#feedback motivates ya know

[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

[playgrl0]

loving you / gojo

an: something short nd simple. not proof read🧍‍♂️ i love satoru so so sos o sososos much and i wanna give him nd receive sloppy kisses from him too big fat sigh

! i would really, really appreciate some feedback. it makes me happy and motivates me to keep writing !

-

"mmmwaaahhh! mwah, mwah! mmyyygoooddd!" he groans against your lips. satoru's big hands squeeze your cheeks together while he presses his lips onto yours. hard and sloppy kiss after kiss after kiss. "god, you're so adorable! i can't get enough. mwah, mwah!" he mutters through kisses. you can barely understand him since he chooses to speak every time his lips are smooching yours. but it doesn't matter if you understand it or not since he's only talking no himself. he's been doing this for the past few minutes maybe, and you don't mind. you've been together for so long now that you're used to it. it'd be weird if he didn't do it. —

you're both cuddling on your shared bed, wearing comfortable clothes. he's laying halfway on top of you, his hands still squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips are puckered. he finally removes his lips from yours and he stares into your eyes. you look back at him amused and immediately he starts grinning like an idiot. "god, my heart-" he starts and presses another hard kiss to your forehead this time. "-you're too cute for this world!" you laugh. "satowu, pwease! my face huwts!" you try to tell him as best as you can with how he's holding your face. he understands it though and eases his grip a bit, not letting go though. "sorry, can't help myself." he smiles and this time he buries his face in your neck where he starts to gently kiss your skin. your hands find their way into his hair and he lets out a groan. he loves whenever you play with his hair. shortly after he removes his face from your neck and looks at you again, your face still in his hands. satoru swears that pieces of his heart jump out of his chest every time your eyes meet. that a new butterfly is born inside his stomach and flies around like crazy every time you smile back at him. it's been years since you've been together and you still have the same effect on him. —

you let out a small giggle at his dreamy stare, he does look like he's deep in a daydream. once the sound of your giggle hits his ears, he can't help himself anymore. he grumbles something along the lines of "so cute" and "just perfect" to himself, you couldn't really understand. and just a second later, his lips are pressed against yours again. "mwah, mwah, mwah! my perfect girl, my angel. mwah!" you continue giggling, how could you not? he's so sweet and so silly. so in love with you.

satoru removes his lips from yours once again, a string of spit still connecting your lips with his and he chuckles at the sight. your lips are coated in his saliva, which doesn't bother you at all, and he can feel how your face heats up . "hm, yer lips are glossy from my kisses." he grins. you shrug your shoulders and your tongue darts out to lick over your lips, collecting his spit. grinning back at him when his face falls. "don't do that!" he whines. "now i have to do it again!" you roll your eyes at him. "acting as if you weren't gonna do it again anyway. go ahead." he grins again and continues to give you more sloppy kisses. more salvia coating your lips and your chin as well, he's being messy, you don't mind it one bit though. because that's how he shows his love. he loves you, so much, and he's never shy to tell you and show it to you, he knows he may be a bit dramatic in showing his love to you but that's just how satoru gojo is. a dramatic, sweet, man. "mmm'toru, m' fwace." you mumble against his wet lips. he listens and finally removes his hands from your face. "thanks, it started to hurt a bit." you say, massaging your cheeks. satoru pouts and nudges his nose with yours. "didn't mean to hurt ya. sorry baby." you smile and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close to you and you kiss his pout away. "it's okay."

satoru lovingly stares down at you. one of his hands softly stroking your cheek, the other hand is on the pillow above your head, his pointer finger playing with a single strand of your hair and wrapping it around it. "what?" you ask him when his stare gets even more intense and you feel like you might break under it. satoru grins and softly kisses your cheek. "it's just, you're beautiful. i still can't believe you're mine. and i love you so, so much. so much, my baby." "i love you too 'toru." you respond. his smile grows and he quickly gets back to press more sloppy kisses over your face and lips. "mwah, mwah, mwaaahhhhh!!"

and you let him. you happily let him love you the way he wants to, the way it's so typical for satoru gojo.

-

<3 @ playgrl0

#p!writes!%* #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen

[neochan]

CHERRY FLAVORED THOUGHTS (M)

PAIRING | perv nerd!mark x popular!reader

SYNOPSIS | you invite mark over to study with ulterior motives and he happily goes despite having the filthiest thoughts of you.

WC | 3.8k

WARNINGS | big cock!mark, lower case intended, he's obsessed with your boobs, dry humping, choking, dirty talk, finger sucking, semi clothed sex, dom!mark, name calling, slight oral m receiving, breeding kink (no mention of kids or pregnancy), get's uncomfortably fluffy at the end.

A.N | this came out of nowhere hehe, but i hope you like! send me feedback per usual pls

"markieee" you drawl, skipping over to where he sat in the library, his textbooks scattered messily on the table in front of him. "i need your help!"

he doesn't look up when he responds, "with what."

"don't be like that! it's serious." you pout.

you pull out the chair next to his and sit down, one of your hands reaching underneath the table to grab his knee. immediately he jerks his head up to look at you, his round glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "wha- what can i help you with?" he stutters, pushing his glasses up with one finger.

"i need you to help me study. mr. moon is gonna kill me with this test tomorrow and i can handle d's but not for this class." you wink at him and watch as his face turns a bright red, "plus you're the smartest guy i know."

in an attempt to look anywhere but your eyes, he accidentally sets his sights on your breasts, which were practically spilling out of your t-shirt. he snaps his attention back to your face and grows small in his chair, "ye-yeah i can help you study."

he was just so gosh darn cute when he stuttered. you begin stroking his knee underneath the table, making him squirm in his chair, "okay that's great! i'll text you my address and you can come over tonight."

"wait tonight?"

your face falls, "oh, do you have plans already? never mind we -"

"no" he hurriedly exclaims, waving his hands in front of his face, "i'm free. i'll be over around eight."

"great!" you beam, giving his knee a squeeze before excusing yourself, "see ya then markie." with soft eyes he watches you leave the library, your too short skirt swishing behind you.

mark always thought you were hot, but you were so far out of his league it wasn't even funny, though that didn't stop him from getting lost in his head from time to time.

he knows its wrong, but sometimes when he can't sleep he's tormented by images of you bending over in class, that damn short cheerleading skirt exposing the bottoms of your panties. and the top left little to the imagination too. it was so tight he could see your breasts jiggle when you laughed too hard. oh god, and your lips. it was seldom you were seen without something shoved between them, whether that be a pencil or a cherry lollipop.

mark can feel himself growing hard in his pants. did he have to be such a perv? if anyone found out about the thoughts he was having he'd be even more of an outcast than he already was.

'quit it.' he tells himself, turning back to the textbooks in front of him, and while the thoughts of you have dimmed a bit, he can't help but find himself realizing that mr. moon never assigned a test for tomorrow.

✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎

your doorbell rings at eight o'clock on the dot.

smiling to yourself you leap off your bed and bound down the stairs to open the front door, revealing a version of mark you've never seen before. usually he wore khakis with a button up polo, like earlier in that day, but now he had on a pair of basketball shorts and a graphic tee that read out some scientific formula. he was still his nerdy self just more ... relaxed.

you open the door wider and wave him in, "i'm glad you made it!" you squeal. he stands there awkwardly before taking a hesitant step into your house. he pulls on the straps of his backpack while looking around.

"don't worry, my roommates aren't home." you purr, grabbing onto his wrist, "c'mon i'll show you to my room." mark slowly nods and you smile to yourself, quite amused.

he watches as you walk ahead of him, tugging you up the carpetted steps, the same skirt you were wearing earlier swaying with the rhythm of your hips. your ass looked so good, so round and... fuck.

mark gulps loudly, almost missing the next step when he realizes you aren't wearing panties. he's getting a wide shot of your bare ass, and he doesn't feel bad in the slightest. in fact, all he can think about it is ruining your pretty ass with his hands, grabbing you and pulling you apart while you sink down on his cock. gripping handfuls of the supple flesh while you climb in his lap . "shut up brain" he mumbles, drawing your attention to him.

"did you say something?" you question.

he clears his throat, "n- no, just wondering if you have a bathroom i can use?"

"yeah of course, here" you say, tugging him down the hallway now that you made it up the stairs, and into your room, "you can set your backpack there," you point to your bed, "and the bathroom is the door at the end of the hall."

"thanks" he mumbles, slinging his bag onto your bright pink comforter. he's dreamt of being in your room before and it looks exactly how he thought it would. and it smelled so good, like the cherry lollipops you were always sucking on.

when mark gets to the bathroom he hurriedly closes the door and leans against it, closing his eyes. he can feel the rising boner peaking through his shorts and he feels like throwing up. 'go down. go down. go down.' he chants over and over again in his head. why does this shit always happen to him! there was no way he could go back out there with a raging hard on. for a split second he wonders if he could jerk off really quickly, but squashes the idea when he hears you yell from your room, "come on markkkk! it's getting late."

"one second." he yells back, face heating up in embarrassment. he'd have to use the ole' waistband tuck and hope that it goes down on its own.

"fuck." he whispers.

✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎

you have chosen to focus on everything but the test material you were supposed to be studying.

instead your mind wanders to the way marks fingers delicately flip through the pages of his notebook, and how he sticks out his tongue between his lips in concentration. oh how you wished that tongue was on you right now.

you sigh and shut your textbook, pointedly looking at mark who only glances up, "i'm sick of studying."

"we haven't even studied." he mumbles, softly closing his own textbook and looking up at you, "and anyway, i know there isn't a test tomorrow. i looked through the syllabus and everything.

fuck. he caught on to you, "are you sure?" you scratch the back of your head sheepishly, "i coulda sworn i heard mr. moon mention one in todays lecture."

"y/n. why am i here?" mark let's his eyes wonder to your breasts when you lean over and grab your backpack. they were squished together, jiggling with your movement and he feels himself getting hard again. his mind drifts to the thought of tit fucking you and how pretty you'd look squirming underneath him while he painted your throat and face with cum.

shoving your materials into your bag you look at him through your lashes, "i think you're hot."

mark almost chokes when he hears the words leave your lips, "m-me?" he questions.

zipping up your back pack, you toss it in the corner of your room and lean forward onto your knees, crawling towards the stunned boy, "yeah, you."

"look," he says lowly, "if this is a prank or a dare by your friends-"

"it's not." you promise.

you come to a stop in front of him and stare into his eyes, watching the way his cheeks and collarbone flush deep red, "s- so you think i'm hot."

"mhm." you hummed, "and i want you to fuck me."

marks eyes grow the size of saucers when he processes what you said. he can feel all the blood drain from his face and rush to his dick so fast he feels almost dizzy, "f-fuck you?"

"you sure do stutter a lot." you giggle.

he brushes off the comment, "you want me to fuck you?"

you giggle again and lean closer to him, "yeah ... so will you?"

mark feels like this is a dream. it's too good to be true and at some point he knows he's bound to wake up. tentatively he reaches a hand out, cupping your soft cheek in his warm palm. you nuzzle against him and that's when he knows it's real life. without answering he pushes off the ground and stands up, "get on the bed."

you can feel your pussy clench at the way he commands you like he already knew what he wanted to do; like he's thought of this before. you follow his orders and sit on your bed gingerly, waiting for his next move.

"take off your top." he orders, pulling his own t-shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor.

"oh my god." you whine. who knew the nerdiest boy at your college was built like that. deep set muscles cover his lower abdomen, his pecs poking out a little more now that the shirt was gone. and here you were thinking he was scrawny underneath his clothes.

hurriedly ridding yourself of your top, you let his eyes wash over your body, drinking in what he's dreamed about for months. "you know, i should have known this was a set up when i saw you weren't wearing panties."

"it wasn't-" you start, but he cuts you off by sitting down next to you and pulling you onto his lap.

"it was." he breathes, hands running up and down your back. "and you wanted me to see, right?" you furiously nod your head yes. "that's what i thought. and don't think i haven't noticed how you act in class. bending over so i see your cute little panties and sucking on your lollipops so i think about how pretty your lips would look around my cock instead. you're not slick. you're just a slut who needs to be fucked, huh?"

his words have you rocking back and forth in his lap desperate for his touch, "mark please." you whisper.

his hands fumble behind your back for a second before undoing your bra clasp and sliding it down your shoulders, chucking it to the other side of the room. "that's better. you have such pretty tits." he marvels, cupping them in his hands, squeezing and kneading the soft skin. his thumbs jut out to flicker over your nipples, forcing you to arch up against him.

"god," you whimper, "that feel's good."

"hm." he hums, dipping his head down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. he rolls the sensitive bud between his teeth, harshly sucking while his hands slip under your skirt and grab your ass, pulling you closer to him.

"m-mark." you whine, eyes closed and hands finding their way in his hair, tugging on the roots.

"look who's stuttering now." he chuckles, detaching himself with a wet pop. he stares at you for moment, watching the way your nose scrunches and your lips purse before blurting out, "i'm gonna kiss you now."

'huh-" you begin, snapping your eyes open but mark is already on you, lips softly brushing yours before pulling you deep into a heated kiss. you tasted like those cherry flavored lollys you always had in class even though you hadn't had one today, it drove him mad. you push against him, grinding down on his lap repeatedly while hugging him close, fingers still tangled in his hair. his lips felt like heaven, soft and pillowy and perfect against your own and it made you dizzy.

you moan against him when he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb, his other arm wrapping around your waist so that you couldn't squirm as much. slowly he rocks his hips into you, pulling back so that only your foreheads were touching. "god, the things you do to me." he groans.

you giggle and untangle your hands from his hair, grabbing the sides of his glasses and sliding them off his face, "don't want these to get in the way." you lightly toss them on your desk and mark thanks you, "i never thought you'd be like this." you whisper.

"like what?" he leans down and nips at your neck, pressing delicate kisses along the side of your throat all the way to the spot just below your ear. "i'm not all books and brains you know."

"n-no i get that, it's just..." your hands fiddle in the space between your bodies, fingers playing with the waistband of his shorts, "i didn't think you'd be all commanding."

he gives a short chuckle before blowing hot air in your ear and making you shiver, "what? you thought i'd be shy? submissive?" he says the word like it's a dirty thing, something he can't even fathom becoming. "i mean, if you wanna tie me up -"

"no" you blurt, "i like this."

he smirks against you, his nose skimming your cheek and coming to fit right beside your own, lips matching yours like a perfect puzzle. he hovers over yours, "you like this?"

"yeah." you whisper, almost like a secret.

"what about this?" mark reaches around your body and pulls you back down against him, this time matching you and rutting up against your bare sex. a breathless gasp flies from your lips when he gently swivels his hips, the outline of his cock rubbing against your folds. you're pretty sure if he looked there would be a wet patch on the front of his shorts.

"shit." you moan, holding on to him while he continues to grind against you.

"you're so needy, huh?" he grins, pressing his lips to yours and melding into a kiss that has your legs shaking around him. his tongue swipes your bottom, teeth snagging and drawing you in. you whimper into the kiss and he does the same, loving the way you feel in his arms. he pulls back a bit, mumbling against your lips, "wanna feel it?"

"please." you groan, hopping off his lap and settling yourself on the bed, leaning down so that you were pretty much eye level with the front of his short now that he was stood in front of you.

mark still can't believe this is happening. was this a sick prank? a joke? was he sure he wasn't dreaming? here he had you eagerly awaiting his cock. it just didn't seem right, the divine universe had to have some explanation for this. 'shut up' he groans in his head.

slender fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts and pushes them down so that they pooled around his ankles.

"no fucking way."

mark lee was huge. his cock sprung up against his abdomen standing tall and rigid, pretty pink tip collecting droplets of precum. he was thick too, a nice size that would feel heavy in your mouth if you took him there.

"what?" he asks, blushing and fighting the urge to cover himself, "i know it might not be that big-"

"not big??" you splutter, eyes incredulous at the sight in front of you, "it's fucking huge mark."

the compliment goes straight to his dick and now instead of fighting the urge to cover himself, he's fighting the urge to push you back on the bed and fuck you till you were screaming his name. "put it in your mouth then" he groans, taking a step towards you, "lets see if it can fit." your hand shoots out from under you and wraps around his length, warm and pulsing in your hand, his hips stutter into your touch.

"shit." he whispers, watching the way your tongue darts out to taste him, his hand stroking your hair, eyes twinkling with adoration, "don't just lick it. open up." you do as he says and open for him. he pushes into your mouth slowly until you're gagging and can't take any more, mouth too full, but with one look you realize you hadn't even gotten half way down his length. "that's it baby? god you're even more pathetic that i thought. can't even properly swallow my dick?" he pulls out, allowing you to catch a much needed breath, "lets see if your pussy can take it all instead." he pushes you backwards and climbs overtop you, knocking your thighs apart with his knee.

your mind is reeling from everything that's happening. it's been so much better than you could have imagined. he was bigger, cockier and sexier with his nose out of his books and clothes off. no one would believe you if you told them about tonight, not even your roommates.

mark shoves your skirt up until it's bunched around your waist, "mind elsewhere?" he questions, one of hands wrapping around your throat and squeezing slightly, "you thinking about someone else?"

"n-no mark, i'm thinking about you." you whine, hips lifting off the bed in anticipation.

"good. pay attention."

his hand guides himself, rubbing the tip against your clit before sliding it down between your folds. teasingly he barely pushes the tip in before pulling away. "mark!" you whimper, but all he does is squeeze your throat a bit tighter, "please" he pushes the tip in again, this time looking in your eyes, and he doesn't pull out. he thrusts into you, all the way in and you feel like you're losing it. your eyes flutter into the back of your head, nails finding his shoulders and gripping the soft skin, surely leaving marks. "f-fuck you're so big!'

it was slightly uncomfortable but the second he moved you felt overwhelming pleasure jolt through you, "mm, i knew you could take it." he grins, shallowly fucking into you, "and you're so fucking tight. gonna make me go crazy."

you squirm in his grip, "fuck me, please."

"whatever you say baby."

his hand leaves your throat and grabs at your waist instead, using the skirt secured around it as leverage. he wastes no time in slamming into you, thrusting with such fervor you can feel yourself losing your mind. "shit!" you squeal, nails digging even deeper into his shoulders. his eyes glance down, admiring the way your tits jiggled every time he pushed his hips into you. "right there, right there! god you're fucking huge." you scream, covering your face with your hands.

"look at me," he growls, and you have no choice but to move your trembling hands. two fingers press against your lips and into your mouth, gagging you. "if you can't take my cock down your throat, might as well suck on my fingers." his breathy is shaky when you swirl your tongue around his digits, sucking slightly and feels like he's going to faint. your pussy is sucking him in, walls spasming with each of his thrusts, and your gagging around his fingers. he wonders if you feel full. maybe next time you'll let him toy with your ass a little bit, so then you'll really feel full. 'get out of your head' he chastises himself. there might not even be a next time. after all, he was fucking one of the most popular girls at his college, he was kidding himself if thought this was gonna happen again. guess he had to make this time count.

"spread your legs a little bit more baby," when you don't he ends up pushing you thighs apart, finger digging into your skin and leaving indents. your head moves from side to side, legs shaking in marks grasp, "baby you're acting like you can't handle it. you're the one who asked me to fuck you!" he chides, laughing coldly.

"i can handle it!" you buck up against him, chasing your the knot that was tightening in your stomach.

"damn right you can." mark loves the way you fall apart underneath him... because of him. "just keep taking my fat cock baby. i bet you've wanted this for so long, huh?"

"i think about it every time i see you in class," you huff.

mark didn't care if you were lying just to please him, it makes him feel good. the fact that you've both thought about this and now it was finally happening. his thrusts become sloppy, hands roughly grabbing a handful of ass and tits, squeezing and massaging them.

"i think i'm gonna cum baby. ah shit, i'm gonna cum." he moans, hips stuttering into you.

"fill me up markie, pls i want it so bad." you whisper, the pet name being what he needs to finish, milky ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a way that has you following suit, the knot in your tummy unraveling. he holds eye contact with you the entire time, his brows drawing up in ecstasy when he watches yours disappear. when he's spent, he falls onto you, caging you in his arms. you pull him close for support, shallow thrusts into your cunt helping you ride out your orgasm. at one point he tries to move but you keep him there, tightening your arms, "please, don't move."

"i won't." he promise, "i won't, i'm here." he chuckles against the side of your neck, wet kisses being placed where he's buried in your arms, "the way your eyes roll back into your head when you cum is fucking hot."

you giggle, "thank you markie."

"so.." he questions, peaking his head up but still staying in your arms, "this wasn't a dare or something?" he still felt like this was too good to be true.

"mark!" you swat his shoulders and air hisses between his teeth.

"okay okay." he sighs defensively, "then i guess you wouldn't mind me taking you on a date?" you hesitate a bit and immediately he's apologizing, "we aren't from the same social circles, i know that but-"

"shut up mark. i don't care if we don't hang out with the same people. i genuinely like you." you smile at him.

"then ..."

"i would love if you took me on a date." he grins back at you before burying his head back into the crook of your neck. "who knew nerds fucked so good?' you blurt out, laughing.

