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#he did not brush his teeth before drinking it
cordeliawhohung · 20 hours
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here's that one ghoap x reader one shot i had posted the idea for a bit ago
johnny has an easy smile and an aura that tells you he wants something significantly more than just his pleasure alone. it isn't until he's got you face first in the mattress that you realize you've bitten off more than you can chew.
cw: alcohol, smut (oral f!receiving, unprotected p in v) consensual to dub-con, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight dumbification of johnny
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Usually, you never gave your name out so easily to any man who sauntered up to you at the bar, but something was different about this one. Maybe it was because of that odd glint in his eyes; a deep rooted lust poorly obscured by a pretty blue tint. Maybe it was because he looked terribly lost in a very cute way, like a puppy trying to find its owner. Whatever it was, it had your name rolling off your tongue faster than you could stop it, and it made the vodka in your drink taste as sweet as syrup. 
His name was Johnny, and he had an easy smile that was too contagious for you to even attempt to keep up your stone cold expression. He nursed a simple pint, but didn’t seem nearly as interested in it as he was you. For all his smooth words and sharp wit, he didn’t seem to concern himself at all with attempting to hide the fact he had been undressing you with his eyes for the last half hour. The only reason you even allowed him to do so was because how warm it made you feel, rather than disgusting and violated. It was almost like a promise he was looking for something far greater than his own pleasure that night. 
Eventually your drink went down as easy as water and everything else began to melt away. The dim glow of the ambient lighting made Johnny appear even more alluring as he entertained you with some outlandish story that you were certain was mostly made up, but you didn’t care. He was nice to look at, and as you smiled and nodded along with his words you couldn’t help but wonder if his hair was as soft as it looked. 
“Wanna get out of here?” he suddenly suggested after you both were several drinks in. 
His proposition nearly had you laughing, and had it been any other man on any other night you certainly would have. As cute as Johnny was, it was impossible to deny the sweet puppy charm he had about him, and you didn’t know why it lured you in as well as it did. Visions of what could possibly wait for you that night began to unfold in your mind, and you found your hips shifting on the stiff barstool as your eyes flickered to the stubble on his jaw. You wondered how that stubble would feel on the insides of your thighs. 
“I don’t know…” you pondered, but your tone was far from sure. If anything, it was tempting; as if you wanted him to try and push more. 
“You sure?” he questioned with a raised brow. 
Before your reply could leave your lips, Johnny stole your breath away with a single brush of his fingers against your thighs. It all seemed a little juvenile, being touched in a bar as if you were two horny teens who couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves. Still, you would be lying if you said you didn’t want him to push just a little further as his hands grabbed the meat of your inner thigh like he claimed a prize. 
“Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” 
What exactly transpired after he said that phrase that had your lips crashing against his was something you couldn’t quite recall, but you quickly realized you didn’t really care. The sour taste of beer was hot on your tongue as your thumb rubbed against the stubble on his jaw. He was the most intoxicating thing you had on your lips that night, and when his teeth nipped at you, you knew there was no way you could ever say no to his proposition. 
As Johnny pulled out of that sloppy, drunken kiss, you didn’t take notice of the way his eyes flickered away from you. You didn’t realize how his attention landed on a large, looming figure that sat tucked away at one of the tables in the far side of the room. While the man’s face was shrouded with a silly skull mask, his gaze spoke volumes; it screamed something that Johnny had been craving that entire night. 
Approval. 
As it would turn out, there were plenty of things you didn’t notice that night. You didn’t notice the two pairs of boots by Johnny’s front door, or how their sizes were so different. You didn’t notice how his bedsheets had the faint aroma of cigarettes woven in the fabric despite the fact you had not tasted a hint of tobacco on his lips when you kissed him. Or maybe you did notice and you just didn’t care. It was difficult to care about anything with Johnny’s face buried in your cunt. 
The sound of his moans rivaled that of your own, and it was downright obscene when accompanied by the wet smacking of his lips on your clit. He ate you out with a fervor you had never experienced with any other man, like he attempted to unravel you with his tongue alone. When your fingers weaved through the thick strands of his hair, that only seemed to prod him to do more. He sunk two thick fingers into your cunt and relished with a guttural groan at how your muscles squeezed at him. 
With his fingers and tongue working in tandem, it didn’t take you long to come. That blistering heat tore through your body with vicious revenge. Johnny’s chuckle got lost in the heat of your skin as he eventually weaned himself off of your cunt and planted a trail of kisses up your body until he reached your lips once more. You could tell by the way his tongue slipped into your mouth that he was far from finished with you, and so when you felt his hands on your hips gently prompting you to turn over, you didn’t fight him on it. 
Your hands and knees sunk into the mattress as you did your best to put on a show for Johnny. Back arched, ass up in the air, hips swaying side to side as if he needed any further enticing. His hands palmed and squeezed at your ass while he pressed himself against you. The fabric of his jeans felt odd and rough against your cunt — as Johnny was too impatient to taste you in order to take them off — yet you grinded back against him anyway. 
“Gorgeous,” he cooed. Rustling clothes sounded behind you as Johnny worked off his shirt, followed by the metallic zipping of his pants. “Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, aye? Wanna see if she feels as good as she tastes.” 
Your fingers curled into the bed sheets as Johnny’s cock sunk into you. The thick, wide stretch of him had your mind running blank. Even still, your mindless state had your body rocking back against him where you swallowed the rest of his length whole with a wanton whine. Johnny’s fingers dug into your hips at the stimulation, and you could feel the aching want exude from his body; as if he had to hold himself back lest he rip you to shreds like a badly behaved dog. 
“Bleeding Christ,” he hissed, hips grinding against yours. “She feels so good, bonnie. So fuckin’ good.” 
When Johnny’s hips pulled back just to slam against yours again, you knew you weren’t going to last long. With your nerves already frayed from your previous orgasm, this upcoming one wasn’t buried deep at all. It was right there, lingering just underneath your skin with its tendrils snaking up towards your mind, smothering any coherent thought you attempted to conjure. There was no need for rational thinking, anyway. Why would you need to question the heavy approaching footsteps or the dark rumbling chuckle behind you? 
“Bein’ good, Johnny?” 
The voice that spoke was unfamiliar, and it certainly didn’t belong to Johnny. The deep baritone of it caused your breath to hitch in your throat, yet it was impossible to hold back your moans as Johnny continued to fuck you like it was no big deal. 
“Of course I am,” Johnny panted in response, “just listen to her.”
“Not good enough to wait for me,” the man countered. 
“Couldn’t wait. Not when she was sittin’ so pretty f’me.” 
No, something was wrong. Someone else was there with you, watching as Johnny fucked you into the mattress like an animal. As a wave of panic settled in your chest, you pushed against the bed as you attempted to look over your shoulder, yet it was of no use. Johnny’s relentless pace made it impossible to do anything but slip and slide forward until your face was nearly being smothered into the pillows. 
“Johnny?” you asked, voice pitchy and raw. 
“Right here, bonnie,” he replied as his hands snaked around your front to paw at your chest. “Fuck, you sound so pretty sayin’ my name like that. Not gonna last much longer if you keep talkin’ like that.” 
Even if your brain was capable of coming up with a response to his mindless ramblings, your words surely would have gotten caught in your throat as Johnny’s hips suddenly faltered. His body moved away from yours with a slight jerk, as if someone had yanked on his head, but you could still feel his pathetic attempts to pump his cock into you as he whimpered. 
“Nuh uh,” the new man — whatever his name was — chastised. “You don’t get to come until she does, yeah?”
