barely slept last night,” han pleads, kissing your cheek and placing the silly tokyo keychain in your palm.

“i don’t want to ruin your car,” you lie through your teeth, shooting him a sickly sweet smile.

“nothing will happen to it,” han insists.

defeated you sigh and reveal one of your most embarrassing secrets you've kept from han, “you don’t understand…i don't know how to drive.”

han goes slack, staring at you in disbelief but nothing about you said you were lying. it would explain why you've never asked to drive or why you always take the train or bus.

he can't live knowing his girlfriend can't drive. his life depends on his ability to drive and out of all the girls in tokyo he picked one that never found it important to learn.

nodding he takes the keys away from you and opens the passenger door for you to get in. “as soon as i get some sleep i’m teaching you to drive.”

-first thing the next day han has you behind the wheel in an empty parking lot. you’re sweating buckets, nervous. You’re not even in hans expensive car, he brought out a beat up car for you to practice on.

-"driving is as easy as riding a bike," those are hans words as he starts his driving lesson. he doesn't need to know you don't know how to ride a bike either.

"the pedal on the right is gas the one on the left is the brake. you need to press the gas lightly…baby you need to change the shift to drive first,” han says when you press on the gas and the engine revs.

“i can’t do this han. we're going to crash and we'll get hurt or worse...die," you ramble on, trying to unbuckle the seatbelt.

han rolls his eyes and grabs your hands to place them back on the steering wheel, “yes, you can. it’s important for emergencies.”

with a shaky hand you change the gear to drive and step on the gas lurching the car forward. instantly regretting it you slam on the brakes, jostling the both of you violently.

han breathes out loudly, his hands pressed against the dash to steady himself, “slowly, gently.”

out of all the crazy, stupid shit he’s done in the past this is the most scared he's felt about losing his life. you're not a quick learner by any means. just after a short hour he decides it's been enough. you barely managed to get the car running without going 40 miles instantly. don't get him started on how you brake. you don't seem to understand the meaning of gentle.

-han is as much of a taker as he is a giver. he can be the most doting boyfriend ever and suddenly have you on your knees using your mouth as he sees fit, leaving you a mess of saliva and cum.

-you seriously don't mind. that man gives you so much not only material things but love and orgasms. you're more than happy to get bruised knees if it means he's enjoying himself.

-nobody would expect it from him but he's very adventurous in bed, han is always up to trying new things he's read on the internet or hear people talking about. most times it's a success and you incorporate it into your sex lives.

-one thing he had to convince you to do was to give him blowjobs while he drove at ridiculous speeds. you agreed to try it once and it went so well it's become a not uncommon occurrence. most times it’s when you're driving aimlessly with nowhere to go.

-he'd start at a normal speed, let's say 60 miles an hour. you'd lean over the center console and unzip his pants. han would already be sporting a semi knowing what's coming. you'd pump his cock on your hand, letting your spit dribble down as lubrication.

-once he's fully hard you'd lick him base to tip. he'd be going up 90 by then. he can only afford quick glances down to where you're squeezing his cock. when you take him into your mouth he steps harder on the pedal, 100 on the dash.

-the deeper you go the faster the car goes. han leans his head back on the seat to try and control himself. a hand leaving the steering wheel to press against your head.

-the speed of the car and the pleasure of your mouth bring han to highs he's never explored before. when he slows to an acceptable speed you lift yourself to settle back on your seat, buckling your seatbelt. the taste of cum on your tongue.

-han's the type of boyfriend who isn’t so much into hand holding in public. he’s more of a hand around the waist or arm around shoulders guy.

-when you’re fucking though? oh, he’d lace his hands through yours. he's thrusting into you? both or one of his hands is intertwined with yours. he's eating you out? one hand extended to grab one of your boobs and the other in yours. maybe that's why he can't do it in public...it reminds him of more intimate moments.

-when you go awol your friends know there must be a new man on your life and they beg to meet him. they're all pleasantly surprised at the looks of him, especially when the two of you arrive in an expensive sports car and he offers to pay for everyones lunch.

-they are happy for you. it's been a long time since you've dated anyone, your last break up leaving you terribly heart broken. they can all see han loves you and that you love him. it's clear in their eyes this is not about money or lust.

-sean lets it slip that han has a girlfriend and twinkie begs to see who she is. sean agrees to take him to the diner where they sit at one of the booths being served by the other waitress. he points you out as you take someone else's order. twinkie and sean naively believe you haven't spotted them.

-twinkie doesn't fully believe sean just yet. he's having a hard time processing that han has a secret girlfriend, then again when was the last time he saw han hook up with a girl? a long time.

-like most nights you work, han makes an appearance. you have his cup of coffee on the counter and greet him with a peck on the lips as you stretch over it to meet him in the middle.

"your friends are over there," you whisper, softly signaling with your head in their direction.

han looks over at them. sean and twinkie pretend they are engaging in a very interesting conversation and they weren’t staring at han and you. "i'm sorry. have they caused you any trouble?"