"not nerds plural. just me." he mumbles against your skin.

it felt nice just laying in his arms, basking in the after sex glow with the boy you've been crushing on for ages. "we should get cleaned up, huh?" you whisper and he sighs against you.

"let's stay like this for a few more minutes. i like the way you smell... like cherries."

you smile to yourself, "just for you."

-

TAGLIST | @dearj43 @peachjaem00 @angelwonie @byunbaekcult @jaeminslut @svtrny @saintlyhyuck @tennieboiii @minisxng @rainyjeno

#nct mark smut #mark lee x reader #nct mark x reader #mark lee smut #nct dream smut #nct mark lee smut #nct mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 mark x reader #nct mark imagine #mark lee fluff #nct mark lee fluff

[sunkissed-zegras]

✮ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬, zegras' have more fun

♡ ─ summary | set after this instagram post. parker invites stass to a party after a football and somehow, it turns into luke and stass talking about "them"

♡ ─ warnings | unedited, mention of drinking, slight angst, parker slander (poor guy), nothing else!

♡ ─ taglist | made a new whole new form for my au! fill out if you're interested!

♡ ─ ev's notes | okay y'all, this au is back!!!!! finally had some motivation to finish up :) i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, PLEASE SEND IN SOME AU THOUGHTS!! literally anything, i just wanna hear some feedback and thoughts!

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September 29th, 2022

"I am not going out with Jack, Trevor." Stass punctuated as she spoke, her expression annoyed. She was currently facetiming with her brother when she should've been studying for her Chemistry midterm.

Her macbook was wide open as she laid in her bed, looking at the call. She knew the only reason he had been calling was to address those stupid rumors online.

"I know you aren't, he woulda told me." Trevor leaned back in his chair, a frown playing on his lips as he glanced at his sister on the screen. "He was flirting with you, though."

"Yeah, so what?" Stass responded. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Hasn't he always flirted with me, why's it a big deal now?"

"You know why, Stass." Trevor sighed, his frustration evident. You did know why, but it was just another baseless rumor from when you two were teenagers, it didn't matter.

"Luke does not like me, okay?"

It had been a joke since Stass had met the brothers that somehow, she were gonna end up dating one of them. Stass never how that started but all she knew is that it pissed her and Trevor off, because it wasn't true. Well, for the most part.

"Look, I'm not saying he does or doesn't. I'm just saying you have to be delicate when it comes to these kinda things, especially after this summer, with the whole lake house thing-"

"Stop saying that."

"Stop saying what?" Trevor's eyebrows raised, his tone annoyed as he waited for Stassie to continue.

Stassie's frustration bubbled to the surface. "Stop bringing up the stupid lake house incident like it's some kind of defining moment in our lives. It was just a misunderstanding, and we've moved on from it. Besides, Luke and I are fine. We've always been fine."

"Dude, relax. I'm not saying you guys aren't fine or whatever, stop getting so goddamn defensive. I'm just saying this entire situation is just sensitive for Luke, alright, tread lightly."

Stass didn't feel like arguing right now, especially over this stupid topic. She should be studying for her midterm but this situation seemed to keep coming up. "Luke is fine. But okay, whatever. I won't stir the pot anymore."

"Just be how you are, you know? Just minus the flirtiness." Trevor sighed. "I guess rizz is just hereditary."

"I can't believe you just said rizz out loud, Trevor. That was so cringe." Stass rolled her eyes as she looked back at the screen, her brother laughing back at her.

"Shut up. But I gotta go, I have an early practice tomorrow."

"Okay, Trev. I'll talk to you later, goodnight. I love you."

"Love ya too-"

She hung up quickly and shut her macbook, sighing. She could not believe that this whole thing was caused by a few comments left by Jack, they were meaningless. At least, that was what she was trying to convince herself. Before she could open her macbook to study again, she heard a knock from her door.

"Come in."

Parker came into the room quickly, "Hey Stass."

Stassie eyed Parker suspiciously as he entered the room, her eyebrows knitting together in curiosity. "Hey, Parker. What's up?"

Parker gave her his best charming smile as he approached her bed, taking a seat beside her. Stassie resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he continued, "Listen, I need a favor. The guys and I are going to a party after the game on Friday, and I know you swore off alcohol, but can you still come with us?"

Stassie furrowed her brows, sensing there was more to his request. "I was already planning on going to the game, you know that-"

"Okay great, can you bring your short friend? Shit, what's her name... Uhh... Samantha?"

Stassie's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know a Samantha, do you mean Chloe?"

Parker scratched his head, looking momentarily flustered. "Yeah, Chloe! That's the one. Can you take her? She's really pretty and I wanna get to know her."

"Why don't you be a man and just dm her?" Stass half joked as she stared back at him.

"Shut up, dude and just do me a favor, alright?"

Stass shrugged, knowing Parker well enough to understand his banter. "Alright, alright fine. But she's way outta your league. Like wayyy outta your league."

Parker rolled his eyes, playfully swatting at Stassie's arm. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Stass. But you miss 100% of the shots you don't make."

She couldn't help but shake her head at Parker's attempt at motivational quotes. "Yeah, well, just don't embarrass yourself too much, okay? Chloe's not exactly easy to impress."

Parker grinned confidently. "Oh, don't worry about me. I've got charisma for days."

Stass cringed once again before she sighed. "Whatever, can you leave now, I'm tryna study."

Parker chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'm out. Thanks, Stass."

"You owe me a vodka soda Friday night." Stass smiled as she looked up at the brunette.

"I thought you swore off alcohol-"

"That was last week, okay? Now leave before I change my mind." Stass flashed a playful grin as she spoke, watching Parker get up and walk towards the door.

"Okay, whatever."

──

"I think I'm gonna step out for a sec, Chloe. I'll see you two later." Stass took that as her cue to leave before she wiggled her eyebrows at Parker, walking away from her two friends. Now that her mission was complete, she had to go find some water. She has had one too many vodka sodas and she didn't wanna be hungover tomorrow morning.

As she searched the entire house for any sign of water, she soon gave up and sighed. This was a frat house, the only thing they had was beer and chips everywhere, what was she expecting? As she stumbled through the crowd, trying to find an exit, she felt someone grab her arm.

Before she could pull away, she looked up at the tall figure and realized it was only Luke. "By any chance, do you know where I can find some water that isn't from a sink?"

Luke smiled as he nodded, "Yeah I'll take you, they have some bottles up stairs."

Relieved, Stassie let out a grateful sigh. "Thank you, Lukey. I owe you one." The nickname rolled off her tongue easily as she spoke.

Luke offered her his arm, guiding her through the crowded house with ease. Stassie couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in his presence, despite the chaotic atmosphere surrounding them. As they reached a quieter hallway, Luke opened a door to a room with a small table stacked with water bottles.

"Here you go," Luke said, handing her a bottle with a knowing smile.

"Thank you, Luke. You're officially my hero tonight," Stassie said, taking a grateful sip from the water bottle.

Luke chuckled, leaning against the wall. "Anytime. So, why'd you need water so urgently? Too many vodka sodas?"

Stassie laughed, feeling a bit more at ease. "You know me too well. Parker talked me into it. Long story."

Luke raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. "Parker causing trouble again, huh?"

Stassie nodded, taking another sip. "Always. But hey, at least I'm not stumbling around looking for water like an idiot anymore. Thanks for saving me."

Luke's smile widened, genuine warmth in his eyes. "Anytime, Stass. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

There was a sudden silence between the two as they looked at each other, Luke's gaze warm and Stass' was a little... uncertain? They had been friends for a long time, but there was something different in the air tonight, something Stassie couldn't quite put her finger on. Like the lake house.

As the silence stretched, Stassie's heart rate quickened, unsure of what to say next. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to read the expression in Luke's eyes. She felt a subtle flush creeping up her cheeks, breaking the moment with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Just need to pace myself better next time," she said, trying to brush off the odd tension that had momentarily settled between them.

"So, you and Jack have been talking?" Luke finally had ripped the bandaid as he studied Stass' movements and her expression, which had shifted from uncomfortable to slightly annoyed.

"Not more than usual, why?"

"What do you mean, why? I'm just asking, Stass." Luke seemed to be getting defensive too as his eyebrows knitted.

Stass sighed, feeling the tension between them mounting. "It just feels like you're prying, Luke. What's with the sudden interest in my conversations with Jack? And you guys are brothers, if you're so interested, ask him."

"It's not about that, Stass. You know that. We just never got over what happened at the lake house, or at least I thought we didn't."

"What happened, Luke? We kissed, so what? It's not like I'd do anything with Jack anyway. And plus, you're the one that hooked up with that other girl, not me." Stassie shot back, her annoyance evident in her expression.

Luke's jaw tightened, a defensive glint in his eyes. "We're not talking about me right now, Stass. We're talking about you and Jack. And don't deflect this onto something else."

"There's nothing to talk about, Jack's always been flirty with me and it's always been a funny joke until now. If you have a problem with it, talk to him, he's your brother."

Luke's gaze hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing his eyes. "It's not just about Jack. It's about us, about our friendship. You act like the kiss at the lake house meant nothing."

Stassie rolled her eyes, her impatience showing. "Luke, we were drunk, it was a momentary lapse in judgment. We've moved past it, or at least I thought we did."

"Fuck, Stass." Luke ran his fingers through his curly hair before letting out an annoyed sigh. "Fine, then. We can move on."

"Luke, I like our friendship." Stass sighed, defeated. "I don't wanna make it into something awkward, something that can get in the way of an already amazing friendship. Things are just better that way, okay? And we just forget that stupid kiss ever fucking happened and move on?"

Luke's expression softened, hurt evident in his eyes. "Yeah, okay. We can move on."

Stassie nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. "Great. So, can we just put this behind us and focus on being friends?"

Luke offered a small smile, his tone gentle. "Yeah, of course. Friends it is."

"Great, now, let's get back to the party before Parker starts freaking out." Stassie suggested, eager to shift the focus away from their tense conversation.

Luke chuckled, the tension between them dissipating. "Yeah, good idea. Last thing we need is Parker going on one of his rants again."

"You guys left me again, oh my gosh, Luke, I thought I was your favorite freshie." Stass mocked Parker as Luke laughed along, opening the door as the two of them made their way downstairs.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey #nhl oneshot #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #zegras' have more fun au #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes blurb #new jersey devils #hughes brothers #jack hughes #nj devils #jack hughes blurb #luke hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x y/n

[shattersstar]

absolutely NEED "hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them" with jason todd PLEASE (when you have the chance/motivation) <3

drawstring

pairing: college!au jason todd x reader

prompt: friends to lovers - hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them

word count: 5.5k

warnings: alcohol/smoking mention aka usual college shenanigans, slow burn(?), lil angsty, sports lmao

a/n: writing abt jason in college (here) has done smth to me bc this turned into quite the project (in a good way ofc) and i picked basketball bc it’s the only sport i know enough abt and jason’s tall so it makes sense shhh (also baby boys a centre <3) comments & feedback are always appreciated!

—

shot at the night series.

pt. two - the hellcat spangled shalalala

—

your name is a drawstring laced around my neck, tighter with every breath.

You had approached him first, after your prof caught you off guard with an outlandish take. You glanced over to Jason with your confused and slightly mortified eyes at the rather dated opinion, unable to stop the grin from spreading over your face as you both chuckled a little too loudly. A few people shot looks your way, and you mouthed an apology to him before you both turned back to your notes. Jason thought that had been it, sure you two always sat a chair away from each other and were in the same tutorial and you always smelled so good when he’d walk by, but you were a passing figure in Jason’s life.

Or you were supposed to be until you stopped him at the door, fingers darting out to brush his forearm before you dropped your hand to your side. You offered an apologetic smile while Jason stared at you a little wide eyed.

“Hey, sorry. I just, I dunno. Anyway we were in the same tutorial yeah? And I thought I’d introduce myself. In case we need notes or help or something.” You said, giving him your name while Jason nodded slowly.

A moment of silence passed, you blinked up at him and Jason laughed, “Oh, uh I’m Jason, and yeah sure.”

“Yeah sure? You don’t have to agree if—“

“No—I didn’t mean it like that,” He interrupted with wild urgency before composing himself, “It’s nice to meet you and yeah that’d be great. Thanks.” Jason offered you a grin and your furrowed brows settled.

“Okay, well here’s my number. See ya around Jason!” You beamed at him like you hadn’t been accusing him moments ago, slipping out the door and off the whatever class you had next. He glanced down at the ripped piece of paper with your number. Who gives out their number like this anymore? He thought to himself, shoving the piece of paper into his pocket and ignoring how much he liked the way you said his name.

~

It was a steady friendship after that, you liked having someone outside your usual circle, someone to help with class and Jason liked you. He knew after a few weeks of consistently hanging out, usually in the library or empty lecture halls, but sometimes in your dorms. Sitting side by side in your bed or sprawled out on the floor in Jason’s single room were moments seared into his brain. Private and quiet in those small spaces, especially in your shared bedroom, that demanded close proximity. Maybe he should have put the pieces together then, fully coming to terms with his onslaught of feelings for you, but it took a boring day in the library for Jason to fully clue in.

You were sharing a booth and Jason was letting you copy his notes from the lecture you missed last week. You were close, typing with silent intent while Jason took in your side profile. The soft curve of your cheek, your lashes sweeping each time you glanced between screens and lips plump and wet from your tongue running over them out of habit. Jason knew he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

When that crossed Jason’s mind, something tight bit into his chest as he realized no one admired their friends like that. He had always thought you were cute, and a nice presence to be around, but that warm feeling you fostered in his chest felt different—heavier when you looked up at him.

“Done!” You chimed, breaking Jason from his realization with your sweet voice. “Thanks again. I might need help studying this chapter when the final comes up but I should be good for now.” You closed your laptop, shuffling your books into your bag and letting Jason know your time together was coming to an end. He felt selfish for wanting more time with you, but you had already told him when you flopped down that you wouldn’t be able to stay long. Jason had tried not to appear annoyed then, but couldn’t care less now as he closed his laptop with a bit too much force. It garnered your attention as you glanced over at him with concern, “All good?”

Okay maybe he did care.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Jason nodded absentmindedly and hated how nervous you made him. How could he not see it before, the way words seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth and coherent thoughts flew out the window each time you two studied together. How it got worse when you were close, leaning into him or slapping his arm when he was criticizing one of your papers.

“Oookay,” You said it like you didn’t believe him before turning to face him fully, “One of my friend’s boyfriend or something works at a bar so my friends and I are going there tonight if you wanna join. I know its not really our thing, but we didn’t get to hang out today so.”

Our thing. Jason liked how that sounded, the implication of it. Like time spent together and even Jason himself was your own private little thing, it was special and not to be shared. It was a dangerous way to think of your friendship—of love—but Jason burned hotter at the thought regardless. And with you being scorned by your lack of time together as well, it all made something wicked pour into Jason’s chest as he a grin lit up his face. The guilt of having to cancel on Roy vanished immediately as he nodded.

“Yeah, just text me the details.”

You smiled wide, arms thrown around his shoulders as you hugged Jason for the first time before leaving him breathless amongst the shelves of books.

~

Jason almost pussied out, a block away from the bar and filled with dread. He questioned why he had agreed when this was the first time you two would be together outside the pretense of school work, on top of coming to terms with his feelings for you. And while studying together never meant solely talking about school, you two chatted about growing up in Gotham and dealing with being away from home. You both loved food and had a habit of showing each other what dishes you made the night before. You were also fond of baking when you visited friends' apartments, and would him banana bread or lemon squares on top of a coffee some days. You had asked his drink order the first time you two had hung out, and would always text him when you were running late if he wanted anything.

He would always say no and you would get him a drink anyways. “It’s my late tax.” You shrugged once, leaving him a bit speechless at how nonchalant your ability to care was.

Relishing in those moments made Jason breathe a bit easier, stuffing his hands into his leather jacket’s pockets and continuing down the street lamp lit road. He could hear muffled chatter and music playing as he neared, and despite wanting to sneak in without detection, you were outside sharing a cigarette with a friend and laughing amongst yourselves. You spotted Jason over your friend’s shoulder, immediately abandoning your conversation in favour of greeting him. Pride boasted in his chest, but it was quickly overcame by affection as you half ran, half drunk waddled over, arms wrapping around his waist before he could even breathe out a hello.

“I’m so happy you showed up.” You muttered into his jacket, pulling away just as Jason went to wrap his arms around you. You blinked up at him in the dopey sort of way, and it made him smile.

“You been here a while?” He asked, your brows pulling together.

“Are you saying I appear intoxicated Jason?” You teased, his name always sounding so right when you said it, especially now. Low and teasing, heavy with whatever you had drank.

“Depends, you always use big words when you’re drunk?” He jutted his chin at you, calmness flowing into his chest. Jason felt stupid for being worried, when he wasn’t so caught up in how you made him feel, you brought an ease out of him. A playfulness that sometimes left him tripped up and face hot, but you never seemed to notice.

“Pfft, you haven’t even heard the big words I know Mr. Literature Major.” He rolled his eyes, as you poked his chest. Your name was called before he could think of a response, both of you turning your attention towards the bar.

“Oh you can finish it, it's fine.” You waved your hand at your friend holding your smoke, more focused on Jason as you slipped beside him. You linked arms, leaning your weight into him as you headed towards the entrance. “Everyone’s inside, sorry if I reek of smoke.”

“I don’t mind.” He murmured, looking down at you and wondering how easy it would be to press a kiss to the top of your head. To lean over and—

“Oh by the way—“ Your voice pulled Jason from his thoughts, and he realized he was being introduced to the friend you were smoking with. He’d be hard pressed to remember her name, but she seemed nice enough. Jason had to force himself to be present as your arm slipped from his, and a chorus of voices greeted the two of you. You introduced everyone first, he was normally good with names and faces, in seas of people or gatherings like this, but Jason felt otherworldly. The only presence he felt grounded to was you, sitting next to him with one of your legs crossed over the other, calf brushing his shin as you told everyone how you two met.

“Wait—don’t you play for the basketball team?” One of your guy friends suddenly asked, and for some reason Jason immediately looked to you, to find you staring right back at him with a confused expression.

“Oh yeah, I’m starting this season—“

You slapped his arm with a shocked chuckled, “You have never told me that! What the hell!” You yelled, not louder than the chatter filling the bar as no one even looked your way. Everyone laughed as he shrugged, running his fingers through his wavy locks while you eyed him.

“Yeah I remember seeing a post with you, I think I remembered your hair.” Your friend continued, making you laugh softly. The stark white strands at the front that fell into his eyes sat against the raven black of the rest of Jason’s hair. You had asked him once if he dyed it like that, and Jason only shook his head no, continuing with the chapter like no follow up would be needed. It was perhaps why your hand found his, the one resting on his thigh underneath the table.

Your fingers curled around his hand and you let the conversation drift onto Jason’s basketball career. You listened intently, your chair right next to his as he talked about playing in the public courts as a kid, and was on a real team for the first time in highschool. He didn’t think he’d go to school for a basketball scholarship, but it seemed like the right time when he was offered. And while it was mostly true, Jason skipped over some of the more gruesome details of his life you had gotten pieces of, you knew he lived on the streets before he was adopted, but Jason never spoke of his adoptive father. You didn’t even have a name for the man who had given him a chance at life, but you were never one to push. You knew when to ask and when not too, you seemed to understand that Jason’s temperament existed on a razor sharp line, and walked it effortlessly.

“I feel kinda dumb because who is friends with someone this goddamn tall and doesn’t ask if they play basketball or volleyball even.” You snorted at one point, making Jason laugh. You let your hand fall from his then, pushing yourself up to get another drink. A few friends requested shots and you asked Jason if he wanted anything, but he shook his head no. He almost offered to go with you, but you were gone before he had the chance. He was left alone to be interrogated more about his life, which he didn’t mind, he was used to it.

It came with being a collegiate level athlete and one of the sons of Gotham’s favourite billionaire, even if most people his age didn’t know that. But it was always the same shit, especially college guys who loved to live some NBA fantasy through Jason though that wasn’t what he was striving for. Jason wanted his degree and if playing basketball helped him focus and work out everything he kept inside, then so be it. Jason never mentioned it to you because he had never seen himself as an athlete who has to go to school, but instead as a student with the perk of playing a sport he enjoyed. He felt a bit wrong for not sharing that side of his life with you, for wanting you to know him and what he loved as much as he wanted to know that about you.

It would be something to dwell on later as you returned with your friends' drinks, and on your second trip you brought a drink for yourself and another beer for Jason. You only sent him a smile as you set it down, falling back into the conversation as the night rolled on. Jason did his best to stay attentive, but you all were a little drunk and tripping over words by a certain point. Jason felt warm and content next to you, unsure how many drinks you two had ended up getting for another, but appreciating how you felt beside him regardless.

“I’m gonna go smoke and then wander my ass home.” You declared, leaving a few bills on the table which Jason immediately scooped back up.

“I got ours.” He said, pushing himself up a little too fast that his chair tipped backwards. You giggled a little unceremoniously at the sight before his words hit your ears. You began to object, but Jason had already slunk to the bar while your friends picked his chair, and closed out whatever tab you had. He was sure he ended up paying for a few of your friends' drinks too, but didn’t have the capacity to care. You were outside by the time he was back, bidding goodbye to your friends before joining you in the chilly air. “Are you actually walking home?” Jason asked, stealing your cigarette from between your fingers while you pouted.