Johnny’s forehead suddenly crashed against your back as his thrusts picked up pace once again. The hands that were pawing at your chest quickly wandered down to your clit, and your body nearly convulsed at the violent stimulation. You gasped as you tried to rip his hand off of you while the tingling sensation of your impending demise started to crack your body to pieces. 
“Wait, Johnny please,” you babbled. You didn’t even know what you were trying to ask of him. To stop? To explain who that strange voice belonged to? How were you supposed to get those words out when he fucked you like a wild animal? 
“I know, I know,” Johnny shushed. “I just need one more out of ya. One more then Simon will be satisfied. Please, just one more bonnie, s’all I want.” 
A part of you wanted to hold back, to deny him that satisfaction, but it was impossible. He had already built you up so high that it was all too easy to kick out the support beams and watch you tumble. Johnny ripped your orgasm from your body with deft hands sending tremors throughout your body that forced your eyes to squeeze shut tight. It was searing — all consuming — like you were now bound to the man who fucked you and the stranger who egged him on. 
Johnny’s cock slid out of you once your whining had calmed down, but it wasn’t long before his grunts picked up again. Without his hands to hold your hips in place, you crashed forward onto the mattress with a wince before slowly turning on your back in an attempt to face him. 
The view that consumed your vision was enough to stun you into submission. Perspiration coated Johnny’s body with a glistening sheen, and he looked like a god as he sat in front of you on his knees. But he wasn’t alone. A large and brutish man stood at the end of the bed where he held Johnny against his chest by his hair. A black skull-patterned mask obscured his face, but you could make out the darkness of his eyes clear as day as he muttered into the man’s ear. You couldn’t hear what he said over the sound of Johnny’s whining, as the man had his arm snaked around to his front where he tugged at Johnny’s cock using your wetness as lube. 
Before you had the chance to muster a single thought, Johnny came undone. His cum spilled out of him in heavy bursts, falling along your thighs and stomach as the man continued to work him through his end. Had you not been so confused and scared, you would have made a face at the odd, sticky feeling that tainted your skin. Instead, you laid there in silence as the man shoved his cum-coated fingers into Johnny’s mouth. 
“Such a messy pup,” he hummed while Johnny licked his fingers clean. 
When the man turned his attention to you, you wanted to just melt into the bed. To vanish into thin air. To be anywhere else that wasn’t under his gaze. His eyes swept over you in a quick assessment before he pushed Johnny’s head toward you with a simple shove. 
“Clean her up,” he ordered. 
And he did. Johnny’s feverish tongue lapped along your legs and torso, cleaning up the remnants of his cum on your body. But you didn’t feel clean. You felt dirty and confused; used even. 
“Did I do good? I made you come twice, didn’t I? Please tell me I did good, bonnie,” Johnny begged. 
With your body cleaned with his tongue, his nose nuzzled against the inside of your neck as he covered your body with his. As an instinct, your arms wrapped around him as if he was the only support you had. If you couldn’t hide away in the bed, then you’d certainly try to hide away under Johnny, as useless as it was. You made the mistake of making eye contact with that stranger, and his eyes looked like a warning. Like you shouldn’t dare to tell Johnny he was anything less than great. 
“Y-You did good, Johnny,” you said, voice meek and trembling. 
“Did ya hear that, Simon? She said I did good,” Johnny repeated, relishing in your approval. “Thank you, bonnie, thank you…” 
The man — Simon? — walked around the edge of the bed to get closer to you and Johnny, and you found your grip on him tightening. That night had seemed like a good idea back at the bar when you were a few drinks in, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart felt like it tried to tear itself to shreds. Simon reached his hand for the back of Johnny’s head where he gave his hair a good ruffle, yet when he spoke he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you. 
“Good pup.”
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herozdiary · 2 days
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Lazy morning
Francis x reader
This diary entry contains…Fluff|established relationship|Baker x milkman is now my favorite thing to write for this man| Mentions of the doppleganger incident going on|Reader and francis are honestly the happiest couple in that damn complex.|
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The quiet start to your morning was ruined by Francis's loud alarm clock. You groaned as you turned over and placed a pillow over your ear to block out the sound. The bakery was closed for the day due to some construction that needed to be done. You could hear Francis mumble a small apology to you as he turned off the clock.
The feeling of some weight being lifted off the bed made you take the pillow off your ear and place in back in its proper spot. Unlike you, Francis still needed to do his rounds for the day before he could come back home and spend the rest of it with you." If it makes you feel better, we can start the day together" You yawned out as you sat up. Francis nodded as he lazily looked through the closet for his work uniform.
"I wished I could take the day off but I'm aiming for perfect attendance for this week" he said as he pulled out the familiar set of white clothes. You got out a bed before stretching." I think you're doing a good job so far" you said as you fixed up your spot of the bed and slid your feet into the cupcake slippers Francis had bought you as a gift.
You followed Francis to the bathroom where you flipped the light out and turned to sink on." I hope I don't have to do many deliveries today. Half the people I deliver milk too don't even use it I bet" He mumbled out as he grabbed his toothbrush and wetted it. You grab the toothpaste before applying a good amount onto Francis's before putting some on yours.
"Milk isn't a favorite of lots of people. I don't even know why you bother to still bring it to them" you say before popping the toothbrush into your mouth. Francis shrugged as he brushed his teeth for a good 2 minutes before spitting the toothpaste into the sink.
"People claim to want to start to drink milk more but we know that never works out for long" He says as he grabbed his washcloth and began to start his skincare routine.
You nodded as you fill a cup with water and took a sip before swishing it around your mouth and spitting it back out into the sink, Rinsing the sink out in the process.
Once the two of you were done in the bathroom, you made your way to the kitchen where you didn't feel like cooking, so you decided to make two bowls of cereal." Did you want frosted flakes or are you feeling like cheerios?" You asked as grabbed the spoons and put them into the bowl.
"Cheerios" Francis said as he went to go put his shoes on by the front door. You grabbed the box before pouring some in a milk themed bowl you bought Francis one day when you went to the store.
You picked whatever cereal you liked and poured into a cake themed bowl that you bought yourself. You poured milk into both before setting them onto the table and taking a seat.
Francis joined you as he poked at his cereal a little before taking a couple of bites of it. "I'm a little worried., About the whole doppelganger thing" you say while taking a spoonful of cereal and eating it. Francis looked at you before giving you a weak smile.
"I know, it's pretty scary to think about. But hopefully that new doorman can do their job right and figure out who is actually a real person." Francis said as he finished off his cereal. You took your last bite before handing Francis your bowl as he gladly took it and placed them in the sink.
"I trust them. They seem to be very good at their job so!" you said, trying your best to think positive as you looked over Francis. His facial features were so easy to remember as you had seen it a bunch of times so you would know right away if it was a doppelganger.
"Now, I sadly must leave you here all alone so I can go give people their milk" he said as he began to walk to the front door. You followed after him like a lost puppy as you gave him a smile.
"Don't take too long! and take breaks also please dear" you say as Francis nods as he put on his hat before grabbing his keys as he turns to look at you. "I promise I'll take breaks" he says as you squint your eyes before holding out your pinky to him.
"Are you really about to make me pinky promise on this?" He chuckles before interlocking his pinky with you. "Yes, and you better not break it" you say before placing a small kiss onto his cheek.
"I think I deserve one on my lips" he said as he grabbed your waist and placed a quick kiss on your lips. You giggled as you tipped his hat a little." Be safe please, I wouldn't be able to handle the thought of one of those monsters getting you" you say as you fixed his hat back as he removed his hands from your waist.