"nah, they think i haven't noticed them gawking," you laugh, still leaning over the counter. "should we give them a show?"

"later," han says, tucking a rogue stand of hair behind your ear.

you lean into his touch, a graceful smile blooming from your lips, "as soon as mina gets here we can go." you softly tell him, eager to get out of the diner and go home where you can cuddle with han. there's barely a night you spend apart.

-han easily strikes a conversation with you to pass the time. he tells you about his friends all over the world and the places he's been. in your eyes han is the most interesting man in the world so you hang onto every word he says.

-when the other waitress relieves you of your shift you grab your jacket and meet han by the door. twinkie and sean are still in their little booth, sneaking glances at the two of you. han finally acknowledges them by nodding in their direction and grabbing you by the back of your neck, kissing you deeply. you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his sides. he pulls apart with his teeth biting your lower lip, hands trailing down to your ass to give it a squeeze. making sure your skirt is on place with a little tug, he opens the door for you. as you walk out he sends the boys a little shrug and a smirk, following you outside.

-sean and twinkie sit in their booth, mouth agape at the spectacle han put on. in their head you're way out of his league. you're too hot. their waitress glares at them as she slams the check on their table. they've been there too long.

-the next day at han's garage twinkie tells everyone. “yo han why didn’t you tell us about your girl?”

han doesn't look up from his magazine as he responds, “i didn’t realize i answered to you."

earl and reiko look up from the car they are working on to stare at han. they didn't realize han had a girlfriend, he's always been a...free spirit. not one to settle for just one girl. then again they've only known about his life in tokyo not brasil, or the dominican republic, or california.

“out of courtesy, man! what if i had hit on her?” twinkie says jokingly. not going to lie had he seen you around he probably would've tried to get with you.

“i doubt you would’ve gotten far,” han mutters, taking a swig of his beer bottle. he likes keeping his private life, private. he likes having you all to himself. that way no one can use you against him if something were to happen.

“bring her around, han!” reiko tells han. "i'd love to have another girl around."

“eh, maybe one of these days,” han dismisses them, standing up and heading out to look for sean. they've got business to tend to.

-han is both an ass guy and a boob guy. it all depends on the situation. in public he’s more of an ass guy. he loves watching you walk away, the sway of your hips capturing his attention.

-when he kisses you on public he’ll trail a hand down your body to squeeze your ass lovingly. he's the type to walk with a hand in your back pocket. letting everyone know you're his.

-in private though he’s a massive boob guy. han likes laying in your chest, finding your boobs comfortable. if you're cuddling he'll bring a hand under your shirt (which is probably his anyway) and just caress your tits. he’ll play with your nipple, brushing it with his thumb. it’s not very sexual but it can turn sexual if you wanted.

-han would definitely bring up the idea of you getting nipple piercings. he finds them so hot and he knows they’d look great on you. is the pain worth it? probably. he promised he’d be there with you to hold your hand, he even offered to pay for them. it’s still an idea you’re heavily debating.

-the day you meet hans friends comes too quickly to his liking. you had left your phone in his car by accident and you were going out with your friends. before heading to a new club downtown you stopped by his garage. everyone stopped what they were doing to see who was in the SUV. out the passengers sear came out a high heeled foot and a long leg first quickly followed by the other.

-you walked out looking like a three course meal. hair and makeup done and hair flowing down your back like silk. a short black dress hugged your body, a slit on the side that came up high but not high enough to reveal anything important.

-you slam the car door behind you, entering the garage filled with cars and strangers. you're nervous yet your beautiful looks hid it well. spotting a familiar face you strut towards him. "sean...have you seen han?"

"up-upstairs," sean manages to choke out. pointing to the second level of the garage.

"thanks," you smile at him. you walk past twinkie, winking at him for shits and giggles.

the rest see you walk up the stairs gracefully, surprised that nothing could be seen despite the dress being so short. han's sits in a desk, handling money from his and takashis business.

"hey handsome," you purr, nearing him.

han hadn't heard you come in so when he looks up and sees you looking like that he does a double take. he pushes off the desk, the rolling chair making enough space for you to sit on his lap.

"you look beautiful," he says, caressing your exposed thigh with his fingers. "what're you doing here?"

"i forgot my phone in your car and i'm going out with mindy and the girls," you tell him, grabbing his face on your hands to kiss his lips. it slow and contained as you're careful not to ruin your lipstick.

"you sure you have to go?" han whispers, his palm grabbing a handful of your ass.

"i do, the girls are not happy i've missed several girls night," you tell him. running a hand through his hair.

he looks up at you and says, "alright." han carefully stands up, placing you back on your high heeled feet. he makes his way down the stairs to where his car is parked.

you follow after him until a girl intercepts you, "hi! i'm reiko one of han's friends, it's so nice to finally meet you!"

"nice to meet you too," you say reciprocating her enthusiastic smile.

"here you go," han pops up besides you once again, handing you your phone.

"thanks," you smile at him.

"i should get going before mindy starts honking her horn," you scrunch up your nose.