“No, I ordered an uber. It's not coming for like ten minutes but I wanted air.” You said, voice sleepy with words falling into another.

“I’ll wait with you.”

“You can uber with me, if you want.” You offered and Jason considered it. It would mean more time alone with you, but he wasn’t sure he could keep it up anymore. With alcohol heavy in his bones and nicotine burning his throat, Jason didn’t know if he could keep it hidden anymore. Keep his feelings at bay when all his inhibitions were down and telling him not to. It was too dangerous, too risky so he shook his head no reluctantly.

“I could use the air too.” You nodded as he passed back your smoke, the hum from the bar and citylife filled the air before you looked down at your phone.

You stared unmoved for a moment, then your eyes met Jason’s. Green and heavy with want, he knew it was obvious. And either you were oblivious or didn’t care as you looked at him unfazed. Drunk and tired, but nothing heavy lurked in your gaze. It made his mouth go sour, but your voice broke any annoyance from flowering.

“Hey, when’s your next game?” You asked, swaying on your feet every so faintly.

“Uh, next Friday I think. Why?” Jason sounded a bit harsher than he meant, but you only laughed.

“Is it cool if I come watch?”

“Yeah it’s not like I can’t stop you,” You frowned at that and Jason was ready to blame the alcohol, “Sorry, I meant I'd like it if you came. My friend Roy, you met him last time he was visiting, is here again and gonna go on Friday if you wanna go with him.”

“Yeah! That’d be great!” You closed the space between you two and pulled Jason into a hug. Your arms wound around his shoulders this time, pulling him down to your level as you stood on your tippy toes. He wasted no time wrapping his strong arms around you, hands splayed on your back as his nose brushed the juncture where your shoulder and neck met. You smelled as good as you always did, a bit like liquor and sweat too, but still that summery scented warmth. It was oceanic and sweet, like that earthy natural sweetness. The kind from berries and sap, that stick to your tongue and remind you of hot endless days.

And maybe Jason was drunk and reading too much romantic poetry recently for one of his courses, or maybe he just wanted to let himself go, to feel whatever you made him feel tenfold with no hesitation. Jason let his head tilt forward, lips brushing the side of your neck before he placed a soft, open mouth kiss next to where your perfume was the strongest. Where it enveloped his senses and made him forget the reality of his life and your friendship. His tongue darted out to brush where his lips had met your skin when your fingers clutched his shoulders and pushed your bodies apart.

You stared at him a little wide eyed, his long arms still able to breach the distance and distantly holding onto your waist before the car pulling up next to you snapped Jason to reality as his grasp fell from you. Regret filled Jason instantly, words unable to form as his tongue ran across his bottom lip. You followed the action with your eyes, arms hugged around your chest as you took another step back.

“I’ll see you in class next week okay?” You said, expression softening as Jason forced a smile and nod like he hadn’t just ruined everything you two had built. You waved before ducking into the car, and vanishing into the night. Jason started walking home immediately, eyes focused on the pavement and how his steps fell on after another until he was home. He didn’t even change before rolling into bed, tossing off his hoodie and kicking off his boots before letting the promise of sleep and forgetting overtake him.

Jason thought he would wake up in a better mood, a less angry one.

He was wrong.

~

though I probably deserve this noose, there's one thing I'd like to adduce…just know I never resented you.

Jason knew he was being childish, probably handling it in the worst way, but he decided to take a cue from your reaction to his kiss, and was avoiding you. The few times you crossed paths on campus, he would send you a quick wave or fake smile before veering off in whatever direction was furthest from you. You managed to trap him in one conversation, asking if you still were on to study after class. “Uh sure, works for me.” Jason fidgeted with his zipper before bidding you goodbye and spinning out of the building he needed to be in.

He was also texting you less, keeping his phone in his bag most of the day and replying half heartedly. He was sure you knew something was up—how could you not expect Jason to be awkward all things considered?

And if you were still clueless to his avoidance, Jason made it clear when he walked past the desk you two normally shared during lecture. You had looked up as he headed down the stairs dividing the lecture hall into three. Yet Jason kept his head forward, opting to sit on the left side of the theater and closer to the front. He could feel your gaze following him, and Jason only worked up the courage once to steal a glance in your direction to see you typing furiously.

His head snapped back to the front as he pretended to listen. Jason did try to pay attention, but guilt was slowly eating him whole. He was so grateful when the lecture finally ended, taking his time to pack up and relieved to see you had already left by the time Jason started heading to the exit. Or so he thought until you stood across from the doors, arms crossed over your chest, clearly unimpressed.

“We still on to study?” You asked, clipped. Jason was sure this was the first time he had actually seen you mad, and hated he was the cause of it.

“I have a last minute practice tonight.” He said and you scoffed. Basketball had never once gotten in the way of your friendship to the point you didn’t even know he was on the team.

“Sure, okay. Well have fun and see ya around Jason.” You rolled your eyes as you pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you brushed past him. His eyes fell closed, head tipping forward as he let out a hefty sigh. Broad chest expanding and falling as he blew out hot air.

“Fuck.” He muttered, running a hand over his face and heading to the gym until night had rolled in. He would’ve stayed longer, doing a few laps in the pool perhaps, until Jason remembered Roy was still in his dorm.

Jason knew he wasn’t only being a shitty friend to you, but he had abandoned Roy twice now during his visit. It was too much guilt for Jason to hold and he didn’t have the space for it as he headed back to his friend, praying Roy wasn’t too mad. And he wasn’t, instead sleeping with his head by the foot of Jason’s bed and limbs hanging off all sides.

It made Jason laugh, a lightness filling him for the first time today. His game was tomorrow and Roy would be there and maybe it would be enough.

~

You weren’t going to show, Jason was sure of it. Well, there was the outlier possibility you might, but no, logically you were pissed and not going to show up. Unless maybe to boo him. That made Jason chuckle, pulling off his headphones as he half listened to his coach and captains’ last minute pep talk. It wasn’t the most important game, losing wouldn’t drop the teams standing much, but winning would look good as hell.

That appealed enough to Jason who was rolling out his ankles before pushing to his feet, the black of his jersey contrasted the white long sleeve he had underneath. His hair had gotten long enough to sweep back into a small ponytail, the short strands falling forward and framing his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrors as everyone headed out of the lockeroom. Jason looked happy, it seemed like a foreign expression on his face, especially as of late. But the prospect of losing himself in a game always appealed to Jason and would soon became reality.

It was his needed escape, from all the chaos he had caused, but his peace came to halt when Jason searched for Roy in the sea of people and found you next to him. Roy had a conniving grin, so maybe he was a little mad at being abandoned and hearing Jason mope about you for the last few days.

One of Jason’s teammates slammed into his back as his sneakers squeaked to a stop.

“You good man?” He asked, placing a hand on Jason’s arm as he jogged past him. Jason nodded, following behind him and trying to focus on anything, but you. Of course you showed up, and didn’t even look mad, but excited.

Jason stared at the lines painted onto the ground, trying to push away the sudden anxiety looming in his stomach. He wanted to play well for you, he knew that much, but it was hard to think about anything else. Process the flow of the game while he knew you were watching. It wasn’t your fault, but Jason just couldn’t engage with you, not right now. He ignored both you and Roy the entire first half, not once sparing a glance in your direction, and opting to duck into the locker room when half time rolled through.

He normally would come chat, he knew Roy expected that much, but Jason just needed to play. To focus on rebounds and blocking and winning. It was simple, and with each second played he felt a bit easier. Like braving you once the break ended would be more bearable. But as Jason headed back onto the court, he was met with an empty seat. Roy was still there, looking rather unamused, but trying to push it down for Jason’s sake, while Jason stared helplessly.

You left, and he should have saw it coming, but it still hurt like hell. Jason played the second half well, mostly angry at himself for being an ass, and doing nothing to stop himself. Watching repeatedly from the outside as he fumbled every meaningful relationship if given the time. It made Jason sick, angry enough to be fouled out during the last few minutes, but his team won nonetheless.

The initial celebration seemed to pass in a haze, his teammates' voices flying over Jason’s head as he pushed his way through the crowd, wandering to where Roy sat with his arms crossed over his chest. “You played like a jackass near the end.” The redhead stated when Jason was in earshot.

“Playing how I feel I guess.” Jason shrugged, gaze flickering to the empty seat near to him.

Roy sighed, pushing himself up and slapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “At least you can admit. Now go be nice and shake hands and I’ll meet you at the afters, see if I can get your little crush to show up too.” Roy stated, making Jason chuckle as he nodded.

“Alright, and thanks man.”

“Anytime,” Roy grinned, letting Jason go before shouting, “Oh hey!”

He turned around as Roy held up his phone, “They asked for a play by play when they left, just so you know.” He said, a wide smile cracking over Jason’s face. You still cared, at least somewhat how he did, and maybe would show up (again) after all.

~

just know I never resented you, and I understand if you can't stand the sound or sight of my name.

Jason was in a sea of people, the usual spot for post game drinks overflowed, everyone in the celebrating mood it seemed. Jason tried to play along, and get lost in the fun, but was anxiously waiting for you and Roy. His gaze kept flitting to the door, half listening to conversations and participating even less. Jason ignored comments about how he played the last few minutes, sending tight smiles to the people who thought they had the right to joke about that stuff with him. They usually got the message after that, leaving him be until someone else decided to pull him into a conversation. The cycle was starting again as one of Jason’s captains called his name, but Roy’s hat flashed in Jason’s periphery and he didn’t even acknowledge the senior before turning towards the door.

“Outside.” Was all Roy said with a wink, patting Jason on the shoulder and slipping past him into the celebrations.

Jason wormed his way through the crowd, yanking open the front door and nearly colliding with you. You stepped back as Jason froze in the doorway.

“Uh Jay, I think people are tryna get by.” You said, nodding behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at the couple, and moved out of the way wordlessly as they dipped into the night. You slouched against the brick wall of the bar, and Jason headed towards you like a man compelled. He leaned into the wall, looking down at you as you sent him a smile. You were close, carrying the scent of smoke and that fucking perfume.

“Heard you fouled out.” You commented, making Jason chuckle.

“Yeah, a little too pissed to play nice.” He shrugged, toying with a string on his belt and pushing further into the wall, hoping the bricks would devour him.

“Is that how you normally play?”

“No, not unless I’m in my head.” You tensed at his reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Y’know we don’t have to talk about anything tonight, you should be celebrating anyway. We can play nice? For tonight?” You said after a moment, looking away from him while Jason continued to stare down at you.

“What?” He breathed.

“I just don’t think we need to focus on like, a drunk mistake right now. You guys won, let's just focus on that.” You shrugged, still looking towards the pavement while Jason’s jaw clenched.

Drunk mistake? Sure that was a way to describe it, but it was more than that. It was a revelation to the feelings Jason had been harboring, those same feelings he handled so poorly this last week and you wanted to forget it? Put it aside like you didn’t set Jason on fire from the inside out and were the one standing there with a fire extinguisher all at once. It wasn’t something he could just ignore anymore, not even for a few hours. It was why he had all, but abandoned you this week, more so than the embarrassment. And you chalked it up to a drunk mistake?

No.

He was silent for a while, long enough to beckon your gaze back to his as you turned to face him slightly. It appeared you weren’t getting out of this conversation tonight and neither was Jason.

Jason huffed, palms digging into his eyes before he said, “It wasn’t—that wasn’t me being drunk, okay—yeah I was, but it wasn’t a mistake in the way you’re thinking. I-I did that because I…like you. A lot, and have for a while.”

This silence seemed to stretch on longer than the one before—

“Oh.”

Jason laughed, he couldn’t help it, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he barked, “Well that’s always a great response.”

The coldness of his response snapped you out of whatever shock his confession put you in, “No, no I'm just surprised, sorry. And it’s not like I don’t like you too, but—“

“Oh that’s an even better one.” Jason muttered, and went to head back inside until your fingers shot out and grabbed his wrist. He stayed in place, but couldn’t turn to face you.

“Hey, stop being an ass, I asked you to play nice so listen. Jason, I do like you, I think you’re great actually, but this is a bit of a shock to me, and we still need to talk about how you treated me this last week. I need time to process all of this because I don’t wanna damage our relationship even more right now. But I still care about you a lot so just. Bear with me?” You said, breathless afterwards and thumb stroking against his wrist as Jason finally turned to face you.

“I can…work with that.” He said softly.

“Well I’m glad,” You shifted closer, squeezing his wrist before adding, “And hey maybe if you get a little too drunk tonight and make another mistake…it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Jason immediately tipped himself into you, making you scream out a laugh while trying to push him off.

“Y’know now that you mention it, I'm feeling pretty drunk now.” He pretended to trip over his feet while your palms pressed into his chest.

“God you’re so annoying.” You grinned when Jason stopped, holding up his own weight while you slapped the back of your hand into his stomach. “Now let’s go get messed up, Roy’s driving so!”

“Oh say no more.” You slipped your hand into his, fingers interlocking as you led Jason back into the bar. You glanced back when his fingers tightened around yours. grinning brightly at him in the hazy lighting, a beacon of good and calmness Jason longed for. And while there was still uncertainty and time before Jason could truly relish in you, he would bear with you as you asked.

—

title/lyrics comes from drawstring by pity sex.

pt. two - the hellcat spangled shalalala

#jason pining and doing it miserably is my fave genre #shot at the night #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #dc imagine #dc x reader #writing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Great Escape

Warnings: allusions to non con/dubcon, kidnapping, drugging and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Here is another wish! This one with Lloyd.

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Steve or Lloyd (dealers choice - I'm feeling indecisive today) would save me from my crazy, stress-filled job and give me more free time to enjoy my hobbies (reading, crocheting, quilting, or baking).

You hit the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. You look up frantically at the beaming red EXIT sign above. You hit it again, again. You throw your body against the metal barrier, the calm footsteps closing in beneath the rampant puff of your breath.

“Real cute to see ya try, princess, but I’m doing you a goddamn favour,” his voice rolls down the hallways towards you.

You turn, pressing yourself to the door, pushing your elbows back as you continue your struggle to find some give. His shadow is skewed by the emergency lights, the stale office made sinister by the outage. You whimper. Who is this man?

“Aw, you don’t gotta be scared,” he silhouette reaches up with his pistol, scratching his head nonchalantly with the barrel, “but I can’t say it doesn’t fill my balls with joy.”

“Who are you?” You breath, choking on a sob as he struts closer, steps slow but startling. He doesn’t hurry, he knows you have nowhere to go. “Please, I… I didn’t do anything. Don’t hurt me.”

“I told you, kitten, you don’t needa be scared,” he coos, “I’m not gonna hurt you… much.” He snickers, the hall darkening the closer he gets, “I’m gonna do you a real big favour.”

You sink down to your knees. The door isn’t opening. You’re trapped. You put and arm up as you slump against the metal, waiting for the end. This psycho is going to murder you.

“Just don’t move,” he slithers as he stops before you.

He crouches and brings the silencer under your chin forcing it up. You bat your lashes and peer up at him. His face is lost in the dark. He tuts as pushes the barrel firm against you.

“Such a pretty face,” he purrs, “all you gotta do is hold still.”

There is no sudden explosion of gunpowder, no bang, just a prick. You slap your neck and he pulls away, chuckling as he holds up the long syringe. You brace the door with your other arm and whine.

“What was that?” You croak.

“Shhh,” he says, “deep breaths.”

Your muscles slacken, your lungs grow heavy, and your head wobbles. You lean into the door as the strength drains from you, eyelids drooping as the world tilts dangerously. The blackness of your subconscious swallows you up before you collapse.

💉

You come to slowly. Your body is stiff and your head is muddy. Your eyes open bit by bit, taking in the expanse of the strange room. The unfamiliarity fills you with dread. What is this place? How did you get here?

You can’t remember. You groan and touch your head, your hand clumsy, seeming almost detached from the rest of you. It takes all your effort to sit up. You gape at the pink skirt across your lap, the scalloped hem, and the tight cinch of the belt around your waist. You never wore anything like that.

You plant your hand on the cushy mattress beneath you and lean on your arm as you steady yourself. You let your eyes explore. The wooden bedframe, the frilly edge of the sheets poking out from beneath the duvet, the round rug beneath the bed, the matching night table; every piece pristine and exact. Like the replica of a fifties sitcom.

You turn your head. There’s a double-wide dresser with a mirror over it. Your reflection gives you a start. You shift your body to face yourself. You watch as you stand, as if you’re looking at someone else. The pink dress buttons up the bodice, cap sleeves top your shoulders, and a round collar frames your neck. 

You lean forward, hands on the dresser as you gape at yourself. This can’t be. Where are you? Who are you? No more stiff-cut blazer, no tucked blouse, no tailored pants. It’s a twisted joke.

The door opens but you can’t bring yourself to move. You glance at it from the mirror. A man enters but you can only see to his shoulders. He stops just inside the door.

“You’re awake,” he says flatly, “nice to have you back in the land of the living, buttercup.”

The voice sends a shiver through you. You know it. You close your eyes and see the flashing emergency lights, the nearing shadows, feel the cold barrel on your chin. You spin to face the man and look at him head-on.

His hair is slicked back, his sides buzzed, a trim of bristly hair across his lip, a singular flaw in an otherwise handsome face. A stranger, like the woman in the mirror. You grip the edge of the dresser and stare at him.

He laughs and reaches for you. You cower as he caresses your cheek.

“I couldn’t figure out the makeup so you’ll have to do all that,” he says.

“What– what is this?”

He snorts and tilts his head, letting his hand fall down your throat. He inhales as his eyes follow his touch and he plays with your collar.

“Not much of a thanks,” he hooks his finger under the top of your dress and draws you away from the dress. He keeps you close as he watches you placidly, “you’re free, sunshine.”

“What? Free?”

“That corporate wheel was grinding you down,” he intones, “it’s your turn to do the grinding.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. He sweeps his other arm around you, groping your ass as he pulls you flush to him.

“Keep me happy, and I’ll do the same,” he rocks you with him, “eight hours at a desk or a couple minutes on your knees, I know what I’d choose.”

You blink at him in horror.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have more than enough time to catch up on that book,” he affirms.

“Book?”

He nods towards the bed and you notice the familiar curled corner. The same book you’ve kept on your coffee table for months, the one you never had the time or energy to finish. You gulp and look back at him.

“No more spreadsheets, cupcake,” he winks, “but you’ll damn sure be spreading those legs.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #corrupt-a-wish #the gray man

[its-time-to-write]

Hi there!! I absolutely adore your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a little something about Jamie being your guest to a wedding?? Just something sweet and fluffy because I feel like he’d be a spectacular wedding date. Love you!!

Here you go! Haven’t been able to write as much this week, I had finals and in between tests and papers, I’ve been pretty much living at the doctor’s. My brain is feeling a little fried, so I hope this is a coherent fic because I’ve tried to proofread a bunch and it all just looks like squiggles to me, so… anon, if you read this, send me your honest feedback in my inbox. Love ya!🍊💚

i’m glad you exist

“What’s this?” Jamie asks from his position on your kitchen island. 

You glance up from the stove. “What’s what?” 

He holds up an envelope rimmed in gold. 

“Oh, that’s an invite to my old roommate’s wedding. Remember I told you about her? Calls everyone ‘queen?’”

Jamie’s face shows recognition. “Right, yeah, she the one dating that motivational speaker?”

You laugh. “Yeah, they got together a month after I met her. He lived one floor down. Anyway, their wedding’s in a few months so I left the invitation out so I’d remember to RSVP.”

Jamie’s engrossed in the details on the invitation. “Says you can bring a plus one.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “probably won’t though. It’s back home, so, it’s not just a weekend-type deal. My mom and dad want me to come stay for like a week and a half.” You turn back to the stove and narrowly avoid burning the food. “You like your dinner a little crispy, right?”

“Babe,” Jamie says slowly, “you stayin’ with your parents?”

“Nah,” you say, transferring the food onto plates, “too crowded. And loud. My mom always has all the grandkids over all the time.” Your older sister has two kids, and your older brother has three. “She offered, but I told her I’d just get an AirBnB or something.”

“Y’know,” he says, taking the plates and moving to the table, “it’s on the off season. Don’t have any branding deals that week either.”

“Jamie,” you begin, a smile beginning to spread across your face, “are you offering to go to this wedding with me? And meet my parents?”

Jamie shrugs nonchalantly. 

“You are!” you say gleefully, “Oh my god, my mom is going to lose her mind. You know she absolutely loves you, right? She talks about their trip out here all the time. And this time you can meet my whole family, like my sister and her husband, they’re definitely my favorite because my niece and I have the same middle name. Plus my brother is always busy with work and his wife is cool, I guess, but we don’t have a lot in common? Except one time we watched High School Musical together, and she knew all the dances and all the words! It was crazy. And we’ll definitely have to go to the beach, do you know how to surf-?”

You ramble on happily as Jamie just grins at you, digging into his food. 