"I can just throw a bottle of milk at them if they even thought about bothering me" he said as he unlocked the door and opened it. "I'll be back soon" he said as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.
You locked the door back up before sighing as you shuffled back to the living room and plopped onto the couch as turned the TV, At least you could watch your favorite show without Francis commenting on it every five seconds.
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britany1997 · 2 days
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Cat and Mouse
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Hope y’all love this! Comment to be added to my Spike Taglist:)
Spike x fem reader slayer
Warnings: SMUT minors DNI, predator x prey (sort of), roleplay, lotsssss of foreplay and a little bit of smut, cunnilingus, biting (duh), blood drinking (also duh), I think that’s it
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You ran through the depths of Spike’s cave, desperately searching for a way out.
The tunnels seemed to wind on forever, and every turn seemed to lead you to a dead end. You feared it was only a matter of time before you met your own end.
As you raced down another tunnel, fear crept into your heart when you found yet another cold cave wall. A whispered “no” fizzled from your lips.
“Bad luck pet,” you tensed as a familiar voice purred from behind you.
In a flash, your back was pressed into the wall, held in place by the forearm of the most despicable vampire you knew, Spike.
You scowled down at him, your eyes full of ire.
Spike returned your scowl with a smirk. He leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I will know your blood, Slayer. I will make your neck my chalice... and drink deep.”
Your hateful expression melted to one of amusement.
“Did you script this?”
He glared at you, “you’re not supposed to break character.”
That was a yes.
The corner of your lip pulled up slightly, but you suppressed it before you could smile. Spike had obviously put a lot of thought into your little game, you’d hate to ruin it for him.
“In your dreams bloodsucker,” you bit back, pushing Spike off of you and into the cave wall across from you.
His smile was catlike as he brushed rubble off his clothes.
“Yes pet, exactly.” He grabbed your hand and yanked you towards him, “now tell me, do you dream of me too?”
You threw him off you, pulling your stake from its holster. “I dream of the day I can drive this through your hollow chest.”
He mock pouted. “You wound me love, who’ll you play with when I’m a pile of dust?”
You scoffed, moving forward to press the point of the stake into his chest, “vamps like you are a dime a dozen.”
“You’re half right pet,” he smirked, “Sunnydale may be overrun with vampires…”
In a flash he grabbed your wrist, wrestling the stake to the ground and maneuvering you against his chest, “…but there’s no one quite like me.”
Your thighs clenched as he slowly licked along your neck.
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Spike had carried you out from his tunnel network, and into the bedroom area of his cave.
He threw you onto the bed before crawling over you, “your mine slayer,” he said as his lips moved to capture yours.
“Wait.”
He groaned, “what??”
Your eyes narrowed. “You catch me, ‘the super powerful, only slayer in all the world…’”
He nodded.
You pursed your lips, moving off the bed to think.
“That kinda makes it seem like you win.”
You could have sworn if he had any blood it would have rushed to his cheeks.
“Win?” He asked, laughing nervously. “You must be- no. Win? What?”
You crossed your arms.
He sighed, “can you just get on the bed.”
“Mhmm,” your finger reached out to caress his chin. “Since you’re the big, bad, strong vampire that defeats me, shouldn’t you be able to…you know, take me?”
He groaned, “believe me love I am trying.”
You giggled, “you know that’s not what I meant.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. You cleared your throat to suppress your laughing.
He looked up, “can’t you win next time?”
You smiled, “ok Spikey.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as he picked you up and spun you around, making soft giggles fall from your lips.
“Oh no! The evil vampire has captured me again! Whatever shall I do now?” You threw your arm over your forehead dramatically.
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. “No stakes left, no friends around to save you slayer?”
You raised an eyebrow, “hmm guess I’ll have to resort to your methods,” you sunk your teeth into the skin of his neck.
“Oh fuck love.” he moaned, gripping your hair and pulling gently.
You sucked the skin of his neck between your teeth. God you hoped vampires could still bruise.
The hand not currently tangled in your hair slid to your waist, pulling you closer and squeezing.
When you finally pulled away, Spike’s eyes were practically all black. He was dripping with desire.
“My turn,” he pushed you back, pressing you into the mattress and letting his teeth sink into the familiar spot where your shoulder met your neck.
You let out a breathy mew and wrapped your legs around his waist as he drank.
“Mmm slayer,” he purred into your shoulder, “you’re too sweet to drink dry…I’d rather keep you instead.”
You bit your lip and rolled your hips, grinding against him. “What are you going to do with me?” You forced a scared look onto your face.
He lifted his head from your neck to peer down at you, “what I always do pet…” he paused, “make you scream.”
You couldn’t help it. You crashed your lips into his in a searing kiss. “Well then hurry up already,” you teased.
He smirked as he tore your clothes off, prompting a gasp to fall from your lips. “So impatient,” he teased back.
He tossed the remains of your clothes to the side and kneeled between your legs.
“You’ve got the prettiest cunt love,” he sighed wistfully.
Your ran your fingers through his hair, before pulling him in closer with a bit of slayer strength. “Yeah? Bet it tastes even better.”
His hand snaked around your leg as he leaned in to nip at your thigh. “Mmm I bet it does.”
He gently parted your legs further. He pressed soft kisses to each thigh, before leaning in to kiss your lower stomach.
You whimpered, desperate for more. “Enough teasing,” you grit through your teeth.
He chuckled as he moved to lick softly at your clit. As you did your hands threaded through his hair once more.
Spike, encouraged by your response, sealed his lips around your clit and began to suck. His eyes fluttering closed as he felt your thighs shake around his head.
Spike’s hands came up to hold your hips, and squeezed as he licked and sucked.
When you felt yourself getting close to the edge, his tongue licked a stripe upwards before laving at your clit, desperate to make feel you release into his mouth.
You screamed his name as you coated his face, causing him to moan in approval.
He left soft kisses on your thighs as he licked them clean, before crawling into bed beside you.
You hummed as he wrapped himself around you from behind, his head fitting into the crook of your neck. “You were right,”
“Right about what?” he asked as he planted a kiss on your cheek.
“There’s no one quite like you,” you turned to beam up at him.
He smiled back at you, stroking your cheek. Then his gaze turned sinister. “Just wait until round two slayer.”
You smirked. Your night had just begun.
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Note: yes that’s an actual Buffy quote about him making reader’s neck his chalice lmao
Spike Taglist🦇:
@sad-ghost-of-garbage @6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @bloodywickedvamp @crustyboypix @dwaynesluscioushair @lostboys1987girl @anna1306 @arbesa-mind @ria-coolgirl @the-glitter-wizard
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slippinninque · 1 day
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✨A Different Perspective ✨
Fontaine x Reader
Warnings: cursing, reader has a bad friend, something a bit different from me lmao, reader's nickname is Lil'Bit, before-work-fic so might have some errors lol
Tatianna had him eating out the palm of her hand. She caught his eye wandering more than once, when she jammed to her favorite song or pulled down her dress from where it was riding up.
She laughed at what Big Moss had to say, putting herself close to Fontaine so they would brush against one another whenever the crowd surged. More than once she used his shoulders or forearm to steady herself, flashing him a grateful smile.
This close, Tatianna knew that he liked what he saw. Compared to some of the other girls he rocked with, none of them could compare. Not that Lil’Bit wasn’t cute, but what did Miss. New York say? Goregous devours cute.
Once the night was over, and once Tatianna went home with him—she will find a way to make it up to Lil’Bit before breaking up with her and the other girls.