"you should come around again soon," reiko says, excited that there's finally another girl in the garage that isn't one of the models twinkie and han are used to bring around.

"sure!" you agree with the girl, finding her nice and genuine.

"let me walk you out." han grabs your waist as you walk back towards your friends car. he opens up the door for you as you slip in.

before driving away you lower the window and he leans against the the car, popping his head in. "you girls be safe, call me if you're too drunk to drive."

mindy rolls her eyes at han, "don't worry lover boy. we'll have her back in her apartment before sunrise."

your friend allows you to give han one last peck before she starts closing the window and driving away, "bye!"

-that night han waits for you in your apartment. he hears you before he sees you. the door slamming open startles him and in you stumble with a tipsy mindy holding you up. "i brought her back safe and sound. she's your problem now."

"baby!" you yell, letting go of mindy and falling into his embrace. you kiss him all over his face and hug him close.

"you had a good time?" he asks, looking down at you. your eye makeup is smudged and your lipstick is long gone. you can barely keep your eyes open as you stumble over your words.

"lets go get you ready for bed."

-i repeat, han is a great boyfriend. he takes you to the bathroom and sits you on the counter. he follows your skin care routine, taking off the layer of makeup left on your face. you giggle through it all even as he helps you brush your teeth and apply you lip balm.

-he guides you back to the bedroom, taking off your dress so you sleep comfortably. he takes off your bra as well, the metal decorating your nipples glinting under the artificial light. grabbing one of his tshirts you've adopted he slides it over your head and arms.

-han tucks you into bed and he promptly follows to pull you close to his chest. you've stopped giggling by now, snuggling up to him. "i love you," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his waist.

-"i love you more, baby."

part 2. part 3.

i’ll also accept requests for han if anyone is interested!

#han lue #han seoul oh #fanfiction #headcanon #tokyo drift #fast and furious #han lue imagines #han lue imagine #han lue headcannons #fast and furious fanfiction #han lue x reader #han lue fanfiction #han lue fanfic #han lue headcanons

[clockwayswrites]

Neon Adjuration - Start

The bike sputtered to death on a cliché middle of nowhere American road. It might have well been straight out of a movie set with the rows of corn, gold light, and nothing else around for miles.

Jason was less than impressed.

After nearly an hour of pushing his bike and with the idyllic light quickly fading he was even less impressed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have options. His insurance came with roadside assistance (he thought), he could give in and call a sibling to steal the Batplane and come get him, or a corn field wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept. He had options, just none of them were really appealing.

Recognizing that the feeling was stupid didn’t make calling for help feel any less like giving up.

The corn field had to have rodents. As he had pushed his bike, they had turned from carefully manicured rows into wild, unmanaged looking things. Jason had enough sharing a bed space with rodents as a street kid to want to do it again. Jason was probably about ten minutes away from giving in and calling Dick when he saw the glow.

It was neon salvation looming out of the oppressive darkness.

The cyan light spread the furthest, but Jason could also catch magenta from where the sign was peering around the edge of what must be the shop the sign was connected too. The cast of the cyan light made the corn feel otherworldly, and Jason pushed his bike slightly faster. More of the sign was revealed with each step, carefully crafted letter by carefully crafted letter.

Jason nearly sagged in relief. Not only was it finally, blessedly civilization, but it was a mechanics shop. ‘Fix-it Freddy’s’, the sign cheerfully proclaimed. It sat next to just the sort of building that looked like it might hold up to the claim. The base structure was probably from the late 40’s, that magical time of growth when the war and dust had both faded, but it had obviously been altered and changed and repainted hundreds of times. Just from the light of the neon and the one, lonely white flood light above the large roll up door Jason could see a myriad of colors. The current one seemed to be an already fading cyan to match the sign.

Praying that shop either had someone still working or cheap security and a lock he could jimmy, Jason leaned his bike against his tired leg and rang the bell between the roll up door and the man door. His finger was barely off the buzzer before the aluminum panels shuddered and groaned. Creaking with all of the years in it, the door rolled up.

Hanging onto the chain was, well, not exactly what Jason was expecting to find out in the corn fields. They were young, Jason’s or close enough. The black hair was wild, long in the middle and pushed around from a long day of working with engine grease and oil but shaved close on the sides. The way the neon light caught their eyes practically made them glow. Their smile was almost concernedly easy. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Jason said and then had to clear his throat and try again. “Yeah. I guess you’re Freddy?”

They laughed, tossing their head back. Magenta light brushed along the length of their throat. “Nah, Freddy’s been dead for nearly thirty years, not that it would stop him from working. I’m Danny, this is my place now. Why don’t you roll your bike in and we’ll take a look at it, okay stranger?”

“Jason,” he said reflexively.

“Jason,” Danny repeated with that same easy smile.

--

AN: Aaaaaaand Moody Monday check! (Can I get all the days of the week? Let's see! 2 down, 5 to go... fingers already taped together.)

Masterpost I no longer tag, visit the masterpost to subscribe!

#moody monday #for the hell of it #neon adjuration #dp x dc #dead on main