—

It’s wedding week, and your dad picks you up from the airport. You and Jamie are on your way to your parents’ house before checking into your own house and you’re confident that most of your family is going to be there. Your parents are the only ones who have met Jamie in person, and right now your dad and Jamie are in the front of the car chatting on about who knows what. You just know you’re tired, and you’re grateful that your dad picked you up a coffee. You’re probably going to steal Jamie’s too, because he does not need more energy and yours is gone way too quick. It’s nice to be home. The sun is shining, and the streets are familiar. You’re looking forward to seeing your old friends, and showing off your gorgeous footballer boyfriend.

They’d all heard about him of course, and were more than thrilled that you had finally found someone who actually liked being around you. That sounds terrible. You’re not annoying. You just have a habit of being with men who see you as a chore, not for the wonderful person you are. The person Jamie sees you to be.

You’re pulling into the driveway, and just as you suspected, the entire family is there. You notice your brother’s Range Rover and your sister’s Jeep. You smile to yourself. How very like them.

You hop out of the car, grab Jamie’s hand, and the door is open before you even make it all the way up to it. Your mom’s arms are open for a hug which you reach for except she turns away at the last moment and hugs Jamie first?

“Mom!” you say, laughing, “I’m your literal daughter and I haven’t seen you in forever!”

She smiles and pinches Jamie’s cheek. “I’ve spent more time with you than with him. You’ll survive.”

She wraps you in a warm hug then says, “Come meet the family, Jamie! And you’re staying for dinner. You can get to your house after you’ve taken a break.”

You shake your head and Jamie just grins. Poor boy has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

—

Jamie was thoroughly interrogated by your family, including your nieces and nephews (“Why do you call it football instead of soccer? Did you bring us candy?”). You’re both so exhausted that as soon as you walk through the door of your AirBnB, you collapse onto the bed, fully clothed.

—

It’s the day of the wedding, and you’re stressed. You’d been fine until the exact moment that you and Jamie began walking up to the venue. Everything is fine, you’re walking hand-in-hand, but then you just stop. 

“Jamie,” you say, tugging on his hand, “Jamie I can’t do this.”

He turns to you in surprise. “What d’you mean you can’t do this?” 

“I mean, it’s a lot of people I haven’t seen in forever and I don’t know, I’m just freaking out.”

Jamie laughs of all things. “Babe, it’s all right. Look, you’re with me, yeah? And I’m fucking amazin’. And you’re fucking amazin’. So whatever you’re worried about, ain’t a problem.”

Sometimes you forget how cocky Jamie can be. And how much it can boost your confidence. 

You blow out a breath. “Thanks babe. You’re right, it’ll be fine.”

—

It was more than fine. Like, way more than fine. Your friend looked lovely, and she was overjoyed to see you, and Jamie was the absolute best. He befriended your entire table and insisted you dance with him for every song. He was weirdly good at it, too. 

“It’s all in the hips, babe,” he said.

It definitely was.

Your favorite part, though, is the last dance. 

It’s a slow song, and the only people left were couples. The bride and groom had left, sneaked out a back door because she hated send-offs, so everything was winding down. 

Jamie has your hands in his, and brings them to loop around his neck.

“You alright?” he whispers. You nod. “Good,” he says, voice still low. “Wanted to make sure you had a good time. I fucking love weddings. The dancing, the food… you.” He grins and you smile back. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Not sure I mentioned it earlier.”

You’re blushing now, swaying to the music as his hands circle your waist.

You say, “Thanks for coming with me, Jaim. I don’t think I would’ve had as much fun without you.”

Your hands are on the sides of his face now, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.

You lean up to kiss him and right before you do he whispers, “Gonna be us someday, yeah?”

You forget how to breathe for a moment, opting to nod instead.

Jamie smiles, and leans down to finish what you started. 

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[bellaxgiornata]

The Christmas Morning Surprise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: On Christmas morning you try to surprise Michael with breakfast, but you what you didn't expect was that he had a Christmas morning surprise for you, too.

Warnings/tags: 18+; A bit of smut and some tooth-rotting holiday fluff with a sweet Mikey

a/n: Surprised even myself being able to get yet another holiday fic finished in time! Hope y'all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Michael Kinsella One Shot Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18

A faint buzzing noise near your head woke you, gradually drawing you out of your peaceful sleep. It took your mind a moment to realize that the sound was the alarm you’d set on your phone last night before you’d gotten ready for bed. In a rush to silence it, your hand flew out from under the covers, cold air instantly chilling your bare skin. Quickly you swiped your finger across the phone screen on the nightstand beside you, ending the alarm before the vibration could wake up Michael and disturb him. 

Slipping your arm back under the warm covers, you carefully glanced over your shoulder and back at Michael behind you. He was laying on his side facing you, one arm resting on the bed just next to you and partially out of the blankets. He looked peaceful lying there with the faint morning light washing over his features. You secretly always loved when you woke before him, often taking a moment to watch him sleep. It was one of the few times you ever saw him without a single crease of worry visible on his face. 

As you lay there watching the steady rise and fall of his chest while trying to work up the motivation to get out of the warm, comfortable bed, you noticed his brows beginning to faintly furrow together. The corner of his lip began to twitch soon after and a frown crossed your own mouth when he emitted a faint groan. His eyelids fluttered open before he blinked a few times, his hazel eyes landing on you. 

“Ya already awake, love?” Michael’s sleep-riddled voice croaked out.

“Yes,” you answered quietly, “but ya can sleep in, Mikey. I set my alarm to wake me in order to get somethin’ ready for ya this mornin’.” 

You reached a hand out, lightly scratching Michael’s beard with your fingers. His eyelids slowly lowered as a sluggish smile pulled his lips upwards. A satisfied hum rumbled out of him and you tried to bite back a laugh. He reminded you of a dog getting scratched behind its ears in just the right spot with the way he often reacted to your affectionate beard scratches.

“Ya were out late last night,” you continued gently. “Go back to sleep, Mikey. I know ya could use the rest and we don't have anywhere to be until later.”

“Mmmph,” he grunted out, his eyelids struggling to reopen. “Kinda hard to fall back asleep now that I'm startin’ to wake up. Especially seein’ your beautiful face first thing in the mornin’.”

Your bottom lip protruded in a playful pout as you held his tired gaze. The last thing you'd wanted to do was wake him early this morning. You'd meant to just slip out of bed and finish making your surprise Christmas breakfast before he woke up. You'd already done most of the work for the homemade cinnamon rolls last night while Michael was out dealing with his family so that all you'd have to do this morning was bake them in the oven and ice them. But now you'd gone and accidentally woken him early.

Though an idea soon struck you as you took in the sight of the tired smile still spread along his lips. Gradually your fingers slipped out of his beard, sliding upwards to caress his cheek. Slight confusion crossed his features as he gazed back at you.

“Maybe I can help relax ya back to sleep,” you suggested coyly. 

One of his dark brows arched onto his forehead, his tired eyes fixed curiously on you. Bottom lip catching between your teeth, you slowly drew your hand down his cheek, lightly dragging your nails down the side of his neck before it slipped back beneath the covers. His brow rose even higher onto his forehead as he held your gaze, the corners of his lips curling further upwards when you shot him a cheeky wink. 

Your hand made its way downwards, though not without you first taking a moment to curl your fingers appreciatively in the hair covering his bare chest. Eventually your hand continued its descent, your fingers reaching the hem of his boxers. Toying with the waistband teasingly, your tongue darted out, wetting your lips in anticipation of what had crossed your mind. 

“Love, ya don't have to–”

“Consider it your first gift of the day, Michael,” you whispered back, cutting him off.

Without giving him another opportunity to tell you why you didn't need to pleasure him–something he always did for fear of feeling selfish–both of your hands began tugging his boxers down his thighs. Sitting upright on the bed, you began shifting on the mattress, moving the blankets out of the way before stripping his boxers entirely off and discarding them over the side of the bed. Eyes focusing back on Michael's cock, a surge of heat washed through you at the sight of him already growing hard.

“With the way ya look at me sometimes,” Michael’s groggy voice began, “ya would think ya enjoy this ‘bout as much as I do.”

Your eyes flickered up, catching his as a sly grin spread across your face. “‘Cause I do, Mikey,” you purred out. 

Focusing back on Michael's cock, your cunt twitched at the resulting groan he'd emitted in reply to your comment. Maybe you'd satisfy that urge in the shower with him later this morning when you both got ready for the day. But for now, you were going to enjoy turning Michael into a relaxed puddle so he'd fall back asleep while you worked on your little surprise breakfast.

Reaching out a hand, you dragged your nails lightly across the sensitive bit of skin on his lower abdomen, right above his cock. The muscles twitched and jumped beneath your fingertips as you gradually lowered yourself into a comfortable position on the bed between his muscular thighs. Slowly you began to slide your other hand up the inside of his left thigh through the thick, dark hair, grinning in triumph to yourself when his hips gave a faint jolt along the bed in response. 

Knowing you wanted to get him to fall back asleep soon, you figured you'd keep the teasing to a minimum this time. One of your hands curled around the girth at the base of him, your own cunt beginning to grow wet at the slight moan he loosed into the bedroom at your touch. From your position on the bed, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. His head had raised from his pillow, his drowsy focus solely on you. 

“Merry Christmas, Mikey,” you whispered, intentionally brushing your lips against his cock as you spoke.

Without waiting for a response, you wrapped your lips around him and began to work the length of his cock slowly and deliberately. A deep moan bellowed from within his chest, echoing around the bedroom–it was a sound that had you humming with pleasure with your mouth full of him. Moments later you felt one of his hands lightly cradling the side of your head, his fingers carefully gripping your hair. 

“Ohh fuck, love,” he breathed out, voice pitched higher than usual. “Ya always know what you're doin’.”

You moaned along his cock at the praise, your thighs pressing together from your place on the bed. Yet again you had to remind yourself you'd take care of your own needs with him later as your head continued to bob along the length of him, your pace increasing a bit with the speed of his panting breaths now filling your ears. While your right hand continued to work the bit of him you couldn't quite fit, your left hand made its way up the rest of his inner thigh and over towards his balls. The moment you began to pay them attention you felt his hips straining to remain still beneath you. 

“ Shit , love,” Michael gasped out. 

It was only a matter of time before you could feel his thighs practically trembling along the mattress. You could tell he was close to cumming, especially with the faint, breathy gasps repeatedly slipping out of him as you sucked his cock. You knew it usually never took much to get him off first thing in the morning, and apparently today was no different. 

Increasing your pace even faster as you tried to take him just a bit deeper into your mouth, you felt his hand tighten its grip in your hair. His other hand darted onto the bed with a soft thump before you saw him fisting the sheets in a white-knuckle grip.

“Love, I'm goin’ to cum,” he breathed out, voice strained. 

Continuing to breathe through your nose, you didn't slow your pace. Only seconds later you felt the warm, thick ropes of his release hit your tongue. The familiar salty taste of him along with the accompanying low, satisfied moans he was making above you had you moaning along with him. You swallowed every bit down as you worked him through his release, only stopping when you felt his grip ease in your hair.

Sitting up between his thighs, you wiped a hand across your damp mouth and gazed down at the sight of Michael before you. His breathing was heavy and so were his eyelids as he drowsily gazed down at you. He shot you a content, sleepy smile from his place along the pillow as his hand dropped from your hair and back to his side.

“Think it's your turn now, love,” he murmured.

You tried to fight back the grin on your face at how exhausted he looked. Gently you shook your head, one hand lightly patting his thigh.

“Not right now, Michael,” you told him. “Later. In the shower.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, his eyelids drooping. 

“Think ya can fall back asleep now?” you asked him.

“After that?” he asked with a light laugh. “Not a doubt in my mind, love.”

“Good,” you whispered as you slid off the bed. “Rest more, pet. I'll wake ya in a bit.”

Michael hummed out a noise of assent as you drew the blankets back up over him, his head already rolling to the side as sleep began to take back over. You smiled to yourself at the sight, grateful your little breakfast surprise would remain just that still.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the kitchen, mingling with the scent of the freshly brewed espresso from the two coffee mugs you’d set aside on the little island behind you. Mikey had often drank tea or bland coffee roasts before you’d moved in with him, but once you’d introduced him to your espresso machine, he’d quickly fallen in love with the lattes you made. So you’d certainly made sure to include them in your Christmas morning surprise for him.

Gingerly you spread the icing over the top of the now mostly-cooled cinnamon rolls in the pan that you’d recently pulled out of the oven. The icing spatula glided with ease over the top of each one, the lingering warmth from the pastries causing the icing to loosen and spread over them, dripping down the sides. Your stomach gave a faint rumble as you worked, desperate to taste the fruits of your labor already. You’d spent the previous evening making the cinnamon rolls from scratch while Michael was away dealing with his family, and you’d stored them in the fridge overnight knowing he’d come home far too late to give a damn what was hidden at the back of it. You were planning to wake him for breakfast once you’d had everything finished, hoping to give him as much time to sleep in as you could.

Though as you began icing the final pastries in the pan, you felt two arms slip around your waist just before you felt Michael’s familiar, firm chest molding itself against your back. His nose was soon nuzzling at the side of your neck, the faint scratch of his beard tickling your skin. A smile tugged at your lips as your hands paused their icing, your eyes briefly closing at the display of affection. Despite the things Michael had done, and how terrifying most people seemed to find him, he was truly nothing more than a cuddly teddy bear with you.

“Everythin’ smells amazin’, love,” he murmured against your neck. “Didn’t know ya were makin’ breakfast or I’d have come down and given ya a hand.”

Your eyelids fluttered back open, your attention returning to icing the last of the cinnamon rolls in the pan. “But that’d defeat the point, pet,” you pointed out. “I was hopin’ to surprise ya with breakfast this mornin’. And ya needed the rest.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, pausing to gently place a light kiss to the place just beneath your jawline. “Ya spoil me, love.”

“It’s Christmas, Michael,” you teased, fighting your body's reaction to the way he was touching you. “‘Course I’m goin’ to spoil ya.”

His arms tightened their hold around your middle, pulling you more flush to the front of himself and causing your smile to widen. You could feel him shifting beside you, his head raising just before his soft lips planted a gentle kiss to your cheek. But when he spoke next, his mouth was beside your ear, causing a shudder to freely race down your spine. He never failed to have an effect on you. 

“Ya always spoil me, though,” he whispered. 

Turning your head towards him, you caught his eyes and held his gaze. The usual warmth and fondness he always looked at you with was present in them now, the sight causing a sensation of happy flutters to swirl through your stomach. 

“Because ya deserve it, Mikey,” you replied softly.

Slowly, you saw the corner of his lips twist upwards, his eyes creasing just a bit at the corners. He gradually disentangled his arms from around your waist, taking a step back. Though both of his hands gave your hips a gentle, affectionate squeeze before he fully released you.

“Why don’t ya take a seat and relax?” he suggested, nodding his head towards the kitchen table across the room. “I’ll plate everythin’ and bring it over. Ya have done more than enough already this mornin’.”

With a sigh you placed the icing spatula in the now empty bowl you’d mixed the icing in this morning. “Alright,” you conceded. “I s’pose I can let ya handle that much.”

Turning around, you grabbed the two still steaming lattes from off the little kitchen island behind you before maneuvering around it and making your way over to the small table by the window. As you set both mugs down, you could hear the sound of clinking on dishware as Michael plated the cinnamon rolls. 

Sliding down into a chair and drawing your mug of coffee up to your lips, your attention returned to him. He’d slipped on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black sweater before he’d come downstairs and your eyes lingered appreciatively on the way the material clung to the back of him as he worked. You knew you’d definitely be peeling those clothes off of him later this morning in the bathroom before fucking him in the shower, and that thought had you momentarily readjusting your position in your chair. It was at that exact moment he turned around, holding two plates and beaming back at you from across the kitchen.

“These look great, love,” Michael said as he began to make his way over to the table. “Did ya make them yourself?”

“O’course I did,” you answered. “I made ‘em while ya were out last night. All I had left to do was throw ‘em in the oven this mornin’ and then make the icing.”

Michael set a plate down in front of you before taking the seat across the little table. His eyes had gone a bit wide in surprise at the information.

“Love, ya didn’t have to do that for me,” he told you. “And ya certainly didn’t have to make so many, either.”

You shrugged lightly, picking up the fork from your plate. “I wanted to. Plus I figured if I was goin’ through all the trouble of makin’ them I figured I'd make some to bring over later to share with Anna and her gran. Because who says no to cinnamon rolls?”

Your fork slid through the side of the pastry easily, cutting off a piece that you brought up to your lips. Though your fork hesitated before your mouth as you focused on Michael across from you, his own fork in his hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothin’,” he muttered with a slight shake of his head. “Just grateful to have ya in my life is all.”

Heat burned at your cheeks as Michael picked up his fork and began to focus on his breakfast. His words had caused a warmth to flood you, filling you with a pleasant sense of belonging. It wasn’t remotely the first time he’d said something so sweet, but it never failed to get your heart thundering in your chest whenever he did because you knew how much he always meant what he said.

“After breakfast I’ll have to pop over to Birdie’s for a minute,” Michael told you as he swallowed a bite of the pastry.

Brows furrowing, you glanced out the window to your right. Just across the snow-dusted street you spotted Birdie’s house.

“Ya have more work to do this mornin’?” you asked him in confusion, your attention returning to him. “On Christmas?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” he said around another bite of cinnamon roll. “I left your Christmas present at her house for uh…safe keepin’. Just to ensure ya didn’t stumble across it ahead of time.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at him as you paused your chewing. Michael visibly began to fidget in his seat, his eyes focused on the plate before him. What could he possibly have needed to leave at Birdie’s to keep you from finding it here?

“These are delicious by the way, love,” Michael said, gesturing his fork at the already half-devoured pastry on his plate. “Thank ya for makin’ them.”

“Well,” you began slowly, spearing another piece of cinnamon roll onto your fork, “it’s certainly not your only present this mornin’.”

Michael sent you a half-grin from across the table as he raised his mug of coffee towards his lips. “Like I said,” he replied, “ya spoil me, love.”

Despite the fact that Michael had told you not to worry about cleaning up the kitchen just before he'd left to stop over at Birdie’s, that's exactly what you’d ended up doing. As soon as you'd covered the pan of cinnamon rolls and stowed them away in the fridge, you could hear the sound of his voice telling you that you shouldn't be the one to clean up because you'd already went through the effort of making everything for breakfast. 

But you'd ignored that voice and started loading the dishwasher afterwards. There wasn't much else for you to do anyway as you waited for him to return from Birdie’s. Though you couldn't help but speculate what gift he could have possibly left at her place. Jewelry? Some sort of electronic? Honestly you had no clue what it could've been.

But you didn't need to speculate much longer because as you were closing the door to the dishwasher you spotted movement out of the kitchen window from the corner of your eye. Turning over your shoulder towards the window, you saw Michael coming up the drive with what was obviously your Christmas present secured in his arms. Your mouth fell open at the sight and you gasped audibly, eyes widening in surprise. 

Without a moment's hesitation you raced out of the kitchen, making your way down the short hallway and to the front door. You reached out and twisted the handle, swinging the door wide open just as Michael neared it. There was a large smile on his face when he saw the look on your own.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he said, coming to a stop on the front step. 

“Please tell me this isn't a joke, Mikey,” you begged. “Because if it is, it's not funny.”

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the puppy curled in his arms. The dog's ears had perked up the moment it'd spotted you though, its tail thudding enthusiastically against Michael’s dark brown jacket. There was a bright red and white Santa hat atop the puppy's fluffy white and brown head. The puppy must have sensed your excitement because it soon began to squirm in Michael’s hold.

“‘S'not a joke,” he assured you. “I know how lonely ya get ‘round here when I'm busy. And I know how ya had been hinting ‘bout gettin’ a pet lately. Figured this little guy would be perfect when I saw him at the shelter.”

“So ya–ya got me a puppy for Christmas?” you asked him in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he answered with a grin. 

You eagerly extended your arms with an excited squeal, reaching them out towards the puppy. Michael began shifting the excitable, squirming ball of fur from his arms to yours. Another delighted squeal slipped out of you as the dog began sniffing and licking at your chin while you stepped back from the doorway, letting Michael into the house. He chuckled warmly at the happy coos you soon began emitting as he slipped off his shoes while you continued further into the house, bringing the puppy towards the sitting room. 

A giggle fell out of you next as the little dog began snuffling at your ear while you lowered both yourself and the dog to the sitting room floor. Though you lost your balance when his two front paws landed on your shoulder as he tried to climb further up to your face. You landed on your back underneath the puppy with a peel of laughter.

“Seems he has some sort o’ charm over everyone,” Michael teased as he entered the room. “Found him similarly with Birdie this mornin’ and I think she was a bit sad to see him leave.”

“Well she's more than welcome to visit,” you told him, scratching the puppy behind the ears as you focused on Michael from your place on the floor. “And thank ya, Mikey. He's perfect.”

“Just glad to see that bright smile on your beautiful face, love,” he replied. “I'd do anything to put it there.”

You couldn't fight the smile that spread wider across your lips at his words. “Well when I can finally get up I'm giving ya your Christmas presents,” you told him. With your smile turning a bit coy, you added, “And don't think I forgot what I said about the shower later, either. I'm not finished with ya today, Michael Kinsella.”