She sighed as she recalled the last conversation she had with the others when they cornered her after seeing her with Fontaine.
“A dope boy and a lil’ librarian ain’t going to mix.” Tatianna said patiently, “I’m just helpin’ her out to see. Saving everyone’s time.”
"You’re embarrassing yourself"
“Listen, don't even trip over this. Tati, girl, just...chill and we won’t even tell Lil’Bit. Ain’t gonna matter anyway—you know that.”
"Whatever. Do what you want—don’t come lookin’ for us when yo’ raggedy ass needs a ride home.”
Tatianna put away her lip-gloss with a sigh, head shaking.
If they didn’t understand Tatianna’s reasoning, then it was more proof that it was time to move along anyway. They were too grown to keep quoting those little ‘girl codes’ at her. Tatianna didn’t have to follow any code that wasn’t going to give her what she wanted.
Lil’Bit wasn’t woman enough to close the deal with ‘Taine but Tati was. No little ‘are-they-aren’t-they?’ was going to stop her.
Blowing a kiss to herself in the mirror, it was time to go out and finish out strong. She left the restroom and went back into the mix.
The stank glares and uppity side-eyes were well worth it. It was only confirmation that Tati was looking as good as she felt.
Tatianna could have the whole party if she wanted. Her body was banging and she could snatch a man with less than a sentence. Lil’Bit’s sugar sweet self was playing out of her league. It was a mercy to rip the band-aid off.
A quick scan of the crowd made her frown. Tatianna went further, scanning the bar and checking out the darkened corners. She gently batted away the homies who couldn’t hold to her and circled the function twice more.
Her mood soured as she realized Fontaine was no where to be found.
Narrowing her eyes at the duo across the room, Tatianna nearly stormed to them. The other half of this little-girl quartet that they’ve hung onto since college. Lina’s tall ass openly grinned with devilish red lips as Grace poorly hid hers into her cup, adorned nails clinking teasingly along the rim as she tried to ignore Tatianna.
She stepped in front of her and hissed, “What did ya’ll do?”
“I’d check your tone, we ain't been cool since we got out the restroom.” Grace pressed closer to her girl, echoing Lina’s mirthful expression, “We don’t know anyway.”
Tatianna sucked her teeth and looked expectantly at Lina who only shrugged, eyes going over her head and taking another sip. It did burn a little. Lina was often the neutral one that Tatianna could gain some understanding from—but of course it would be different now that it was about Lil' Miss. Perfect.
“So y'all ain’t say nothing to Fontaine?”
“What the fuck would I have to say to that man? I ain’t even know you were gonna be here, let alone him. I ain’t that nigga’s keeper…”
Tatianna flushed with building anger and her teeth gritted as she snapped at the bustling bartender for a drink. She could barely think straight so the matching, knowing grins between her acquaintances were lost to her.
There was one face that kept popping up, though. She refused to be bested…
“Is Lil’Bit here, then?”
“Haven’t seen her either.” Grace shrugged, “But if she was, you should already know what time it is.”
“I ain’t worried—you should know that.”
Lina finally cracked, laughing and shaking her head, “Imma tell you what, it’s crazy that ‘Bit’s been sparing yo’ ass for so long.”
“Sparing me? Girl, you’re outta your mind--!”
She was cut off by the bartender presenting her with her vodka, straight. Tatianna sighed. There was no reason for her to even argue. They would never be on her side, anyway.
Tatianna had to get what she wanted. If it meant a stealing away a few toys that weren’t hers, so be it. If it called for leaving out undesirables to achieve her aesthetic, so be it.
Fontaine was different, though. He was who Tatianna was meant for. What could he possible do with someone like Lil’Bit?
“Look at them gears turning in that head.”
Tatianna glared at Grace and was about to tell her where she could shove her drink when the flash of a familiar jacket caught her eye.
Her heard thudded as Fontaine’s eyes caught onto hers, his stride now purposeful as he came toward them. Had he seen her looking for him? Was he looking for her too.
Fontaine tossed something up in the air. It sailed over Tatianna’s head and Lina caught it with a surprised noise.
“ ‘Bit spilled a bit on her dress. ‘M gonna take her back real quick to change.”
Tatianna was stunned. She caught a glimpse of a familiar smiley-face key chain as Lina tucked Lil’Bit’s car keys into her jacket. Fontaine guesture to Tatianna drew her attention and she watched him began to back away.
“She said one of ya’ll gotta give ol’ girl a ride home.”
Tatianna bit the inside of her cheek, staring into Fontaine’s face despite his completely looking over her.
Ol'girl? He can't be fucking serious....
“Tell Big Bit we got it handled” Grace nodded with glee visible on her face, “Matter ‘fact, I’ll text her myself. Drive safe!”
“See ya’ll when you come back.” Lina sing-songed as she whipped her phone out.
Fontaine nodded and when he turned to leave, Tatianna blurted out, “Tell her I said...thank...you…”
He had walked off as soon her mouth opened and it was doubtful he even heard what she said over the music. Lina was bent at the waist, laughing her ass off while Grace looked at Tatianna as if to say there you have it!
Taking her drink, Tatianna turned and stalked away.
-----
Tatianna followed Fontaine out the function am but lost him soon after getting through the packed entrance.
There was an overflow of people who preferred the cool air to the stuffy vibes on the inside, but remained just as lively.
Her ears perked at the sound of Fontaine's voice among the crowd, your words lost to her as she crept around to the near deserted back parking lot. Tatianna peeked just enough around the brick to see Fontaine setting you up onto the trunk of his car.
You said something beneath the furious buzzing in her ears. Reaching out and scratching at Fontaine's chin while he kneaded your thighs in that plain-jane ass skirt you loved.
Fontaine grunted as he leaned closer, “Don’t mean shit to me—she don’t act like she’s yo’ friend…”
“It's my fault, she called dibs on you just after we met, I should have said something... "
Tatianna flushed cold. Fontaine’s mumble made you laugh, a breathless noise she never heard you make.
“I don’t give a fuck 'bout no dibs.” Fontaine was all growls now, pressing forward and then pressing a heated kiss to your lips. Your hands scrambled along the green of this Pontiac as you squeaked something out Tatianna, again, couldn’t understand.
“I know all I need to know 'bout that chick but back to you. Wearin’ this shit around me like you don’t know no better—keep them pretty eyes open while I'm talkin' to you...”
"I thought you liked my skirt? You sure a little librarian is enough for you?"
The mimic of Tatianna’s own words made her head spin. How long had you known? How long had Fontaine known?
Your laugh crinkled between a moan as Fontaine went to your neck, hands at your waist to pull you closer to him.
“Sure as fuck,” Fontaine snapped, “Aint little no fuckin' where, Big Bit. You're my woman. Say it.”
“But you said--
Tatianna flinched at how quick Fontaine took hold of your face. Where she would have probably started going off, you only grinned at him as if he finally gave up the candy you wanted.
“Don’t play with me, pretty. I’m tryin’ to be patient, you deserve patient. I ain’t gonna entertain that bold-ass lil’ friend of yours, though. This is the last week. Next Friday, everyone better know who you with. They better know ‘bout me.”
He then leaned in, latching back onto your neck and making you whine despite the blissed out smile on your face, “Okay, okay don’t eat me!”
“Say. It.”
He hadn’t let your face go and Tatianna turned away from your giggly echo. Shock numbing her as she recalled the last few weeks. Where had she gone wrong?
Tatianna pushed away the immediate thoughts of all the crushes and beaus she effortlessly swipped out from beneath you. Pretending that it only her duty as a friend to make sure your suitors were genuine, that she couldn't see the hurt in your face.