“Mmm,” he hummed back, making his way over towards the pair of you with a cheeky smile on his face. “Now those are the kinda threats I love to hear.”

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #holiday fluff

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. “That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow–perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

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@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #big daddy elvis fic #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis one shot #70’s elvis #elvis x you #army elvis #elvis x reader #elvis smut #austin elvis smut #elvis photos #elvis fic #elvis fanfic au #elvis au #austin elvis fluff #70s elvis #elvis 2022

[anonymous-rendezvous]

He Comforts You - Luca 💛

Luca Kaneshiro x GN!Reader

✦ — Written by Mod I ✨. Beta Read and Edited by Mod S 👿.

✧ — Comfort & Care Masterlist | 💛 You comfort him

✦ — Contains: Established relationship, fluff, & comfort

✧ — Word count: 481 | Ao3

Snippets of time showing how you and your partner care for each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You let out a sigh as you finally reach the front door. You’d gotten off work much later than you intended, and then halfway home you suddenly remembered Luca had asked if you could pick up a few things from the grocery store for dinner. Shifting the bags around in your arms to dig out your keys from your pockets, before trying to unlock the door. Yet, before you can fully unlock it, the knob suddenly turns under your hand and the door is yanked open. “Your back!” The briefest flash of yellow before a large body darts past the door and sweeps you off your feet.

It takes you a moment to register the fact that you're suddenly held up in your boyfriend’s strong arms, “Whoa–Luca!!” As tired as you are, you can’t help laughing affectionately as he spins the pair of you around a few times. When he does finally return your feet to the ground, he has to help steady you as you start to stumble.

“Babe! I’ve missed you!” He starts to take the grocery bags off of you. “Oh! You got everything, thank you!”

“It’s no problem, love. Sorry, I’m so late though.” You let out another tired sigh as the weight of the grocery bags finally leaves you. “I would have told you I was gonna be late if I had known.” Luca immediately shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay! That’s not your fault.” His head tips to the side with a soft smile on his face. “I’m just happy you're home now, ya know?” As he takes in your tired form, an idea hits him, eyes lighting up. “Oh! Wait here!” The mafia boss quickly turns on his heels and rushes the groceries inside and presumably to the kitchen. You don’t have time to ponder what he’s thinking before he’s once more in front of you. “Arms up!” You’re already following his order before your mind can process what's happening and then you're suddenly in his arms once more.

“Ah–” You can feel your face heat up as he cradles you in his arms before turning and carrying you inside the house. “L–Luca, I can walk just fine.”

“I know!” He replies immediately. “But I wanted to do something for you! You’ve had a long day, right? Lemme help a little, okay?” You can only respond with an embarrassed yet affectionate huff. It’s not long before he reaches the couch and sets you down as carefully as he can. “Okay! You rest here, I'm gonna start on dinner!” Before he reaches the kitchen, he suddenly freezes before turning and rushing back to your side. There’s a question on your lips that dies before it can form as his lips press against yours. “I appreciate you, babe.”

“I appreciate you too.” The sun pales in comparison to the smile that lights his face.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Likes are nice and we do appreciate them. However, comments/feedback is what really motivates us to continue writing. Even just a keyboard smash or emojis are a joy to see!

We do not allow our stories to be translated or reposted/shared anywhere. The only places our stories should be found are on Ao3 or Tumblr. Nowhere else.

#luca kaneshiro x reader #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #luca kaneshiro #nijisanji luxiem #nijisanji luca #nijisanji en #nijisanji #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #Written by Mod I ✨

[ambersgems]

Bonded - Part 2 - Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Soulmate AU where you can feel your soulmate's emotions. When you meet, usually their name appears on your wrist.

A/N: Please let me know if you'd like this to be continued! Any feedback is appreciated! I also would love requests for anything Dean, Chris Evans characters, or Sebastian Stan characters! It can be blurbs, drabbles, or longer! Oh, also I imagine Dean being around 28/29 here while reader is approaching 25.

Word Count: 2K

Part 1

Dean’s POV

It was a simple case. It was a simple salt and burn. The spirit was going after highly driven authority types. CEOs, things of that nature. The motive was something about powerful people hurting the weak. He didn’t really know. Honestly, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to do what he did best and that was to eliminate this son of a bitch. 

The old house creaked under his boots. The brown laces scraped against each floorboard he passed. He could taste the dust that was in the air, causing his chest to tighten slightly from the pollution in his lungs. Sam had decided to cover the back, while he went through the front. He held his flashlight in his left hand and his gun in his right, completing the necessary checks around the perimeter. After an arduous search, they finally found the bones in the basement.

Quickly, he reaches into his duffle bag and grabs the salt, turning it over and covering the bones as his eyes scan around the room. It was odd not to have encountered the spirit yet, but his suspicions were confirmed when he heard a loud crash coming from the top of the stairs, the door had swung shut. A groan leaves his lips dropping his bag, reaching for the shotgun with the rock salt. “Sammy! Burn the bones while I keep ‘em back would ya?!” He yells out, deciding to guard the stairs. 

It was all running relatively smoothly, until ole casper decided to pop up out of nowhere. Dean doesn’t think. He just reacts, pumping the shotgun and shooting at the ghost. He would never admit it, but it gave him quite a jump scare. His palms were sweating and his heart was racing as the spirit approached, seemingly impervious to the shots taken by Dean.  His heart was thumping wildly in his chest as the shotgun was knocked from his grasp and he was pinned to the grimy cinderblock wall. “Sammy!” he called out, watching him fumble with the match to burn the bones.

Despite the fear that coursed through his body, there was a sense of calm that washed over Dean’s physical body. You. It was you. He could feel you trying to calm him down. While he appreciated it, now was not the time for him to fall into your relaxing state. He fought against it as much as he could, waiting for Sammy to finally finish with the bones.

He let out a sigh of relief as the spirit disappeared, the bones completely destroyed. “Took ya long enough” he grumbled as he tried his best to catch his breath, knowing that you were still trying to soothe him as best as you knew how. He shook his head at the thought. This must be very confusing for you at the very least.

He tried to gather his thoughts as he and Sam took the Impala back to the motel. The drive was quiet between the two brothers, but it was anything but quiet inside of Dean’s head. All he could think about was you.

Dean had felt your emotions for as long as he could remember. The little things and the big things, he could feel them all with a heaviness in his chest. These things were relatively normal for soulmates. But, growing up in the world he did, Dean was also acutely aware of the things in life that were not normal. He knew that being able to help regulate your soulmate’s emotions was not a usual thing. So, he dove into the lore of it all and he found it. He found the term that describes the kind of soulmate that he had. 

They were “bonded.” He took a deep dive and learned everything that there was to know about being bonded to his soulmate. It meant that when he met you, his name would form on your wrist, but yours would be written over his heart. Why? Because you were his source of heart. His name would be on your wrist because he was your source of strength. Once he met you, his entire life would change and so would yours.

Dean knew you were trying your best to accommodate him. He could feel you each time you tried to relax him. What was worse, he could feel you suppressing your own emotions. He could only guess it was for his sake, not wanting him to have to feel your pain. He knew you were kind in that way, that your heart for him was greater than any other, which is why your name would appear on his chest one day. Had he known this sooner, he would have left some extra space and not had his anti-possession tattoo placed in the same vicinity. He knew once he met you he would wear your name proudly. 

He had a million thoughts racing through his mind as he drove them back to the motel, knowing you must be confused by everything that was happening to you. All he wanted to do was comfort you. He could feel the bristle of your own anxiety when his emotions couldn’t be kept in check.He was sure he woke you with his antics on more than one occasion, and he felt bad for that, but he was starting to calm down with your help. Sometimes he wondered how he would have ever made it without you caring about him, albeit in a roundabout way. No matter what, he could always count on you to be there for him, which isn’t something he could say about most people in his life. This is why he promised himself that once he met you, he would never let anything harm you and he’d never let go.

Trees blurred past his vision as he kept his attention on the highway, thoughts of you in every moment. What did you look like? Were you tall or shorter? Would you be afraid of him and what he does? What was the name of your favorite perfume? He could always smell it himself when you put it on, smell triggering some of the strongest emotions in you. He didn’t know the name, but he wished he could find it and keep it around for when he couldn’t feel your emotions, just to have you with him. 

Dean had reached the Age of Choice several years ago now. He no longer had to wait to be with someone else if he wanted to. But that was just it, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be with anyone but you. The one person that he has had with him his entire life, cared about him and never let him down. Sure, he had definitely had his fun over the years. He was no blushing virgin by any means. Funnily enough, when he was with those girls, that was when he was the most emotionally cut off from you. Deep down he knew that he didn’t want to cause you that pain, but he also didn’t feel anything for them. It was a quick way to forget for a moment, but that was all that it was. There were no emotions involved. He knew that he wanted to find you, but he didn’t know how.

By the time that Dean had pulled into the motel parking lot, he knew you were asleep. He could feel the calm lull and lack of anxiety, which told him you probably drifted off after he had steadied himself in the drive. 

-----------------

The next morning Dean was woken up with a grunt. Sam threw some clothes at him and yelled at him to get up. “Come on, I found another case!” he shouted, causing Dean to groan and slowly change into his clothes.

-----------------

After a coffee run and a short drive they reached what looked like the average office building. Sam had explained over the drive that there had been another death last night and that they may want to do some poking around to make sure no one else raised suspicion, even if they already had dealt with the spirit.

Upon getting out of Baby, they threw on their FBI jackets and grabbed their badges before walking inside the relatively nondescript building. Dean scanned the room as they walked in, noticing the way each employee’s eyes would flick up to them as they walked past, stopping what they were doing in the process. It was like they were frozen as they watched the men walk to what looked like a receptionist’s desk. 

There was a young girl standing there, Dean thought she couldn’t be much older than 18, frantically answering calls and letting people know that, no, her boss wasn't in today and they would have to reschedule. His eyes flicked down to her name tag that read ‘Natalie,’ while they waited for her to acknowledge their presence. Once she seemed to stop panicking on the phone, she attempted to straighten her appearance, smoothing her skirt out with her hands. Dean noticed the blush on her cheeks, knowing she likely found one of them to be attractive. He smirked slightly, taking note that they may be able to use that to get information later.

“Hi Mr. FBI Agents, sirs,” the girl stammered out, “I’m sorry for the mess, but our boss didn’t come in today and his executive assistant is running late,” she explained earnestly. 

“Well that’s actually what we’re here for. I’m Agent Jones, and this is Agent Smith, your boss died last night,” Sam says to the girl, watching as her reaction switches to one of shock.

“This executive assistant of his, do you know where she’s at?” Dean questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at her.

“Y/N? You’re looking for Y/N Y/L/N? What would you want with her? I know her, sh- she’d never do anything like that, you don’t have to worry about her!” Natalie states, her breathing becoming erratic the longer she talked. She quickly came to your defense, knowing your character. You had just texted her and told her you were on the way, with not only your boss’ coffee order but hers as well. She knew you would never be capable of anything horrid.

“Woah, woah, woah, nobody is accusing anyone of anything. We’d just like to have a word with her. If she was close to him, then she might have some insight into some questions we’d like to ask. Now, where is she?” Dean asked, his tone becoming a little harsher this time.

The girl merely pointed towards the doors that they had come in through, her hand shaking a bit in fear of repercussions. Dean and Sam watched as a young woman barged through the swinging glass doors. Dean smirked slightly as he saw you maneuver your way around, 3 coffees in hand and without spilling a drop. It was a sight to be seen. He thought it was odd the way it struck him, the grace that you held while simultaneously trading your flats for the heels you had in your bag. He tried his best to keep his expression neutral, though, as you approached them. 

It looked as if you really weren't paying attention to them, but once you got closer, Sam spoke up. “You must be Miss Y/L/N?” 

Dean noticed the way that your eyebrows raised, watching you intently as you responded “That’s me. Can I ask who you are?” your tone was polite, but he could tell that you were anxious to get past the two of them.

“I’m Agent Smith and this is Agent Jones, we are here to ask you a few questions about your boss,” he replied, instinctively reaching his hand out to grab yours.

He winced as he felt it, a groan escaping his lips and pulling at the fabric of his shirt. Your name began inscribing itself onto his chest, right below his anti-possession tattoo and over his heart. Dean could sense your confusion when you noticed your name wasn’t on his wrist, but his chest. He couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his face, seeing the shock written on your face. 

“Well, sweetheart, looks like we’re not only soulmates, we’re bonded. And we need to have a conversation.”

Tagged by Request: @imaginedreamwrite

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #writing blog #jensen ackles #sam winchester #taking requests #requests open #chris evans #chris evans characters #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #please request #Bonded #bonded part 2 #community tags

[artyandink]

Light My Fire (Again) | beau arlen

Summary: “I thought I’d swore off love, Jenny.” I smiled, chuckling a bit as I looked down to my feet then back up the skies, taking in the twinkling lights. “God, I really thought I did, and I was doing such a good job at it too. But, well, I just… I couldn’t help it.” I wet my lips slightly, biting the bottom one. “It’s improper, but it’s true.”

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

(divider credits go to cafekitsune)

A/N - Feedback is my fuel ❤️

three - landslide

PREVIOUSLY ON LMF:

I looked down at my hands, the hands that could’ve stopped everything, stopped her suffering, the hands that were only a flight of stairs and a trip down the hall away. My ignorance at the time was crippling. The cruel thought that Lucy was safe and sound. It resulted in Olivia losing her mom and everything she knew, and having to live with her auntie.

Not that I’m not the best option, but if I’d picked up my metaphorical magnifying glass and looked closer, I’d see. See that things were wrong. Someone was after her, I didn’t know who, but one psycho was out to kill her, and succeeded.

The one of many times someone’s success felt like it twisted my heartstrings. The worst success.

I remembered the desperation that I had when I first investigated Lucy’s murder. The wild look I had in my eyes when I spotted myself in the mirror, and then one like a wounded animal when I wound up battered in a hospital. I didn’t want to go through that again. Not the false hope that I’d get somewhere. I didn’t need it, I didn’t want it, I couldn’t handle it. I’d possibly go feral if I found out the truth, but all the same, Lucy needed me. It was always me and her. When she was nineteen and I was eleven , not wanting to let her go because she was everything I had and more.

I hadn’t had that stable of a home life growing up. My dad cheated on my mom with his secretary and left her when I was three. Mom did the next best thing to dealing with the loss of her husband, which was filling herself brain high with any booze she could find. Lucy had taken the job of taking care of me, and she did a damn good job at it. Even got rewarded with an apple pie, white picket fence life to boot. I couldn’t have been happier for her, because she deserved every bit of happiness she got.

Even if I didn’t want to deal with the inevitable pain of investigating into my sister’s murder, I owed it to her. I needed to bring whoever killed her to justice.

I reached for my phone, dialling the first person that came to mind who’d help me with this case. I bit my lip, jogging my leg as I waited for him to pick up. ‘Hey, darlin’.’ I heard Beau’s voice from the other end, cherry as ever. ‘What can I do for ya?’

“Hey, Sheriff.” I breathed out, looking at the cassette player with stony eyes. “What d’you say to reopening a cold case?”

I slammed a dusty, yet rather small, file down on my desk, with Jenny and Beau gathered around it. “This is what I have from six years ago. My sister, found by me in the backyard, eleven stab wounds in her chest. Cameras were off, no prints, killer didn’t go through the garden as there were no prints. It rained that night, so footprints were washed away.”

“Tough case, huh?” Beau sighed, folding his arms. “No prints, no murder weapon at the scene- the killer ain’t giving you much to work with.”

“No kidding.” Jenny looked over the case files. “Lucy didn’t have any enemies, by what this file says.”

“She didn’t.” I shook my head, sitting on the table. “Luce, she was… an angel, to say the least. Kind to everyone, always optimistic. I’ll be damned if anyone hated her.”

“No motive.” Beau muttered, looking up at me with slightly raised eyebrows. “Could this just be a random crazed psycho?”

“No.” I shook my head again, rubbing my chin. “Can’t be. Whoever it was knew how to get inside the house and through to the back. Only somebody who knew Lucy could do that. Somebody I know or someone she knew murdered her, and I ain’t resting until I find them.”

“Do we at least have any leads?” Jenny rubbed her forehead, looking over to me. “Any at all?”

“The cassette.” I shrugged. “It’s the last thing she left to me, and judging by the sounds behind the voice, it’s Lucy’s 42nd birthday party. I remember it, Mark was doin’ bad karaoke in the living room.”

“So this is essentially a note, but no suicide involved.”

“Somebody was sending threats.” Beau figured out, pointing at the case file with his pencil. “Think about it. Her voice ain’t exactly chirpy in that recording. Maybe a threat was sent, that she was gonna die soon.”

“A necklace.” My head perked up, my fingers snapping. “One of ‘em, it contained a raven’s feather. Or some of it. Lucy was a folklore major.”

“So she’d know it symbolises death and/or loss.” Jenny added, nodding. “That’s a start.”

“That also narrows it down.” Beau nodded, all of us going into a rhythm. “Somebody had to know she’d understand this reference, which also means someone close to her- good work, Belle.” He patted my knee proudly, giving me a broad smile. “At least you’re closer than you were before.”

“Hold on, though.” I held up a hand, frowning as a thought piqued my interest. “If that’s the case, if Lucy wanted to warn me… why now? Why at Olivia’s sweet sixteen?”

“Maybe it was something personal, something important to her.” Jenny shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe she wanted Olivia’s sixteenth to go smoothly, as if some threat would resurface at that time.”

“That’s what’s stumping me. Which person who we both know would possibly wanna harm my sister? Me, I’d understand, I don’t get on with everyone, but Lucy? Doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Is Lucy’s phone still kept safe?” Beau asked, deep in thought. “Maybe there’s some voicemails on there.”

“I’ll have to dig them up.” I replied before hearing a ping on my phone. I took it out, seeing the name lighting up on the screen, which made my eyes widen. I hadn’t seen this name in ages, not since eleven years. Not since I was 29, and I don’t know why I saved the number.

“Who is it, darlin’?” Beau frowned slightly, his lips also pouting imperceptibly as his eyes flickered down to my phone.

“Again with the darlin’?” Jenny chastised, and he let out a small noise in protest. My eyes were glued to my screen, trying to figure out if I was seeing things right. Jenny confirmed for me, snatching the phone out of my hand and taking a look at it, her eyes widening when she saw the name. “Cal Joyner.”

“The cheating dad Cal Joyner?”

“Yeah.” I nodded breathily. “He’s… here. In Montana.”

“Your dad in town, the cassette tape, this can’t be a coincidence. If it is, I’ll eat my hat. And trust me,” He chuckled deeply, “I love my hat.”

“There’s also how you can’t eat a hat.” Jenny contradicted with a judging look.

“I’m the sheriff, Hoyt, I will eat my hat if I damn well please.”

“Right, let’s get off the subject of eating hats.” I interrupted with a snicker. “I’ll talk to Cassie, see if I can get her and Denise to maybe research into possible news stories surrounding Lucy’s death. Maybe also get them to help with figuring out why my deadbeat dad is in town. You guys maybe look through the case files or whatever you can scavenge, see if you can find anything worthwhile.” I raised an eyebrow, looking between them expectantly. “Sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I didn’t find Denise at the desk in Dewell and Hoyt HQ, so I went straight to Cassie’s office, knocking before opening the door to find… Cassie and Cormac mid-make out. They jumped apart, wiping their lips while Cassie got off the desk, trying to act as if nothing happened.

Well, it’s not everyday that you catch two grown ass people making out on a frickin’ desk.

“Woah, Cassie, get some.” I teased, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. “You too, Cormac, haven’t forgotten you. Montana’s Thor Odinson- now, would you be a stud and give Cass and I a mo’?”

“Gladly.” Cormac hurried out, and I closed the door behind him, turning to Cassie with s as chuckle.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I waved her off. “Beau and Jenny won’t hear a thing.”

“Thank you.” She smiled in relief, breathing out with her hand on her chest.

“You’re welcome. Now, we have a bit of a problem.” I frowned, running a hand through my hair. “We’re reopening my sister’s case.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Indeed. We’ll need all the info we can get from you and Denise on the matter. My dad’s in town too, so I’ll have to see what’s up with that.”

“Wait- Cal Joyner?” Cassie raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Cheated on your mom, left when you were three Cal Joyner?”

“The very same.” I nodded, making a face that said I was feeling awkward. You lot can put that to your imagination. “Yeah, so I have to find out why he’s in town now when evidence from my sister’s case has suddenly resurfaced.”

“I’ll get on that with Denise.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry I interrupted your getting on with Cormac.” I winked with a smirk, unfazed when she looked at me in exasperation.

“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” She sighed.

“No, absolutely not.”

I was sitting on my living room couch at midnight, flicking through my photo album of when I was growing up. Lucy’s broad smile and shining eyes when she saw baby me in Mom’s arms just after I was born. Another my first birthday, and Lucy was helping me blow out the candles. Lucy’s eleventh birthday, the last time Lucy was innocent and unassuming before Dad made off with his mistress. Lucy’s sweet sixteen, where she celebrated with Dean, her current best friend, me, a couple of family members and friends, including Mark, who was our next door neighbour’s son at the time. It was safe to say that Mark had always harboured a deep seated jealousy of Dean.