Tatianna stopped in the shadows of the entrance, ignoring the hopeful once overs being aimed her way. She couldn't bare to go back inside empty handed and one-upped but...she did need a ride.
Her eyes caught with an option who had some nice looking braids, but her heart wasn't in the wink she tossed him.
Maybe once she saw the bottom of her cup, then it would be easier to make a choice.
---------
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Thank you for reading!!!! Just a little blurb that was haunting my notebook for the longest lol! Had to get it out before work, so sorry if I missed anyone in the tags! Tell me what you think and please reblog! ☺️💜💕
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alastorss · 1 month
Note
Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.
a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.
You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.
There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.
The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.
And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.
For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.
"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.
He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.
"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.
You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."
Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.
He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.
You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.
He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.
Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)
"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."
'Or something?' he wanted to ask.
He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)
It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.
Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.
The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.
He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.
He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.
"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.
"I've come to join you, actually."
Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.
"You have a nice laugh."
He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.
You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.
"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"
Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.
"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.
Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.
"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.
Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.
All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.
His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."
"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."
Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.
~
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yanderenightmare · 5 months
Text
Gojo Satoru
TW: NSFW, dubcon, yandere, bully/mean Gojo
gn reader - fem clothing
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“Summer did you good, didn’t it?”
Your ears grate at the familiar voice. So smug you can feel the smirk before turning around to see it in all its pearly glory. 
“Leave me alone, Gojo.” You sigh, taking your drink before trying to slide passed him.
But he stands close – too close, still in the intimate club – so close his thigh brushes yours where you sit on the bar stool. “I’ll leave you alone… if you make it worth my while~”
Your nose scrunches. “Gross. I’d sooner fuck a curse.”
His smile doesn’t drop despite your insult. “I’ve got six eyes, you know…  You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
Your eyes narrow, biting out a “What?” and his smile becomes a chuckle. 
“Short skirts and tight tops. Sitting here all alone.” His black shades dip when he looks down his nose at you, a knowing look in his loud blues. “You’re fishing- and lucky you got me hooked.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you smack your teeth. “And now I'm throwing you back out to sea.”
You try again to hop off your seat, but he leans a hand against the bar and traps you there.
“Who’re you dressin’ up for then, hm?” He continues, getting in closer, bearing down until his lips brush the shell of your ear, whispering, “You know~  all guys are pigs. I guess you’re happy being slop in a trough.”
You put a hand on his chest, but it doesn’t budge him – and when he leans back again on his own, he flashes an even wider grin at you.
“I mean, hell- If I knew you were such a needy slut, I’d mercy-fuck you sooner- shoulda just said so-”
“Shut up.” You snap.
He tilts his head, feeling undeterred – actually, the opposite, offering another snicker. “Oh? Grown some balls under that skirt, too, hm?”
You make another grimace at his crudeness, deliberating throwing your drink in his face.
“What? A couple of compliments and free drinks, and suddenly, you think you’re too good for me?”
You’re reminded of the gap in your rank – why you should hold your tongue.
You sigh – defeatedly now. “Just leave me alone, Gojo-”
But he’s not done having his fun. 
“You’re nothing.” He flicks his tongue off his smile. “You’re a curseless loser- and you don’t have to have six eyes to see it.”
Hints of hurt flicker through the anger on your face, and your scowl wavers – turning into a pout while you look up at him, trying to hold it together. His grin spreads when he sees it, and his words grow colder, cutting deeper.
“Don’t kid yourself- only reason anyone’s lookin’ at yah twice s’cause it’s real hilarious watching your pathetic ass think you’re anything but a-”
“I get it.” You cut him off, voice weak. “You’ve made your point…”
You slide off your stool, squeezing past him with your head bowed to hide the tears welling in the corner of your eyes – threatening to slip if you waited a second longer.
But before you’re able to disappear into the crowd, you’re stopped once again by a hand wrapped around your upper arm.
“Before you go, just know… if you ever decide to dress up like a little slut again- I’ll take it as an invitation.”
The tears slip while you look up at him. 
He takes a second to admire it before letting go. Watching you rush out.
You stand outside in the cold and catch your breath. Wiping your cheeks with hitched cries before a jacket is slumped over your shoulders.
“I don’t think I wanna roleplay this anymore, Toru- It’s too much-” You sniffle, curling yourself against his chest with tiny fists balled in his shirt.
“I know-” He coos, wrapping his arms around you while resting his chin off the top of your head, swaddling you. “But it makes me so fucking hard. Feel-” He groans, rubbing his fattened groin into your stomach.
“I’m not in the mood anymore-” You whine in return, trying to nudge him and his boner off.
But he keeps you in his arms, hugging you tight, a whine escaping his own lips. “No- please don’t. Don’t leave me all blue-balled, angel. Please~”
“You’re so selfish.” You pout, allowing it.
“Yeah~ I’m the worst~” He agrees with a snicker, releasing you – holding your hand as he begins leading you to the car, a hurried spring in his step. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“You’re not even listening.” You argue, getting dragged along.
He places you against the door. “Please, I need you. I’ll beg if that’s what you want.” He moans hotly while kissing up your neck – fiddling for the keys in his pocket before unlocking and popping open the back seat. 
You don’t fight him, getting overwhelmed when he lays you down – his kisses never-ending and hunting for all those soft spots he knows make you weak. 
“Can’t believe people dare look at you-” He breathes, almost in a growl, lifting your thighs up around his torso while nestling between them. Rocking his bump against the thin lace of your panties. Voice growing more and more rowdy. “I oughta go back in and level ‘em all.”
He sucks a hickey into your neck, then a small ring of teeth on your collar. You whine at the bruising but don’t do anything to make him stop. Instead, your small hands reach out to his belt – unbuckling it and unbuttoning him, tugging his pants down until they bunch around where he’s knelt.
He makes the last liberties and finds his place between your thighs with a sigh.
“Buncha small-fries… everybody knows you’re mine.”
You sit in his lap when you’re done. Naked with your dress bunched around your midriff. Nips stiff and perky – too cute to ignore, so every now and again, he bows his head to give them a kiss or two. It never fails to make you squeal.
“You think you can fit into your old school uniform?” He mouths against you, licking kisses from your chest up to your neck – sucking your cheek before placing a chaste peck on the corner of your mouth. “I wanna poor milk on yah like I used to~
He’s always so clingy after cumming. You try and wrench away from the neediness, but it’s obvious you don’t give it much effort – mostly just scrunching your face. “You’re such a jerk.”
He hums in agreeance, and you feel his smirk through his kisses and then in his laugh. “Don’t cry, it’s not the type of milk you’re thinking of.”
You blush at the comment, ushering out a curt “Pervert.”
But he only pushes, moaning out a “Please~” while kneading your hip and rubbing your thigh – pressing his face into your neck, nuzzling you with eyes closed and mouth open.
So clingy, you feel embarrassed and ticklish under all the attention. Shaking your head. “It won't fit- it’s years ago-”
He pouts with a grumble. But it doesn’t take long before the smirk returns, inching back onto his lips. “I bet you’d fit in mine, though~”
You grow even more shy at the suggestion. “You’re so weird.”
He only laughs. “And you’re so in love with me~ which means you’re even weirder. Hah, loser?”
You frown at the nickname, again making an effort to twist away from the myriad of kisses and lovebites. “You’re insane.”
But he catches your face in his hand. Squishing your cheeks and turning your head to look back at him. “Damn right, I am.” He agrees, then turns it into a playful threat. “So you’d better never leave me. ‘You think I was a bully in school? Just imagine what a nightmare I’d be now. I’m a god; I’d get away with anything.”
You giggle at his silly dramatics. 
“You laugh, but I’m not joking.” He continues, still with your face in his hands. His big round eyes peeled. “I wouldn’t just stalk and terrorize you. I’d destroy your life if you ever left me. I’d make you lose your job, your apartment, your friends, your clan- I’d make sure you had no one left to turn to, nowhere left to run but right back to me.”
Your giggles die down, leaving a small smile playing on your lips before you press them softly against his. 
“And here I was thinking you’d just settle for sending creepy letters…”
He chuckles under his breath, “Childsplay.” Then kisses you again – this time a little longer. Giving your cheeks a squeeze before releasing you softly. Resting his forehead against yours with your noses touching.
His voice is a little more solemn now, genuinely serious this time. 
“But you would never leave me, right?”
The wet traces of his kisses cool in the absence of his lips while his thumbs feather your flesh so delicately. Holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the entire world.
You tilt your head and kiss him again – chastely and sweet.
“Never.”
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xorafe · 22 days
Text
cam girl (part seven)
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
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summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.
{ part one } { part two } { part three }
{ part four } { part five } { part six }
*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
Rafe’s hands are immediately all over you.
The front door shuts behind him and his teeth are nipping at the crook of your neck, his fingers digging into your waist, making you melt beneath him.
He pushes you backwards, your butt hitting the hard edge of your kitchen table. You breathe in the smell of his sharp cologne, having it committed to memory by now.
He couldn’t get through a minute of you on camera before rushing over to your apartment. The feeling of the power you have over him is like a drug.
He’s hard against you and you feel like even though the bra and panties you’re wearing for him are the skimpiest things you own, there’s too much fabric on your body. You want to be entirely naked for him.
The legs of the table rock and you hear one of your textbooks fall and slam onto the tile floor as you both clamber towards your bedroom.
You’re on your back in your bed when you watch Rafe feverishly pull off his shirt and jeans, acting like he can’t move fast enough, stripping down to his briefs.
You drink him in, how big and commanding he is, how taut the muscles that line his body are. This man could have any girl. But he’s in your bedroom.
Rafe’s rough when he kneels down and puts his hands below your knees, pushing your thighs against your chest. You’re curled into the tight position, short of breath.
“Don’t pull that shit with me again,” he mutters the first words between you since he arrived, his mouth inches away from yours. “Don’t…” Rafe shakes his head like he can’t find the words. “It wasn’t funny.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, quickly grasping that he’s referring to your spat last night. You nod, your mind replaying the way he stormed out.
Don’t tease him when he shows any sort of concern for you. Got it.
You know better than to think that it actually messed with him to think something happened to you. He was pissed because you didn’t obey him. You’re his property. He doesn’t actually care.
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Fuck,” he chuckles, looking down at you. “You already made a mess.”
You follow his gaze, seeing the moisture on your pink underwear.
You’re grateful the moment of confrontation was so short, brushed away so quickly. You don’t want to fight with him. You just want to fuck.
“All I had to do was think about you,” you tell him.
“You get that wet for me only, huh, baby?” he taunts. “I don’t think you should wear panties anymore if this is what I do to you.”
“Whatever you want,” you say, completely submissive to him.
“That’s fucking right, whatever I want,” he states. “Is this pussy gonna squirt for me tonight?”
“Yes.” You promise yourself you’ll do whatever the hell it takes to do it for him. His eyes are on you as his thumb rubs over your clit.
“Every time you get close to cumming, tell me,” he orders you. He shifts to put his hand on your face to force you to look at him, squeezing your cheeks like he did last night. “I want you to be so desperate to cum that once I let you, it fucking spills out of you, understand?”
You can only nod, at a loss for words. Every time you think he can’t get any hotter, he proves you wrong.
“Understand?” Rafe repeats sternly.
“Yes.”
“Where’s that toy I bought you?”
You wordlessly point to the nightstand’s drawer. He moves off the bed, digging into his jeans to pull out his phone first. He remotely turns on the vibrator, tossing his phone on your bed.
When he presses the toy against your clit over your panties, you shudder.
“Fuck,” you groan, your voice weak. He hovers over you, watching you writhe.
“I put it on the highest setting, princess,” he drawls. “Feels good, huh? You like when I buy you shit like this? You like whoring yourself out for me?”
“I fucking love it,” you say. “I’m your slut.”
“Say that again,” Rafe demands.
“I’m your slut.”
“Yeah, you fucking are.” The sound of his deep voice mixed with the buzzing toy is perfection.
The vibrations make your hips involuntarily buck and you groan. Your body tenses.
“I’m close,” you whisper. He moves the toy off of you.
“Already?” Rafe’s tone is mocking. He snaps your bra strap against your collarbone. “Take this shit off.”
You obey and he slips his fingers beneath the thin band of your panties and drags them off, leaving you entirely naked.
He pushes the backs of your thighs down hard again, putting you into the same curled position he started with. Your knees are almost next to your ears and the way he’s contorting you is blissfully painful.
He taps his dick over your pussy before he shoves into you with a long exhale, filling you entirely, sliding in so damn easily.
“Whatever happened to liking it slow?” you provoke him, thinking back to your first cam session.
“I’m…” Rafe’s smile is lazy. “I’m fucking addicted to you now. I’m not taking anything slow anymore.”
His words make you feel high. His gaze is focused on where his body is meeting yours, and you take in the sight of him sitting up on his knees and thrusting into you, his stomach muscles flexing.
Rafe’s lips are parted and turned up into a smile while he watches your pussy take him in.
“Goddamn,” he says. He pulls out of you and reaches for his phone. You realize he wants to record you as he points the camera at your pussy, then buries his cock into you again.
You watch as he uses his thumb to push up past your clit, stretching you so his camera captures every part of you.
Rafe pulls out, then pushes in again, watching his screen with his bottom lip trapped under his teeth. He’s so fucking dazed right now, savoring the way you take all of him, entertained by how he can use you.
He withdraws, leaving your cunt empty again. With his phone lowered to film you closer, he curls two fingers into you, making you moan as he twists his wrist to feel you at a different angle, knuckles nudging against your walls.
Rafe is playing with you like the toy that you are and you can’t help but feel satisfied that he’s so fucking enamored by you. You think back to when he called you his dream girl and you know he wasn’t just saying that. He looks like he’s under a spell.
After he pulls his fingers out, he stretches your lips apart with his forefinger and middle finger, displaying you like you’re a work of art.
Blue eyes trail up to meet yours and Rafe looks nothing short of captivated. It almost makes you shy that he’s gazing at you like this. You realize how odd it is to feel that way after everything you’ve done together.
“What?” you laugh. He only tosses his phone back onto your bed before pushing down on your hamstrings, positioning himself to enter you again.
“Fuck,” you shudder at his force. “That’s so fucking good.”
“I can use this pussy whenever I want, huh?” he groans, his tip hitting your cervix.
“Mhm, baby,” you promise, your breath growing faster.
Rafe leans over you, putting even more weight on your legs, forcing them tighter against your chest. It makes it even harder to breathe, but you love when he’s rough.
His balls hit your ass with every solid pummel, your mattress springs digging into your back from the way he has you folded over yourself.
The familiar sensation builds up in you and you groan, wishing you didn’t have to stop him.
“Cl-close,” you whisper, putting a hand on his chest. Rafe pulls out quickly, rubbing his slick cock.
He aggressively pulls your legs down and shifts to hover over you, his knees framing your face.