My eyes landed on a photo of Harry and I at a bar, and my heart felt like it was breaking all over again. The guy’s brunette hair and laughing brown eyes had always pierced my heart in a way that I couldn’t fathom. It hurt to know that those eyes didn’t look at me the way they used to anymore.

Harry was the first and last relationship I had after my sister was killed. After the car crash and I was in a bad place, which I labelled as the ‘withdrawal symptoms’ of stopping my investigation, I found him in an unexpected collision in a mall. He brightened everything somehow, made me feel like the only girl in the world until I found a text in his phone along with a very inappropriate picture.

Rhea: See you tonight, handsome ;)

I couldn’t help but think that he was just pitying me, pretending so he’d get the satisfaction that he helped someone to some extent. But here I was, moping over a guy like I was some hormonal teenager rather than a mature 40 year old. For a relationship that didn’t even feel real at this point.

After that point, I’d sworn off love and men entirely, instead deciding to focus on Olivia. The beautiful little girl who was my last blood reminder of my sister. Well, the last morally sound reminder. For the first three years, in the pursuit of my sister’s murderer, I’d neglected what I really needed to preserve. So I’d set up a rule - that men weren’t my priority.

“Aunt Isa?” Olivia was at the door to the living room, rubbing her eyes tiredly. I sat up, frowning as I saw her looking exhausted but freaked.

“Yeah, sweetheart? It’s late; are you ok?” I asked softly, my motherly instincts kicking in as I saw her trembling slightly. I didn’t wait for a response, setting the album aside and opening my arms. “C’mere, darlin’.” She hurried over, curling up in my arms. I held her tight to me, stroking her hair as I rubbed her back, my chin resting on her head as I let her calm down a bit. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Nightmare. About mom’s death.”

“You didn’t see your mom dyin’, sweetie.” I kissed her hair lovingly. “It wasn’t real.”

“I imagined it. Filled in the blanks, and it was like I was watching.” I heard her voice tremble, which broke my heart at every quiver. I hated seeing my baby girl upset.

“Oh, Liv.” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you had to imagine that.”

“Is this how you felt?” She questioned timidly, looking up at me, her blue eyes pleading me to be honest. “When you… when you found her?”

I paused, thinking about it. “If I was to describe it, it’d be like my world’s walls were fallin’ down. It was that, plain and simple. Your mom, she was an angel. Like you, she never truly got mad, she cared no matter what you did, she gave a lot of credit where it ain’t due. She took care of me even when I was your age and mopin’ about for no apparent reason, even though she worked a job. She couldn’t be more prouder of you, wherever she is.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” I nuzzled my cheek on her head. “You’re such a beautiful girl, Liv. So smart, and kind, I know for a fact that if your mother was here, she’d never wanna let you go.” I stroked her hair, remembering Lucy. Her smile, her laugh, her tendency to call everyone ‘love’ because she had a damn lot to give herself, her frightened voice when making the tape…

I couldn’t focus on that. Instead, I hugged Olivia tight, focusing on her. She needed to feel safe. Deserved to feel safe, and that was what I could do for her. I started to softly sing the song that Lucy sang Liv when she was a baby, gently rocking her. It was Landslide, by Fleetwood Mac.

“I took my love, I took it down, I climbed a mountain and I turned around. And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills 'til the landslide brought me down...”

I was sitting in Jenny’s kitchen with Beau and Jenny, of course, the latter busy making lunch since I’d handled our breakfast. I was, again, scrolling on my Instagram, most of my feed Harry and Rhea the redhead. The guy even had the audacity to tag me in a photo, which I didn’t respond to or react to. Beau’s eyes followed mine, locking on the screen with a frown. “That’s Harry the jackass. Why are you lookin’ at photos of Harry the jackass?”

“He’s with the redhead he cheated on me with. Rhea.” I explained with a sigh, and he snatched the phone, not giving me time to protest as he looked at Rhea with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he smirked, nodding.

“I see the appeal.” He chuckled, looking at me playfully. Jenny gasped in horror, swatting his arm while I looked at him incredulously, taken aback by his audacity. “I mean, she’s gorgeous-”

“Beau!” Jenny scolded while I looked away, starting to internally panic. He… thought Rhea was gorgeous? Did he really? Was Harry justified in leaving me because I wasn’t good enough?

“I’m messin’ with you!” Beau raised his hands in surrender, taking another look at the photo before handing my phone back to me. “Sweetheart, Harry the jackass doesn’t even know who he’s lost. This Rhea girl? Doesn’t even hold a candle to you. She’s an LA three, or a Texas one. You are a ten in both worlds, darlin’. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” I sighed in relief, rubbing my face. Jenny patted Beau’s shoulder, giving him a look that said ‘I was about to rip your head off’. “You got me there for a second.”

“I got Hoyt too.”

“Yes, he did.” Jenny nodded, glaring playfully at Beau. “If you’d said that truthfully, no joking, I’d rain down hellfire.”

“Well, I’m glad I was just poking some fun.” Beau smirked, then patted my knee. “You’re gorgeous, Southern Belle. Ain’t no messing around there.”

I was about to smile and give him a compliment back, but I got a call from Cassie, and I picked it up, putting it to my ear. “Talk to me, Cassie.” I said, taking a breath out while a small chuckle threatened to escape my mouth.

‘Hey. Uh, Cormac just spotted your father at the Blue Fox Diner.’

“Cormac, huh?”

‘Yes. Now, we’re keeping an eye on him, but you should get over here quick.’

“Gotcha.” I nodded, then cut the call, turning to Beau. “Sheriff, can I have you as backup? So I don’t blow up at my dad?”

“Yeppers, let’s go meet the man who ruined your life so I can make him feel guilty.” He stood up, slinging his jacket over his shoulders.

“Beau, as be nice as you can.” Jenny chastised, but he shrugged.

“Sorry, Hoyt, no can do. If she hates him,” Beau made finger guns at me, “then I hate him.” He turned the finger guns on himself. “Can’t help it, it’s principle. Now, c’mon, Belle. Let’s meet this dude.”

I walked into Blue Fox diner, Beau rubbing his hands in excitement. “D’you mind if I get one of them there sandwiches?” He looked like a giddy schoolboy, and I rolled my eyes with a smile and nodded. Beau was always a sucker for Donno’s sandwiches. As he practically skipped off to get one, I found Donno staring at me. I locked eyes with him, then he broke into a small smile.

“Elle.” He said in a deadpan voice that did not match his face, but I’d come to know over the past two months that Donno was a lot more compassionate than he let on.

“Donno.” I grinned, feeling more at ease. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too.” His eyes went down to my stomach, where I found that my hand was resting protectively over my healing bullet wound. “You were shot.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you ok?”

“I was shot, good eye.” I nodded, chuckling as I looked down at my feet. “But hey, I’m doing fine. Healing.”

“Good. I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Then he pointed to a booth, where a balding man was sitting. “That’s your dad. If you’re looking for him.”

I gave him a genuine smile, my eyes furtively glancing to that booth. “Thanks, Donno.”

“You and Sheriff. You make a good couple.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that. “Uh… thank you, but we’re not a couple.” And with the awkwardness now in play, I turned on my heel and met up with Beau, who was now holding a sandwich and munching on it. I nudged him, nodding to the booth which Donno had led me to, and he clocked Cal instantly. His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed his bite as we sat down. “Cal Joyner.”

“Can I help you?” He asked, looking between Beau and I with a confused expression.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen, sir.” Beau introduced coldly, his eyes steely as he looked at my father with pure disdain in his eyes. I’d mentioned my family history to him, which made him have a deep seated hatred with my dad.

“Deputy Isabelle Joyner.” I added, which, as expected, made Cal’s eyes widen as he sat up straighter, a wide grin cracking on his face.

“Isabelle?” He whispered, tilting his head as he scanned me. “You’re… oh, God. It’s really you. My little girl.”

“Back up for a moment, cowboy, I’m not here for a family reunion.” I frowned, drumming on the table with my fingers. “I’m here to know why you’re in town. My last contact with you was eleven years ago, and that was on a voice call.”

“It was my granddaughter’s sixteenth birthday.” He excused, looking at me incredulously while his fingers played with his collar, and I locked on the mannerism immediately. “I had to visit, right? But this town’s so big, i-it’s hard to find anybody-”

“You’re lying.” Beau pointed out, expression unchanging. Cal turned to him with an outraged expression.

“Excuse me, young man?”

“Flattered, but I’m forty. Ain’t that young.”

“He’s right, Cal. You’re lying.” I frowned, my fingers still tapping out an insistent rhythm on the table. After all these years, he’d had a character arc going from scumbag to scumbag.

“Isabelle.” Cal gasped in disbelief. “Cupcake, you’ll believe this man over your father?”

“Not to be cheesy, but this man is one of the most noble men I know, so I’m sure I can trust him over a man who’s been out of my life for thirty seven years.” Cal was ready to convince me otherwise, but I held up my hand. “You’re fiddling with your collar. First sign of anxiety and possible lying. Big Sky is rather a small place, everyone knows everyone, so I don’t see how it would take you long to find me. Third, defensiveness. Trying to detach me from someone I trust- so tell me, how can I trust you?”

“You can’t.” He whispered, but his eyes, which I shared (to my disgust), looked into mine with a silent plea. Which I ignored.

“There it is. The one thing I couldn’t do and never did: trust you.” I scoffed, and Beau leaned forward, taking the lead.

“See here, Mr Joyner, you are Belle’s father, and I will respect you that much, but a lot’s happened that somehow coincides with your arrival.” He explained with a low, intimidating tone. I glanced towards him, taking in his set jaw and raised finger. “Now, you’re gonna tell your daughter why you came back after all this damn time or we’re gonna find out usin’ methods that you won’t approve of, ie hard questioning and digging into the evidence we have, which I bet will uncover some nasty secrets.”

“It’s good that you elaborated.”

“Yeah, it is. Now, Mr Joyner, you need to speak up before we find out ourselves.” Before Cal could reply, we heard a loud bang and a scuffle, and when my head turned, I saw Donno wrestling a guy with a gun to the ground. Beau turned to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Stay put.”

“You know I can’t do that.” I protested, reaching for my own holster, but he grabbed my wrist with a warning look. I wanted to argue, but I knew what he was insinuating. I wasn’t healed yet, so I couldn’t fight.

“Stay. Put.” He then pulled out his gun, holding it up at the assailant. “Sheriff’s department, hands where I can see ‘em!” My eyes were locked on him, ready to jump in and help if need be while Donno was growling at the man for almost pulling a gun on me. I saw Tonya getting up from her chair, pointing behind me with a gasp.

“Elle!” She cried out, looking terrified. “Behind you!” I whipped around only for my head to snap back around, the muzzle of a gun connecting with my temple. My vision went blurry as my head spun, but I could make out an unfamiliar figure in the haze that I instantly tackled blindly, collapsing onto the floor in an undignified heap coupled by what felt like a gigantic needle through the hole in my stomach. I coughed for a moment, my hand covering the area as I was roughly rolled onto my back amid the struggle between Donno, Beau and the assailant. I managed to make out the silver glint of a knife, so I quickly crossed my forearms over one another and held them over my face so I could catch it just in time.

After what was a struggle for a few seconds, the guy seemed to have a change of heart, throwing the knife aside and getting me in the temple again with a gloved fist this time.

Neither of them felt great.

I heard Cal protesting against something, and Beau’s shouts as the former was seemingly roughly dragged away, my vision going from blurry to borderline black as I tried to recall… what the guy looked like. I could remember… grey hair, possibly Mexican… or Hispanic… strong… build… 6’ 4”…

“Belle! Stay with me, damn it! This is Sheriff Arlen, I need paramedics and backup…”

LMF TAGLIST:

@deans-spinster-witch @hobby27 @nancymcl @winharry

Let me know if you want to join the taglist, and do reblog or comment with your feedback, I’d appreciate it! Comment if you want an author’s cut :)

Love, Arty 💕

#beau arlen x oc #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau #jenny hoyt #cassie dewell #big sky #beau arlen fanfic #beau arlen fanfiction

[puppyluver256]

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[hllfireclb]

"Bestfriends“ | e.m x fem!reader (TEASER)

warnings: swearing, probably some writing mistakes since English is not my first language

a/n: please read to the end! Feel free to send requests! feedback is always appreciated but please be nice! Enjoy the story!

"That’s what’s killing the kiiiiids!"

You knew this was going to happen. You knew that your best friend would Show the newcomers of Hellfire how it feels like, to not give a fuck and, not to your surprise, they were impressed.

Impressed by your best friend Eddie Munson.

How could they not be impressed when a handsome, young man who just turned 20 and still goes to Highschool starts acting up, making most people in the room look at him and watch his little show. Even though almost everybody of Hawkins High swears to their life that they hate "the freak“ Eddie Munson but still spend their, oh so precious time, listening to him and his provoking speeches. Especially the jock Jason Carver, who still thinks bullying is a thing.

Oh how many times you’ve punched him in his damn face for making fun of Eddie when you were still in middle school. The time when Eddie wasn’t able to stand up for himself and you protected him like an expensive Glas of wine.

But time has passed, Eddie grew and became a young adult. He is stronger, taller and definitely more confident now but after all, he still is your best friend.

"Okay, okay Dugeon Master. Come down now“ you shake your head with a soft smile on your lips, reaching your hand up so Eddie can take it, making it easier for him to jump off the table he was standing on.

"Awee look at you, taking care of me like 'ya always do" he smirks down at you, gladly holding your hand while doing so.

"Of course I‘m taking care of you! I have to, since you’re not doing it yourself!" You point the index finger of your free hand right into his forehead, causing him to scrunch his eyes together and letting go of your hand. "Ouch“ his plumpy lips form into a fake-pout before gently rubbing the spot on his forehead, which you’ve just touched.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you playfully roll your eyes at Eddie who’s still pouting like a small toddler that didn’t get a new car toy to play with "Oh C‘mon Ed‘s! Don’t give me that look!" You chuckle at him.

"Oh my goddess, you two are so in love with each other“ Dustin gags from the place he‘s sitting on, giving the two of you a look of disgust. All you can do is roll your eyes at the younger one before grabbing your back from one of the seats.

"I‘ll head home guys, just had my last lesson. See y‘all at hellfire" you smile before turning around and walking out of the cafeteria….

a/n: Hellooo!! I know it’s been SUCH a long time snd I’m very, very sorry but I had absolutely no motivation at all to write some thing actually GOOD:(

ANDDD I’m working on all your requests atm!🤭

Please let me know if you want this to be the beginning of a series :)

I will try to be more active from now on again, thanks for all the love and support!

masterlist

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #eddie oneshot #eddie one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson boyfriend #eddie munson x female character smut #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem #eddie munson best friend #eddie munson x you

[ssa-montgomery]

we're slaves to any semblance of touch (part 2)

Part 1

Word Count: 7833

Summary: It's been a couple of days since Y/N lost her virginity to Daryl Dixon and they're trying to navigate their new relationship and their feelings towards one another.

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader, Maggie Rhee

Warnings: Swearing, gossiping with Maggie, fluff, talk of feelings and relationships, some insecure Daryl, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, dirty talk, some praise kink, unprotected sex, lingerie, doggy style

A/N: I hadn't originally planned to make this a two-part one-shot but I got some requests on here for more of this story and I couldn't resist! I leaned a bit more into exploring their relationship in this one but there is still some very fun smut too! I don't know why but I always find the second part hardest to write, I'm always a little nervous it won't live up to the standard of the first so I hope you all enjoy this just as much! As of posting this, it is after midnight so it's technically the 26th but I still want to wish you all a very happy holiday season if you celebrate! Now, Merry Christmas ya filthy animals, enjoy your smut ;)

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

Masterlist

The light of the sun was blinding as it bounced off the metal gate of the prison in front of you, forcing your attention to the side view mirror as you attempted to shield your eyes. You could see the view behind you reflected back, the sun hanging low over the tree line you'd just emerged from while it lit up the sky in shades of orange and pink. It was beautiful but you were also reminded that you were once again returning later than you would have liked. Rick murmured something next to you, most likely talking to himself you assumed but either way you had other matters on your mind.

You'd promised Maggie a gossip session as soon as you were home and you were sure she'd be waiting for you. She'd seen everything that day you'd left her alone in the watch tower. From the subtle touches sitting by Daryl's bike to the way you'd led him away, disappearing into the empty cellblock for over an hour before emerging, dishevelled and wearing his worn-down shirt. The next time she'd seen you alone she practically cornered you in the laundry room, trying to pry any information she could from you about what happened but Carol called for your help just in time to save you from her questions. 

You bid your goodbyes to Rick after you helped him unload everything you'd managed to grab on the supply run and set off in the direction of the first place you could think to check for Maggie. It was the right choice, Maggie already waiting for you when you rounded the corner. She was sitting in one of your favourite spots in the prison, an old wooden bench tucked away in the far corner of the courtyard. During the day the courtyard was busy, filled with the buzz of everyone going about their days and the bench let you sit together, watching everyone while still being far enough away that they couldn't hear as you gossip about them and swapped stories of everything that happened in the prison that week.

Her face lit up when she spotted you quickly making your way across the courtyard towards her, a certain excited spark in her eyes that spelt trouble for you. From your brief exchange during her earlier ambush, you knew she was full of questions about everything that happened and if you were being quite honest with yourself, you were glad to have someone to share it with, to finally be able to say it all out loud.

It had been a couple of days now since what happened with Daryl and yet it was still the only thing on your mind. It was the only thing you wanted to talk about but it simply wasn't an appropriate conversation topic with certain members of your group until you knew Daryl was comfortable with people knowing. Every moment you had was consumed by the thoughts of it. Of him. When you did let your mind wander a little too far in that direction it was like you could still feel his hands all over you, hear his harsh breath in your ear as he hovered over you, feel the pressure of -

You shook your head, snapping your mind back to reality as you calmed your now racing thoughts. You took a seat next to Maggie, crossing one leg over the other as you hoped she didn't notice the subtle way you pressed your thighs together while you did it, trying to ignore the growing ache between them at the flashbacks to what exactly Daryl had done to you.

"There ain't no runnin' away from me now." Maggie chuckled as she threw her arm over the back of the bench, turning to face you as she gave her full attention to you, ready for the hottest gossip the prison had seen in a long time. "Carol ain't here to save you with chores and I want my answers."

"Okay fine." You gave in, shooting her a teasing smile at her determination to get you to confess. She'd been one of your most loyal friends since you met her back at her daddy's farm and you knew she'd been rooting for the two of you ever since you first told her about your crush. 

Having you and Daryl possibly become more public about your relationship would also take some of the spotlight away from her and Glenn being the freshest couple at the prison which you were sure she'd be grateful for too. There wasn't much form of entertainment at the end of the world and everyone admittedly including yourself and Daryl had taken to teasing the new couple.

 She just wanted to see you happy after everything you'd been through and you knew even if she didn't say it out loud, she wanted the best for Daryl too. Even if she wouldn't hesitate to kick his ass if he found a way to mess this up and break your heart. "Ask away, whatever you want to know."

"Well, first and most importantly, I want to hear you say it." You opened your mouth to protest but you quickly fell silent when it was met with a stern look from Maggie. You should have known she'd bring this up, wanting to claim her bragging rights in the whole situation. She playfully shoved your shoulder when you rolled your eyes at her, sticking out your tongue. "Come on, you know exactly what I want and we're not moving on until you say it." 

"Thank you Maggie I would have been far too much of a coward to make a move without your encouragement and I owe the whole relationship to you." You raised your voice an octave, faking a sweet, innocent voice as you dramatically sighed. Maggie snorted at your performance and the two of you burst out into a fit of laughter.

"So is a relationship then? You two decided to date or was there even much time for talkin' 'bout it?" She asked, it was a more serious question now but there was still that suggestive tone lacing her voice on the last part of her question.

"Hey behave yourself you! We talked alright? It wasn't all just us - I mean we haven't talked properly about the whole couple thing yet but it's not a one-night stand, that much is clear." You'd known for a long time now that there was nothing you wanted more than a relationship with Daryl. The sex with him was obviously incredible but there was something about the gentle intimacy between the two of you that you couldn't get over. 

He made you feel safe in a world that was the furthest thing from it. You wanted more from him, more of the soft touches he allowed himself when he thought no one was looking, the touch on your waist as he passed behind you on a run or the gentle tap on your shoulder to get your attention. He wasn't a very public person but you wanted to show everyone how much you meant to each other. "There were a couple of mentions of a next time and he seemed genuine about it."

"You really do care 'bout him huh?" Maggie let her head tip to the side with a gentle sigh as she watched the hopeful and loving look settle over your features while you spoke. You didn't need to say anything, the answer to her question was written all over your face. You'd never been able to hide the fact that the simple mention of his name lit up your eyes in the purest way. You'd never cared for anyone like this and it felt as if no one else could understand how deep these feelings for him ran. Maybe there was a part of you that couldn't even quite grasp it yourself. There was a shift in the innocent atmosphere you'd lost yourself in when you looked up and met her gaze, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Was the sex at least as good as you'd hoped after all that waitin'?" 