To your sick delight, he reaches for his phone again. You look up at the camera pointed at you through low lids, your lips parting when he puts the tip of his dick against your chin.
“What’d you call yourself, baby?” Rafe asks behind the phone, recording you. You truly feel like his personal pornstar now, the sinfulness of what he’s doing turning you on even more.
“Your slut,” you groan. “I’m your whore.”
“Fuck,” he chuckles, pushing his dick into your mouth. You keep your eyes trained on the camera as you take him in.
His hand rests on your cheek, the ring on his forefinger cold against your skin. His thumb strokes over your temple as he pushes his dick into your mouth, only going halfway.
“You live for this cock, hmm?” he asks.
“Mhm,” you say, muffled.
“I fucking own you.” He taps his fingers against your cheek, giving you three gentle slaps, making you shut your eyes and smile with your mouth full.
“Stick out your tongue,” he orders you. When you do, he chuckles darkly, rubbing the curve of his cock up and down on it.
Rafe tosses his phone to the side again, putting his hands on the bed to bend over you and guide his entire length inside your mouth.
“Stay still,” he orders you. You feel him push slowly until he hits the back of your throat. He pulls out agonizingly slow, then pushes himself in and out over and over.
“Never get tired of fucking this mouth,” he groans over the sounds of you gagging on him.
You moan, feeling your feet plant onto the bed as you buck your hips up, wishing he would just fuck you again.
When Rafe shifts back down, he grabs you by the roots of your hair.
“You’re gonna ride my face,” he tells you. You nod desperately, letting him pull you into a seated position.
Rafe flips onto his back and you straddle his face, groaning at the feeling of his hot breath against your pussy.
You’re holding yourself up on your knees, hovering over him, and he digs his fingers into your asscheeks.
You look down, writhing over him, rubbing yourself on his open mouth. Your movements turn into harder grinds, and you put your fingers through his soft hair, keeping his head steady.
His eyes roll back and the arousing image makes you smile. Maybe he likes being used a little bit, too.
You feel his hand curl around your butt, his finger pressing against your asshole. The stimulation makes you tremble.
Rafe captures your clit, sucking hard. You feel the same tightening again.
“Almost…” you breathily warn and he pulls you off of him.
With his big hands on your waist, he pushes you onto your back again. His hands find your tits and he roughly squeezes as he sits over you.
It’s all so transfixing, the way he’s rapidly changing through positions, so sure of what he wants to do to you next.
“I know you wanna cum so bad, princess,” he coaxes. “You’re doing such a good job.”
“Thank you, baby,” you whimper, arching your back as he fondles your tits. He bends low, putting his mouth on your chest.
You’re overwhelmed as he bites and sucks and pinches and plays, and you tightly shut your eyes, feeling the throb between your legs.
Rafe gives you enough time to come down from the near orgasm, then shifts to sit up against your bed frame.
He beckons you to him with his hands, his cock swollen and leaking.
“Bounce on it,” he tells you.
You mount him, sinking down onto his hard length. Rafe grabs the toy, pushing the vibrator against your clit. You tremble and start to bob up and down, pussy wrapped around his firm cock, the feeling absolutely fucking electrifying.
Your hands are on his firm shoulders, your eyes locked on his, your clit stimulated and your cunt full.
You keep bouncing and riding and writhing and moaning. You’re sweating and you notice Rafe is too, both of you breathless from fucking so hard.
“I’m…” You can’t even tell him you’re close because the rising orgasm silences you, taking you prisoner.
Your veins are hot, every nerve tightening, and the greatest orgasm you’ve ever had begins to tear through you. It’s hard to keep your eyes open, but you force yourself to look down, feeling yourself clench and convulse.
You can’t believe your body’s doing it, but your cum squirts out of you, splashing in different directions on his stomach.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” Rafe groans, tossing the toy to the side and rubbing your clit feverishly to make you spatter in every direction. “Oh, my fucking God. That’s my good fucking girl.”
Your pussy is almost numb from pleasure, as if your body can’t handle feeling this damn good. Rafe takes over the pace, hands clutching your hips, penetrating your wet cunt hard until your body releases everything it has.
Your sigh is strained, your limbs loose. You lose all your strength, limp on top of him, but he continues to fuck you, his cock reaching deep inside you.
“Keep bouncing for me,” Rafe tells you. “Keep fucking bouncing.”
You obey, thighs burning, and he tilts his head back, Adam’s apple prominent, as he reaches his peak. He finishes inside you through hot, fast throbs.
You’re flushed and breathless, tilting forward. You’re quivering with your cheek against his temple, his damp skin on yours.
His hands move up and down your back in slow strokes, making your tits press over his chest.
“You did so good, baby,” Rafe says, panting.
“Yeah?” you whisper, gently convulsing. He chuckles at the way you’re trembling on top of him, his cock still stuffed inside you.
“You like when my cock stays inside, hmm?” he rasps. “You deserve it. Sit like this as long as you want.”
You tighten your arms around him, sitting on him and panting, your nose in his hair. You smell his shampoo, listen to his breaths.
Nobody has ever done this to you. Pushed you past every limit. Excited you this much. You had no idea this was who Rafe was.
He continues to hold you silently. You know you can’t like him, and you won’t, but you allow yourself to pretend you’re more than just fuck buddies in this small, sweet moment.
Then you pull yourself back into reality and know you should just appreciate it for what it is.
You find the strength to raise yourself off of Rafe, his dick slipping out of you, your mixed cum dribbling out onto him, your bed soaked.
“Fuck,” you whisper with a laugh. You’ll have to change your sheets tonight.
It reminds you that you’re working at his house tomorrow. How will you manage to see him and not want to rip his clothes off?
You spot Rafe’s phone on your pillow and pick it up, meeting his eyes when you hand it to him.
“You still want private shows now that you have those videos?” you ask playfully, your voice weak.
“Yeah,” he nods, a smirk on his lips. “I’ll always want them.”
“I’ll make you go broke.”
Rafe looks up in mock annoyance, but his laugh gives him away.
“Worth it,” he finally says. You giggle and swing your leg off of him, your pulse slowly going back to its regular pace.
Rafe gets out of bed and starts to put his clothes on as you grab a towel and get ready for a much-needed shower. You’re glad he’s not staying the night. Being cuddled to sleep by him even just one more time would confuse you all over again.
You follow him out of your room, bending down to pick up the heavy, torn up textbook the two of you had knocked over.
Rafe notices and looks at the cover.
“Jesus, what’d you do to that book?” he asks.
“Shut up, it was like this when I bought it, okay?” you say. “Used copy.”
“For school?” You realize just how little he knows about you.
“Yeah. I’m actually kind of smart,” you joke.
“I could tell,” he says. You figure he’s being sarcastic and trail him as he opens the front door, shutting it behind him and letting out a big breath.
You make it to the Cameron estate right on time the next morning. Your stomach is in a knot as you clean, wondering when Rafe will walk by and tempt you to risk your job by fucking him during work hours.
After cleaning the kitchen floors and surfaces, you open the cupboard below the sink to take out the trash. You tie the top of the bag, but when you try to pull it out, it’s too heavy.
You grunt as you try again but you’re unsuccessful. And honestly, you blame Rafe for making you so weak. Your body is still recovering from last night.
You spot one of the gardeners through the kitchen window and decide to ask for his help instead of straining yourself any further.
You can’t remember his name, but you open the nearby patio door leading out to the backyard and wave him over.
“Hey, sorry, could you help me with the garbage? It’s too heavy,” you ask the man. He’s a little taller than you, maybe a few years older, and is wearing a smile.