"Maggie." You shot her an exasperated look at her question, a slight blush creeping up on your cheeks. Good didn't exactly feel like a big enough word to describe how Daryl made you feel but you weren't about to give Maggie a detailed description of that.

"Oh come on, Daryl Dixon is one of the most secretive, private people in this community and you ain't gonna tell me what he's like when you strip all that away? Or you know, strip him down in your case."

"It was incredible. It was everythin' I could ever have dreamed of and yet so much more. He's a true gentleman under all that fight and snark with one hell of an inappropriate way of talkin' and that is all the information you're gettin' outta me on the matter." You stated, reinforcing your point by raising your hands in the air at the first sign of protest from her. You may have had more experience now but it was still a topic that made you flustered to think about and you weren't willing to discuss the details of your sex life with others yet.

"I really am glad to see you this happy Y/N," Maggie said then reaching a hand out to hold yours where it was sitting in your lap. Her tone was more serious now, trying to make sure you heard her as she gave your hand a light squeeze. "You two deserve each other."

"Thank you, Maggie. Jokin' aside I really do appreciate you pushin' me to make that first move."  You watched something in her expression change as you spoke, an amused glint shining in her eyes as they focused on something behind you.

"I guess that's my cue to leave, here comes your lover boy." You were only briefly aware of the chuckle Maggie let out as she stood up from the bench, watching you spin around at full speed. You could feel your heart skip a beat when you saw Daryl walking towards you. He nodded politely to Maggie who shot you one last knowing look over her shoulder before she passed by him, disappearing through the door he'd just walked out of. 

He was wearing one of his cut-up shirts, the sleeves frayed where he'd taken a knife to them, cutting away the material that now showed off his muscular arms to you. You were staring, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not anymore. It was one of your favourite looks on him and maybe if he knew it, it would convince him to wear them a little more often.

You offered Daryl a warm smile as you waved to him, catching your bottom lip between your teeth in a nervous habit as he made his way towards you. It had been challenging to find time to talk to Daryl since that night, a busy couple of days keeping the two of you apart more than you would have liked. It made your heart race as you thought about being alone with him again. 

Things had changed between the two of you since that night, that was for sure. You could see it in the subtle things, like the way he was looking at you now. The soft expression on his face betrayed his usual attempt at a colder front as he sat down next to you, his eyes drifting across your face. He didn't hide from you anymore the way he used to. 

Now when you felt his eyes on you throughout the day you'd look up to be greeted by the sight of his blue eyes staring into yours and not the embarrassed expression you'd grown used to as he'd try to look away. There was something calmer between the two of you now, almost safer. As if you didn't have to worry anymore, the fear that the other didn't feel the same was finally gone.

"Hey, you." You greeted him, your voice soft as you spoke, unable to hide the smile that broke wide across your face. You tucked one leg up underneath your body as you shifted in your seat, turning to face him as you moved closer. You didn't touch him, not yet, as you tried to gauge the mood of the conversation first but in an instant, it was like everything fell away around you and he was all that mattered.

"Hi." His voice was quiet, almost shy and you could see that small smile that seemed to now be reserved for you and you alone tugging at his lips. It was almost overwhelming for you at times, knowing you got this side of Daryl that nobody else saw, the side that was saved for your quiet moments together when he felt safest. His hand fell to your thigh as he used his grip there to pull you closer towards his side until you were touching, shoulder to shoulder as you leaned into the contact. "What were ya talkin' 'bout with Maggie?"

"Just some handsome redneck that's supposedly wandering around the prison." You teased gently bumping your shoulder into his, hearing him chuckle at you as he pushed back against your shoulder.

"So, yer uh - yer tellin' people 'bout what happened between us then?" There was a slight nervousness in his voice as he spoke, his fingers playing with a loose thread on his pants as he tried to distract himself, not wanting to give away how he really felt.

"Oh well, you know not really. Maggie - Maggie doesn't count. Not in a bad way it's just, she's the one who had to practically push me face first into you to get me to make a damn move so she would have figured it out come hell or high water anyway and I sort of owed her an answer. She's my best friend." You explained with a light laugh hoping to lighten the slight tension Daryl seemed to be holding. You hadn't really thought about the fact that Daryl might not want people to know about what happened between the two of you and the last thing you wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable. You just hoped his reaction didn't mean he regretted what had happened. "We don't have to tell people if you don't wanna, it can stay between us." 

"In that case, remind me to send that woman a damn gift basket." That sly teasing smirk that you loved so much was back on his face, his eyes watching yours closely as he gently slid his hand into yours. His skin was warm, grounding you in the moment as he laced his fingers with yours, running his thumb along yours. "We ain't gotta hide this if ya wanna tell people. I ain't ashamed of ya or what we did. Just - didn't think you'd want everyone knowin' ya were datin' some redneck like me. Besides if Maggie knows, she's told Glenn, whole prison's gonna know by tomorrow. After the farm, we all know how he is with secrets."

"Datin'?" You tried to mask the giddiness in your voice as you spoke but you were sure the spark in your eyes would give you away. You tilted your head slightly, cocking an eyebrow at him as your mask started to crack, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. It felt so cliché and school-girl-like to think but you could feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach when you heard Daryl say those words. He made you feel like a love-sick teenager and you wouldn't change it for the world.

"Uh, I didn't mean - just meant that we - if you don't wanna - sorry that was stupid to say." You watched him worry the inside of his cheek with his teeth before he couldn't take your gaze anymore, dropping his eyes to his lap. His hair fell down hiding his face from you in the dim light but you could see his nerves clearer than ever in the way he fidgeted with his hands. It was sweet really, the way the archer that was unaffected by almost everything melted into a flustered mess in front of you.

"Daryl." You said softly as you caught his cheek in your hand, tilting his face up until he had no choice but to meet your eyes again. You gave him a warm smile, reassuring him that he hadn't scared you off in any way. You could see him immediately start to relax at the contact, his hands finally stilling in his lap. "I like the sound of that, us datin'. Of course I want everyone to know 'bout us, why wouldn't I? I never wanted us to just be some secret that was all 'bout sex."

"Yeah? Good 'cus you ain't ever gettin' rid of me now." There were times when Daryl didn't feel worthy of you. Times when he felt that someone like you deserved better than him but he was done letting that hold him back from being happy. He leaned in and closed the space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. 

You melted into the feeling and let your thumb run over the stubble on his cheek as your lips started to move against his, deepening the kiss. It didn't matter to you that you were still only learning the curve of Daryl's lips, you'd craved this ever since that day. You thought maybe no matter how long you had this in your life you'd crave it. Maybe you would always crave the taste of burnt cigarettes and coffee that was so distinctly Daryl's.

Before you could even stop yourself you were giving in to the impulses growing in your mind, pulling yourself even closer to him as his hand found its way to your hair, tugging at the loose strands to deepen the kiss. You shifted up onto your knees and threw your leg over him so you were straddling his lap, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt. His tongue ran across your bottom lip, slipping it into your mouth when you parted your lips for him. You were starting to lose any rational thought, forgetting that you were still sitting in a very public part of the prison as Daryl's hands slid down your back until they were groping at your ass.

You were snapped back to reality when you heard the sound of rattling metal somewhere just behind you, the sudden fear that there was someone else out here with you seeping into your bones. It was late, but not late enough that you could count on everyone in the prison already being asleep. You could feel more than hear Daryl's laugh rumbling against your skin where he'd buried his face into the crook of your neck when you pulled away from the kiss. Your eyes were darting around, scanning the area for the source of the noise with a panicked expression.

"We're in the furthest corner of the prison, you can hear the fence from 'ere. Just walkers that's all. No need to be worryin' yer pretty little head 'bout it." Daryl reassured you, bringing a hand up to brush away the stray hairs that had fallen into your face. You let out a weak laugh at your own nerves and Daryl placed a light kiss against your lips. "Why don't we head back to the cell? Enjoy some time to ourselves?"

"Daryl please yes. I haven't been able to stop thinkin' 'bout you." Your words came out breathy, sounding more like a plea than you'd intended but judging by the dark look in his eyes Daryl seemed more than satisfied by your answer. It wasn't far back to the cell the two of you had now claimed as your own and you held out your hand to Daryl as you pushed yourself off his lap. He happily accept your hand and you raced back across the courtyard together, not willing to part from each other for a second longer than necessary.

When you finally reached the cell you were barely through the door a second and his hands were on your waist again, pining you against the bars as he met you in a bruising kiss. Your back collided with the cell door in a way you were sure would leave bruises in the morning but right now, you couldn't bring yourself to care. It felt like things were moving faster this time. There were no longer the nerves you both had about making the first move now that you'd solidified your relationship and you were starting to find your confidence. The more experience you gained the more sure you became in pressing things further, moving faster.

Your hands untucked his shirt from his pants, pushing under the fabric to find the muscles of his stomach, clinging to the warm feeling of his skin under your touch. You had no idea what this man was doing to you, you'd never dreamed that you could need someone this badly but you were growing addicted to the high he brought you whenever his hands were on your body. You didn't think you could survive without him.

"I've missed ya." He breathed out, his muscles tensing under your hands as his mouth dropped down to kiss below your jaw. He nipped at the sensitive skin before soothing his tongue over it. Not caring what marks he left now that he knew you wanted to go public. "Missed this. Feelin' ya under my mouth. Havin' my hands on this perfect body." 

You couldn't form an answer, already growing dizzy as your lungs screamed for air while Daryl pulled you into another frantic kiss, his tongue finding yours as his grip on you grew tighter. Nothing seemed to be enough for him, his hands moved up from your waist, gliding along your sides under your shirt bunching up the material to reveal more of your skin as he went. 

His movements stopped and you could see the way his eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide with lust until they almost entirely swallowed the blue of his eyes. The tips of his fingers had pressed far enough up your sides to finally catch the soft lace of your bra and the feeling of it seemed to snap something inside him.

He didn't waste a second longer as he reached for the hem of your loose shirt and threw it over your head not giving a damn where it landed as he dropped it to the ground next to you. He took a step back for a moment, his fingers tracing across the swell of your breasts as he took in the sight of what you were wearing. It was a lacy push-up bra in a deep maroon colour with black lacing that ran over the cups. The padding inside made you look easily a cup size bigger and the plunge between your cleavage left very little to the imagination, in fact, you weren't sure how you hadn't already spilt out of the cups. It was certainly a far cry from the flimsy washed-out sports bra you wore the last time Daryl had seen you like this.

"Just when I thought yer tits couldn't get any prettier ya go and wrap 'em up in lace." His voice was low as he spoke, heavy with the strength it was taking to hold himself back from not ripping the bra off you right there and then. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the way they moved with the steady rise and fall of your chest. "Did ya pick that out just for me? Did ya know how wild it would drive me?" 

"It's all for you. Always." You nodded sweetly, looking up at him through your heavy lashes. It was rare that you actually looked for clothes for yourself anymore, usually just taking whatever was available and in a similar size but during your first supply run after your night with Daryl you'd found yourself in a clothing store. There was a lingerie section tucked away in the corner of the store and it had more than inspired a few outfits you knew Daryl would love after your last promise to him. You couldn't help but wonder what exactly he'd done with the panties he'd stolen from you that day. "I mean after all I did promise you a cuter pair of panties, didn't I? Why not go for a matchin' set?"

"Damn woman, ya really do know how to treat me right doncha? How did I get so lucky?" Daryl dropped his lips to ghost across your chest, letting his tongue drag across the bare skin as his hands made quick work of your jeans. He pushed them down your legs and let you kick them off to the side to reveal the matching panties. 

They sat high on your hips, showing your curves even more than usual and Daryl couldn't deny the effect it was having on him. His fingers danced along the lace on the waistband, just barely dipping past it to feel your warm skin while he mouthed over your breasts through the bra, the feeling still enough to make you arch into the contact. "Get on the bed sweetheart. Spread your legs."

You immediately moved towards the bed, trying to stay as composed as possible as you listened to his every instruction, pushing yourself away from the cell door with unsteady legs. You could feel Daryl's eyes on you the entire time like he was watching every tiny movement, ready to pounce on you at any second as he watched the way your new panties sat highlighting the curve of your ass while you moved. You sat down in the centre of the bed, leaning your weight back on your elbows as you let your head tilt back towards the pillows, the position pushing your breasts out every more in your bra.

You were still new to this, the seduction and teasing part of your relationship but you wanted to learn. You wanted to learn how to rile Daryl up until he couldn't take it anymore, you wanted to look sexy for him. Little did you know it wasn't like you had to try very hard to seduce Daryl, one bat from your eyelashes and he would drop everything and anything for you and fall at your feet.

"Do you have somethin' else in mind that you wanna teach me, Daryl?" You tried to keep your voice steady, holding onto that almost innocent tone in your voice but the way your heart was beating gave you away. It was hammering so hard against your ribs at the thought of what was about to happen that you were sure Daryl could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest from where he was still standing on the opposite side of the cell. Hell, at this rate he could probably hear it with those keen tracking skills of his.

"Oh, I have plenty more to teach ya darlin'." Daryl's voice was gravelly, even more so than usual as he carefully and slowly started to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, making a show out of it as he stalked across the small cell until he was towering over you next to the bed. He waited until he knew you were watching before he let the material fall from his shoulders, throwing it over the desk against the wall.

Even in the dim light, you could see the map of scars littered across his skin. You wanted to reach and touch them, take the time to admire his body even more than you had the first time and in the way he deserved but there was something about the way he was watching you had you frozen in place as you waited for him to make his next move. "But this ain't 'bout what I can teach ya right now. It's 'bout what I'm gonna do to ya. I made you a promise the last time."

Your mind raced as you tried to remember what exactly he had promised you that night, you were so drunk on the feeling of his touch on your skin that after a while his words just became noise. Your lack of memory left you with no idea what was in store for you now and the thought filled you with adrenaline. His hands found your hips as he easily lifted your waist from the bed, moving you until you were propped up against the pillows, your body pinned under his where he had now crawled onto the bed over you.

His lips started at your jaw, slowly leaving wet, open-mouthed down on the side of your throat and across the junction of your neck and shoulder until he met your collarbones. He took his time in leaving a mark there, just above your cleavage where he could be sure the view in that bra was his and his alone. His lips and teeth worked together until there was a purple bruise forming against your skin.

He didn't stop there, continuing his trail down your chest over your bra to your stomach, leaving red marks all across your skin in his wake. He was taking his time to worship every single part of you he could reach with his mouth, kissing across the soft skin of your stomach while his hands caressed up and down your waist. It was only as he dragged his tongue lower down your navel towards the waistband of your panties that you realised what he was doing.

You buried your fingers in his hair, slowly dragging your nails over his scalp as he finally lay completely between your legs, his head placed perfectly between your thighs. He was centimetres away from where you both really wanted him and you could feel every nerve in your body standing on edge with anticipation as his breath fanned out over your skin. 

He took in the sight of the dark wet patch that was already growing on the front of your panties and he could feel his boxers getting tighter at the thought of what he was doing to you. He brought a finger up to lightly run through your folds over the material and you let out a gasp at the movement, the lace doing little to dampen the feeling. The sounds tumbling from your mouth only seemed to surge him on as he leaned in and let his tongue follow the same path his finger had just taken.

"Ya know I was wrong last time. You don't just taste sweet, ya taste like fuckin' heaven." Daryl drawled as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs until they landed on the floor. He didn't waste a second, dipping his head back down again to let his tongue lap across you without any barrier this time. "Wasn't enough, just tastin' ya off my fingers but I'm gonna taste every inch of ya now. Could drown in this pussy."

The wet feeling of Daryl's tongue against your clit was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. The pressure was different and yet worlds beyond that of his fingers. You didn't think it could get much better than the orgasm he had given you the first time you'd had sex but hell this might come close. Your eyes snapped shut as your hand tightened in his hair, trying to keep him as close to you as possible as his tongue flatten against you. 

He was keeping good on his word, not an inch of you going ignored as his tongue licked at every part of you, flicking at your clit before he turned his attention to your folds again. He took his time, building you up until a whine broke free from your throat before he ran his tongue back over your clit and closed his lips around it, sucking lightly. You might have spent your days admiring just how skilled his fingers were but his tongue was rivalling that, if not beating it with its precision.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, using the new leverage to pin your hips down against the mattress to keep you from rutting against his face at the feeling. Not that he was complaining really, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him painfully hard every time he thought about the possibility of you using his face like that. Maybe the next time he eat you out he'd let you ride his face and take everything you wanted from him. Each pass of his tongue over your clit made you wetter to the point where you were dripping down his chin and he was chasing every drop, losing himself in your taste.

Your whines and moans of his name were growing louder and louder by the minute as you started to lose control, the scruff on his cheeks burning the insides of your thighs while he held you in place. Everything seemed to be too much and yet not enough all at once as you tried to buck your hips into the feeling despite Daryl's tight grip on you. You could feel yourself rapidly building towards the edge and you couldn't stop yourself, not that you'd want to. The new sensations were too much for your body to hold back from.

"Daryl I'm - I'm so close -" You panted out as your hands desperately tried to find any purchase on his hair, the sheets anything you could reach but you were starting to lose the ability to focus enough to hold onto anything. He kept up his pace on your clit, holding you on that edge while his tongue rolled around your clit in circles. Slowly he started to work you up even more, his lips sucking around your clit again while he slid two fingers inside of you. There was still a slight burn with that first stretch as he pushed his fingers into you but it was easier this time, you'd body already starting to learn to take him.

"C'mon sweetheart, cum for me. Wanna hear ya screamin' my name." Daryl murmured against your skin, barely taking his mouth off you for a second as the sound vibrated through your clit and lit your nerves on fire. That was all it took. His words, the gentle encouragement combined with the feeling of his fingers hooking against your g-spot sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed. 

He lifted his lips away from your clit and slowed the thrusts of his fingers but never fully withdrew them from you, helping you ride through your orgasm with his name a broken cry on your lips. When your body finally stilled he brought a hand up and brushed your hair from your face where it was stuck to the sweat coating your skin, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your lips. You whined out at the taste of yourself in his mouth as his tongue ran across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. "Just as fuckin' pretty when yer cummin' for me as I remember. So damn perfect in every way."

"Mhm, Daryl that was incredible." You hummed as you stretched out against the sheets trying to regain control of your body as you slowly came down from your high. You rolled onto your side and let out a content sigh as you settled against the pillows. Daryl chuckled lightly, watching you get comfortable as he collapsed down onto the bed next to you. He gently dragged his fingers up your back, catching on the clasp of your bra before he finally undid it, throwing it aside to join the rest of your clothes. As sexy as the piece looked you had to admit, you were so much more comfortable without it, letting out a relieved groan.

"Trust me, with how good that pussy tastes it was just as good for me, sweetheart." He whispered against your ear, his breath fanning against the already overheated skin of your neck. He'd settled himself behind you now, his hands on your waist as he pulled your back flush against his chest. In this position, you could feel the hard evidence of just how much he'd enjoyed it.

He was trying his best to give you the time to come down from your orgasm, not wanting to overwork you but his erection was straining against his pants and you could feel him pressed against the back of your thigh. His hands were gentle with you, stroking over your stomach and shoulders as he held you close to him, his arms wrapped tightly around you but every now and then he couldn't hold back anymore, rocking his hips against you. Little did he know you were ready to go again from just the feeling of his erection against you alone.

"Daryl." Your voice was quiet as squirmed in his arms but he could tell by your tone that you were planning something. You let one hand slip behind you, reaching to pull at the waistband of his pants. You couldn't quite pull them down at this angle but it was enough for him to get the hint. You'd had your fun but now you wanted to help him have his too. You were less nervous this time and you wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you instead of just worrying about your ability or if he'd hurt you. "Whatever you're thinkin' 'bout, do it. I want you to get off too."

"Nah. Nah c'mon it's only yer second time, I want it to be 'bout you, not me -" He brought a hand up to caress your cheek but instead you caught at his wrist, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm.

"Daryl." You shot him a heavy-lidded look over your shoulder that said everything he needed to know. You wanted this. You wanted him and the true side of what he wanted, not just him when he was taking care of you. You weren't above begging when you got this worked up either. "Please. I'm all yours to use."

That was all it took for his resolve to break. Once the words left your mouth his hands were on your shoulders, rolling you onto your stomach in a second. His hips were still pressed against yours, pinning you down while you moaned out into the pillow at the sudden movement. Your body was practically humming with excitement at the idea of what was next. 

He sat up off you and pulled at the button and zipper of his pants, trying desperately to free himself but you could still feel him there, towering over you with his knees on either side of your waist. His fingertips brushed your neck as he pushed your hair off your back and over one shoulder before placing a soft kiss on the nape of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair. Just as you melted into the contact he stood up, pushing his pants and underwear down to the ground in movement, leaving you alone on the bed.

"Hands and knees sweetheart." His voice was more demanding than he'd been with you before and the sound of it sent a chill down your spine in the best way possible as you felt his fingers ghosting across your back. You immediately, willing your body to calm the shaking in your hands as you pushed yourself up onto your knees until you were in the position he wanted. "Atta girl." 

You felt the bed dip behind you as he knelt in place between your knees, taking in the sight in front of him. He rested his hands on your hips before tightening his grip, tilting them down more until the curve of your back made your ass stick out even more for him. He let his fingertips run across your curves until his hands finally settled over your ass, groping at the flesh there as he spread you open to him.

"D'know how wild ya drive me? D'know how much I stare at this perfect ass when I'm watchin' ya walkin' 'round all day? 'Specially in those lil' shorts ya love to wear when ya know I'm gonna see ya. What do ya think the others think of it huh?" You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you hung on to every word he was saying, waiting for his next move as you kept your head staring at the pillow in front of you. He leaned down and kissed the centre of your back while one hand slipped down to your entrance and carefully pushed two fingers inside of you. You moaned out at the feeling of him working you open as he slowly thrust his fingers in and out. "Should be easier this time, won't hurt as much now. Ya can take it, I know ya can."

His words were softer than before, encouraging you as he worked over before pulling his fingers from you and dropping his hand to instead wrap around the base of his cock. He used your slick that was coating his fingers to lube his cock as he pumped himself before lightly teasing the head through your folds. You arched back, pushing your hips back against him even more as you tried to get him to hurry up. It didn't take much convincing, his body already worked up with how turned on he was and he pushed forward, sliding into you. You groaned out at the feeling but he was right, the pain faded almost instantly, your body adjusting to him quicker this time with the added help of your earlier orgasm. 

"S'fuckin' good," Daryl mumbled as his hands gripped your waist trying to steady himself from moving too fast, his hips rocking against you. His hips ground against your ass as he rutted against you, giving you a minute before he started to really move. It felt different than last time in this position, the new angle making Daryl hit your g-spot perfectly. Your breath was forced from your lungs as he finally started to move, your gasps melting into broken cries of his name with every rough thrust. "Yer pussy feels so perfect squeezin' 'round my dick like that sweetheart." 

Your mind was already struggling to keep up as you tried to focus on holding yourself up on your hands, each of Daryl's thrusts growing harsher, the force pushing you forward. His thrusts were growing faster with each pass, each movement rougher than the last as he seemed to lose himself in the feeling, letting his body entirely take over. His hands moved from their bruising hold on your waist and snaked up your sides, almost tickling your ribs with featherlight touches before they settled over your breasts, pawing at your chest.

He toyed with your nipples before pinching them between his fingers, the feelings mixing with that of his cock dragging against your walls in the best way possible was becoming too much for you. Your arms became too weak to continue like this, dropping from your hands onto your elbows as you tried to hold on. The drop deepened the arch of your back even more as the movement let Daryl thrust deeper inside you, the feeling making you moan out so loudly you were sure it would hurt your throat in the morning.

"Daryl - fuck I'm - more please -" He brought his fingers to your clit, trying to match his rhyme as he rubbed it in tight circles, making you clench around him. It didn't take much more than that, one last thrust and flick over your clit and you were screaming out his name against the pillow. Your hands grabbed at the sheets as you tried to ride out your orgasm, your body squirming away from Daryl but he tightened his grip on you, not letting up his pace.

"Shit yer gonna make me cum just soundin' like that," Daryl growled out against your ear as you whined out with every thrust, your body starting to become overstimulated. He dropped his grip on your waist which was now the only thing holding you up and let you collapse completely against the bed. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing down on top of you while he pressed his body into your back, continuing to rut against you. He was growing sloppy, his thrusts turning to him grinding against you, unable to maintain the pace he'd originally set as he grew closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck Darlin' - I fuck -"

You reached a hand behind you and buried it in his hair, pulling slightly at the strands as he covered your neck in hot, opened-mouth kisses. His groans were getting more high-pitched now, breaking into moans and curses of your name as his hips snapped against you.

"Come on baby let me feel you cummin' for me." You weren't sure where you found the courage but the words were out of your mouth before you could even process it, surprising even yourself. The encouragement had Daryl's hips stuttering against you while he thrust into you one last time and held himself as close to you as he could as he finally came, panting out against your skin.

It took him a minute to fully recover, his heart racing after one of the best orgasms he'd ever had before he lifted his weight off you. It was almost comforting having Daryl's weight pressed against you but you were willing to admit it was starting to get to the point where he was crushing your smaller frame. He wrapped his arms around your chest protectively and rolled you both onto your side, not pulling just yet as he let himself soften inside you. He felt you shake in his arms as he held you, worry that he'd hurt you taking over before he realised it was laughter.

"What's so funny huh?" He asked looking down at you a questioning smirk on his face as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your flushed nose. You were beautiful to him like this, all worn out and yet still glowing.

"I just still can't believe you're mine, and officially mine now too." You chuckled reaching a hand up to brush your fingertips across his cheek as you watched him with a loving expression.

"I've always been yours Y/N." He whispered, leaning in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. It was the truth. Ever since Daryl first laid eyes on you, there was no doubt that you owned his heart.

Taglist: @azanoni @ineedmorefanfics2

#aoife writes fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead smut #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon smut

[jvngkook97]

Suga and Spice

pairing; chef!yoongi x female!reader

genre; fluff, humor, smut, established relationship, domestic au, chef au

warnings; mainly just wholesome fluffy content with a sprinkle of spice in the form of shower sex

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 3,588

a/n; missing my other bias and wanted to give him some lurv so here ya go. like + reblog if you enjoyed. feedback is always appreciated and helps keep this writer motivated. <3

networks; @ficscafe, @thebtswritersclub, @kflixnet

Your head was tilted back, eyes closed, and mouth gaping like a fish out of water. A moan that was on the borderline of being a whimper could be heard within the silence of the room as your partner gave out a sigh of content and on the verge of begging for more—

—he shoves another spoonful of the delicious and perfectly cooked food into your mouth to silence your whining that he knew was coming.

“You’re ridiculous, y/n.”

You opened your eyes to gaze into those of your lover’s and gave him a loopy Cheshire grin.

“How are you even real? Are you secretly AI? Is that how you’re so indescribably good at cooking?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with mock annoyance, though the slight quirk of the corner of his upper lip said he was thoroughly amused by your shenanigans.

“You know what you should do, Yoongs?”

Dropping his hand to land flat on the table, he gives you his full undivided attention.

“What’s that, y/n?”

“You should marry me.”

He gave you a deadpan expression, and wordlessly grabbed your left hand with one of his own, holding it in front of you with your fingers splayed and used his other hand’s pointer finger to emphasize on the dainty but custom made engagement ring he slipped on your finger only two weeks ago on your birthday.

“Well I’ll be! Would you look at that?”

You leaned over the short distance to give him a chaste kiss on the lips, one he returned in kind without a thought, the action now second nature to the male. Never one to express his inner feelings, he only hopes that through his gestures and actions alone you’re able to feel what he might never say out loud.

Which you do, of course. Especially when you taste his delectable foods that he puts his entire heart and soul into.

“Did you still want to bake tonight? If not, we can just watch a movie or whatever.” He placed his hand over yours on top of the table, thumb mindlessly running over the groves of your knuckles as he asked, his eyes not once leaving yours.

Another thing you loved about Yoongi, that with you, he always maintained eye contact whenever possible. More of his love language coming out for you only.

“Sure! What did you have in mind for tonight, Chef Yoongi?”

He snorted at the formal words that inwardly made him swell with pride when you were the one saying them.

“Let’s make eclair’s. It’s considered a romantic dessert with the added bonus of it uses a lot of eggs so I can go through the extra carton you bought.”

“It was an accident! This is why I tell you it’s better if we shop together for groceries!” You whined childishly, making him crack a grin.

“I was only joking, y/n. But the recipe does call for quite a bit of eggs so it works out.”

Good enough for you. You’ve never made eclairs before, so Yoongi teaches you the ropes. This kind of pastry dough requires near constant mixing, so you trade off when your arms get tired. You eye his strong, toned arms dubiously as he mixes with a serious look of concentration when it’s his turn yet again.

“Do you even need to switch?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy watching you work.”

You don’t miss the little smirk he gives as he says this and you narrow your eyes at his when he gives the whisk back to you. He leans on the counter next to you in what is clearly meant to be a seductive pose. He blatantly rakes his eyes over your figure as you painstakingly begin whisking again.

Deciding to give him a show, your own form of revenge to his snide remark from earlier, you lift the whisk out of the bowl and lick it as seductively as you can. This actually gets Yoongi to break, of all things.

“Gross! You’re still using that!”

“What? Afraid of a little bodily fluid?”

You’re talking about saliva and you both know it, but he’s never one to back down from an innuendo. So, he resumes his prior sexy stance and waggles his eyebrows.

“You know I’m not. The more, the merrier.”

It’s so absurd, yet true when it comes to him and his kinks that you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or jump his bones right then and there. Your thighs unconsciously rub together as your mind shifts from the innocence of baking, to one’s not so innocent.

Eventually, all the eggs are incorporated into the dough, so it’s ready for the oven. Just moments after the oven door is shut and a timer is set, you hear a loud crunch followed by something wet and cold on the top of your head.

“Oopsie.”

You gasp with wide eyed disbelief.

“You did not just crack an egg on my head, Min Yoongi!”

“I didn’t.” He shrugged off casually, before continuing smartly. “I specifically smashed an egg on your head – there’s a difference. My way includes egg shells.”

You feel some egg white drip on the shell of your ear and your body shivers involuntarily. You can’t help yourself any longer. You leap after him but he shrieks with laughter and dodges out of your grasp. The sound is like music to your ears with how rare it occurs.

Filled with a wild frenzy, you chase Yoongi all over the kitchen and into the living room when he flees there. He’s quick, and no matter how fast you run he always seems to be just out of your reach.

Instead, you go for a different approach. Scooping some of the egg from your hair, you hurl it at him. It lands square in his neck with a satisfying wet plop and you let out a whoop of victory.

“What? Is that all you got?” He taunts you, not phased in the least bit when he wipes the egg white onto his shirt without a care. Now he’s in competition mode, but so are you.

“Not even close.”

You take another scoop and rub the eggy mess between your hands until they’re nice and gooey. Then, you reach your arms out towards him in a signature zombie pose.

He laughs, eyes crinkling and gummy smile on full display as he maneuvers back into the kitchen. Using the farther side of the kitchen island as a barrier between you two, he stares you down, both hands splayed on the marble countertop trying to predict your next move.

Your eyes zero in on the egg carton placed dangerously close to him that was left wide open when he used one against you; that was your mistake. He follows your line of sight and instantly snatches the carton into his hands, holding it in a vice grip.

“I don’t think so, hon—.”

In an impulsive move, you juke him to the left but run around to the right, barely managing to corner him between the fridge and one of the counters. Yes! You plant your still grimy hands on either side of his shoulders boxing him and the egg carton in.

You’re completely out of breath, and as you realize this, you see Yoongi’s eyes dart to your lips and back. You mimick his line of sight and notice he’s panting just as heavily. Belatedly, you realize – you are incredibly turned on. Judging from the look on Yoongi’s face and the way he’s currently licking his lips, so is he.

In an instant your arms are wrapped around him and you’re kissing, the nearly empty egg carton dropping between you both and only making a slight mess on the white flooring, not that either of you really cared at the moment. His hands roamed the curve of your spine before landing underneath the curve of your ass instead. The kiss becomes more heated and intense, the bulge pressed against your lower stomach let’s you know exactly how into this your lover is, the fact only turning you on more.

It’s amazing. It’s blissful. And it’s hot as hell.

And then it’s ruined by you feeling yet another glob of egg drop from your hair and this time into your neck, the mucus like consistency makes your whole body cringe into the kiss and makes Yoongi reluctantly pull away from your impromptu make out session early.

“You okay?” His words are low, and you can hear the amount of desire he still feels for you in his voice. The tapping of his fingers on your ass let’s you know that he’s also clearly impatient and wants to continue.

“Yeah. Just, you know. Covered in egg is all.”

“And? So is the floor? Doesn’t seem to mind that we’ll just be cle–,” Yoongi pauses, considers something with a faraway look on his face, and then a devilish glint passes through his eyes. “You know, I may just have a solution for that.”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“It’s obvious we could each use a shower, a good cleaning. And guess whose shower is big enough for two people?”

The idea sends a thrill through your entire body, and you wordlessly take Yoongi’s hand and lead you both to his master bathroom’s shower.

Not wanting to waste any time, Yoongi let’s go of your hand to make himself busy with turning on the water. While it’s warming up, both of your clothes come off in haphazard piles on the floor only a few feet away from the entrance to the shower. You barely even think about it, mind too consumed with the idea of what’s about to happen, but when you catch sight of Yoongi you have to pause.

You’re absolutely breathless.

His naked body is strong and taut, and even under the fluorescent bathroom lights he’s absolutely breathtaking. For a moment, you think back to the first day you two met, and it brings a warmth into your chest when you see just how far you two have come from that fateful day. You don’t know how you got so lucky to find a man like him, but you know you’ll never take him or what you two have for granted.

When he notices you staring, he gives you a sultry smirk.

“See anything you like?”

“Not sure. I need to look a little more.”

He takes a step closer to your now nude form and grabs your hand in his, gesturing for you to take a little twirl of your own so he can soak in the beauty that is your own body in all it’s perfectly imperfect glory, and you do, with a small giggle passing through your lips.

A woman is a mystery a man just can’t understand. But he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to figure out the mystery on how you somehow chose him of all people to spend the rest of your life with. His heart yearns to always be by your side and his soul wants nothing but to please you and give you a life you deserve.

To him? You’re his soulmate. His forever.

“You’re quite the treat yourself, you know? Dare I say, even more mouth watering than the eclairs.”

He gives you a loving forehead kiss, knowing those are one of your favorites, and steps closer to you to reach around you and feel if the temperature of the water was good. As he leans against you, you can’t help but run your fingers down his chest, nails only lightly scraping the unblemished skin you’re so envious of, the action making his chest rumble underneath your hands as he lets out a low growl. The sound shoots straight to your core.

Deeming the water good enough, he leads you into the shower and underneath the ridiculously large rainfall shower head that at this moment, your body is grateful for as it sags in euphoric relief. Yoongi chuckles at your reaction and realizes it’s better to actually get cleaned up before your little shower sex session.

So, first things first, you both make quick work of cleaning the egg off of each of your bodies. You take turns dunking your heads under the water, scrubbing at your hair with shampoo and conditioner, and neck with soap as you do. Yoongi does the same.

After you’ve rinsed your hair out for the last time, do Yoongi’s arms snake around you. Though, more importantly, you feel his body flush against your front, the contact of your now hardened nipples against his chest only spurs both of you on even more.

Feeling handsy, you grasp his butt, his hips, and then ever so slowly you trail your fingertips down his ‘V’ line. You hear his breath spike as your hand finds it’s place between his legs.

His own hands roam across your body and down until his hand slips between your legs and you can’t help but groan at the contact. Your eyes have maintained contact this whole time so you’ve been fortunate to witness the steady progression of the hunger that’s deep within as it makes its way to the surface.

Then, his mouth is on yours and you’re all in. The water runs over your bodies as you hold each other under the stream. You brace yourself against the shower wall and the tile is cool under your palm, your leg is wrapped around his waist and you’re basically standing on your tip toes with your other foot to accommodate him. You let out a low whine when you feel the tip of his cock tease your opening, your eyes falling closed reflexively from the simple amount of pleasure it brought you.

Yoongi is focused on your face the entire time when he fully sheathes himself inside of you and lets out his own little grunt of content. He gives you a moment to adjust before you’re tapping his ass with the heel of your foot to signal the go ahead. Then, his body is moving and you’re meeting him with each thrust of your own hips, the sound of wet skin slapping against one another reverberates within the enclosed space along with the rhythmic pattern of the water still falling on the shower floor around you.

Opening your eyes, knowing that Yoongi yearns for it, especially during sex, you have to bite your lip and will them not to close again when he does a particularly sharp thrust that has you parting your lips to reward him with a loud moan. The water has plastered his hair to his forehead, so you push it away, eyes locking in a deep gaze. They’re wild with desire and you know that yours aren’t any different.

His breathing is starting to get heavier, and you can feel him tensing under your hands. He forces himself to slow down his pace in order to prolong his release long enough to give you yours first, an unspoken rule that he’s created for himself, you being none the wiser.

With one hand holding himself up from crushing you against the wall, he holds his other hand underneath the stream of water around him for a second, and before you have time to register what he’s going to do, his expert fingers are already slithering their way down your stomach and finding a new purpose on your swollen bud. Your entire body arches into his from the unexpected contact that has your mind reeling with a few colorful words, some falling from your lips in a low chant that soon get quieted by Yoongi’s own words of praise.

“Does that feel good, baby?” A rapid nod of your head is all you can give in the current moment, eyes still locked with his. “Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me?”

Your back arches, boobs pushing into his chest even more, with your hips picking up their own brutal pace against his as you chase your release with a fervor. He knows when your thrusts start stuttering and slowing down that you’re getting very close.

“That’s it. You’re doing so good. You’re almost there.” He dips his head into the crook of your neck to whisper the words into your ear, feeling your walls clench around him in a vice. He gives a moan of his own and it’s all you need as you let out a cry of relief once you reach your starry orgasm.

With a few more quick and deep thrusts it doesn’t take him long himself to find his own as his hips still against yours, his whole body weight leaning into yours has you squished between him and the wall with a breathy whine coming from you – both from the sudden weight and you still coming down from your high.

With what little strength he has left, he slowly lowers your leg so you’re standing on both, but makes sure he has an arm secure around your waist just incase you needed a moment to collect yourself and regain your own strength to stand on your own as he pulls his weight off of you.

“Sorry, needed a minute. Are you okay?”

His worried eyes flicker between your half lidded ones as you let out a breathy laugh at his question, though internally your heart swelled at his immediate need to make sure you were okay.

“I’m more than okay, actually. That was fucking amazing. Ten out of ten, would definitely recommend doing again.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t disagree with you. Pressing a kiss to your awaiting lips, he caresses your cheek before pulling away to turn the water off. Thus, ending your shower session. You detangle from one another to carefully step out into the now very cold air of the bathroom, the steam from within the enclosed shower no longer keeping your bodies warm.

He hands you your favorite robe that he makes sure is always clean incase you need to use it, and you take it with a wide grin, immediately shrugging the fluffy material on your nude body as you snuggle into the collar with a sigh.

He just smiles lovingly at you, and there’s a beautiful moment of post coital silence between you while you dry off, but then—

“Oh, shit. Oh no. No, no, no–,”

He runs from the bathroom, and for a second you’re confused on his rushed behavior, before your eyes widen in realization. The eclairs! Did the timer go off? You didn’t hear it.

Securing the robe around your body tightly, you briskly walk out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. You’re just in time to see Yoongi, stark naked except for a pair of oven mitts, pulling a slightly smoking sheet pan out of the oven. The smoke causes a brief cloud to linger above the kitchen and you hurry over to the kitchen window to open it and let the smoke naturally clear out.

You turn back around as he carefully sets the hot sheet pan onto the grill of the stove, then leans back against the counter next to it with his head tilted back, eyes closed, and a deep sigh emitting from his parted lips.

The corner of your lip quirks up at the sight, and you can’t help but let out a cheeky remark.

“I like this look on you.”

He spares you an affectionate, closed mouth smile as he opens his eyes to give you a mock glare. You walk closer to the male to see the extent of damage your shower sex caused. It wasn’t too bad, you don’t think. But you’re not the expert here. Focusing your attention on Yoongi, you see he’s already looking at you and your body fills with warmth knowing he’s never ashamed of being caught staring at you.

“Are they okay?”

He clicks his tongue, but his expression is neutral.

“A little burnt, but honestly could be worse.”

You nod in response. Okay. Crisis…averted? Mostly. Great!

He leads you back to his master bedroom where he fishes out some of your favorite clothes of his to wear for the night and you take them with a kiss to his lips. In the process, he finds some for him as well and you two get dressed in no time. Checking the clock on his wall, you both come to the conclusion that there’s still time to finish the eclairs.

Once again, you’re back in the kitchen and working on picking out the least burned buns, but other than that it’s pretty painless. Pastry crème in a piping bag, fill the buns, drizzle with chocolate – easy!

You triple check that the oven is off and there’s nothing else you’ve forgotten about, and then you and Yoongi sit down at the kitchen table to enjoy the fruit of your labor. It’s definitely a little over cooked, but who cares? Yoongi is glowing and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful.

The dessert is amazing, but how could it ever compare with the man sharing it with you? The rest of the night passes by in a blur of kisses, cream and chocolate. Then you let yourselves fall asleep in each other’s arms in your shared bed and it’s bliss.

You could definitely get used to this. And you will, considering you had the privilege of the rest of your life to do so.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

a/n; send me an ask if you’re interested in being in a taglist for anything pertaining to this series (if there is one) or all of my future works in general (or if you wish to be removed). be sure to specify when you apply.

taglist; @mwitsmejk

#min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #suga x you #suga x reader #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan family #bangtan #bts fic #bts army #bts fluff #domestic au #chef au #bts x female reader #female!reader