“Sure,” he says.
You both step into the kitchen and you point him to the cupboard. He takes off his gloves and yanks at the knot you tied. Finally, the bag wiggles free.
“I saved the day,” he jokes. “Where does this go?”
“Out there,” you say, leading him through the kitchen and right outside the door to the bin. “Thanks.”
“Better wash my hands,” he replies. You both walk back into the kitchen and you replace the garbage bag while he turns on the faucet.
You wait for him to move out of the way so you can close the cupboard, wash your hands, and tend to your next task.
“They treating you nice in here?” he asks quietly, looking over at you.
You try not to smile as blood rushes to your cheeks. If only the other staff around here knew what you were up to with Rafe.
“Yup,” you simply answer.
“Can’t lie, I’m glad I’m outside all day,” he says. “Nobody bothers me.”
You politely laugh, silently wishing he’d hurry up and let you go on with your day.
“I bet,” is all you can say.
He turns off the faucet and smiles at you.
“Back to it, huh?” he says, patting your shoulder. “Let me know if I can help with anything else.”
Your eyebrows draw together, feeling awkward that someone who’s not Rafe is touching you, even though it’s a friendly, innocent gesture.
He steps away and you hear the door to the backyard close behind you as you start to wash your hands.
When you shift to find a tea towel, you see Rafe standing on the other side of the big room.
You’re excited to see him, until you take in how he’s looking at you.
Even from here, you can see the anger in his gaze. You stare at him wordlessly, wondering what he’s thinking.
“What the fuck was that?” he snaps.
You quickly pace towards him so he doesn’t speak so loudly. You can’t risk anyone hearing. You could lose this job if anyone found out about you two.
Rafe crosses his arms, biceps jutting out his t-shirt, eyes lowering when you reach him.
“What?” you say, tone hushed.
“What. The fuck. Was that,” he repeats sternly. Is he seriously angry about your exchange with the gardener?
“Rafe, someone could hear you,” you say quietly.
He steps back, head titling, a look of disgust on his face.
“You think I give a shit?”
You brush past him to head somewhere private, knowing he’ll follow you.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he orders, his deep voice thundering through you.
You rush, heart pounding from anticipation, and hear him stalking behind you. When you reach the dark and empty laundry room, you turn to face Rafe and he’s suddenly pushing you back against a closet door.
He’s towering over you, fingers wrapped around your wrist, his jaw clenched.
“Why’d he touch you?” he mutters. “Why the fuck did you let him touch you? Why were you laughing with him? Are you fucking him, too?”
He’s pissed. Jealous as hell. And it sends a ripple of arousal through you. He’s seething over someone simply tapping your shoulder.
“I don’t even know his name,” you say with amusement, your heart skipping a beat. He’s unhinged. You’re with him every night. When would you even have time to hook up with someone else?
You feel yourself get wetter as Rafe pushes up against you.
“Do you need to be reminded of who you belong to?” he threatens.
And even though you definitely don’t need to be, you nod, desperate for him to have his way with you.
{ read part eight here }
author’s note - want to say a quick thank you to everyone who’s reading the series 🥰 i see and appreciate every single reply and comment and message! the positive feedback keeps me inspired to continue to write. love you all
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drunkhazed · 17 days
Note
noooooooooooo i know bestie jay already has a part 2 but i neeeeeeeed a part 3 it was sooooooongoooooood
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more of this—> and this—> warning. coercion, manipulative pervert bestie Jay, he’s nasty ;o, unprotected sex, breeding
THIS IS THE LAST PART! no more after this🩷
“So, you fucked.”
It’s not that Jay’s surprised, he’s not even all that bothered, but he is curious.
He’s seen Sunghoon around the locker room, he knows he’s bigger than him. There’s no way the photos he sent you fulfilled your expectations.
Trying to hide a frown, you nod, twirling the straw in your drink. “We did, I don’t know. After the pictures and everything I felt crazy.”
“Crazy how?” Jay leans in, voice low, shoving his half eaten plate of food aside. He wants to ask more, of course, really grill you and interrogate, find out if you saved the pictures he sent you. But that could incriminate him, too suspicious. He has to keep it cool.
You shrug, leaning back with a tired sigh. “Like.. he’s hot, don’t get me wrong. Super hot. I guess I pictured it going differently.”
“Well darling,” he chuckles, grabbing the receipt before you can even think to. “That doesn’t really help me solve this dilemma for you.”
“Jayyyyyy.” Ah, you whine so cute, he doesn’t even hesitate to pay for your meal. Waving the waiter back over while you’re distracted fidgeting with your fingers. “You know how it is, when someone’s too good looking.. they have to have some type of flaw.”
Dragging his eyes down your upper half, he bites down on his lip, wanting to disagree. There’s no flaw when it comes to you, because he’s looked, searched high and low. You’re perfect for him, even if you don’t get that yet.
“Get to the point here babe, he’s good looking but his stroke game sucked?”
“I wouldn’t say it sucked.” You grimace, giving yourself away the more you search for something to distract your hands with. Choosing a napkin to shred into pieces. “I think.. maybe I had higher expectations because it was so hot through the phone.. but he—we, I didn’t even get to finish.”
Jay gasps, clutching his chest, jaw hanging loose. “Shut up!”
“I’m serious!” You whine again, resting your head against the booth. “Like, he didn’t even take me inside, just bent me over in the backseat..”
Backseat fuck? Please be joking. His teeth grind thinking about it, you’re better than a car fuck. You deserve a bed encrusted with diamonds and gold, a shrine to display your body. 
“That’s,” his tongue drags along the backs of his teeth, huffing a laugh. “That’s unbelievable. That guy talks a big game in the locker room. I knew he was full of it, probably jealous cause I don’t have to lie about my reputation.”
There’s a flicker of curiosity that passes your face, head tilted to the side. “What do you mean? Like, he’s competing with you?”
Jay laughs, slotting his card back inside of his wallet. “Could be. Always thought he held a grudge when he got nothing but bench warming done during the first season. Whatever, either way.” Slowly peering up, he locks on your intrigued gaze. “Could never be me. I’d rewrite history with my tongue inside of your pussy, leave you shaking harder than a fucking earthquake in Japan.”
The bottom row of your teeth appear first, juicy lower lip hanging loosely, pupils dilating. “Hah—wha—“
“I mean,” crossing his arms to purposely flex his biceps, he shrugs. “You know, if it wasn’t you. Any other girl, sure.”
“Excuse me??”
He scoffs, brushing you off. “Ugh, that’d be like fucking my sister.”
“Jay! Don’t say that!” You have the gall to look offended, glaring at him.
“God, he just went straight to fucking, huh?” He whistles, head shaking. “Couldn’t even eat you out or open your pussy up first?”
“Jay!” It’s cute how you still somehow find the audacity to glance around as if anyone nearby can over hear. Putting on this silly act of shame, as if you weren’t getting plowed through in the backseat of a mustang on your knees less than 24 hours ago.
“Seriously, such a shame.” A loud click of his tongue resounds, standing up, making extra effort to adjust his jeans. Cock shape fitted right against the crotch of his pants, not missing the way you can’t stop yourself from getting a look. “You always end up with these duds that could give a fuck about you cumming or not.” Throwing an arm around your shoulder, he leads you out to his car. Staying a step ahead even so to make sure he gets to the passenger door before you.
“Well, like you said,” you shift awkwardly, leaning against his car as he gets the door for you. “You have a reputation and apparently I’m too much like your fucking sister to even consider letting me experience that.”
Bingo.
Jay grins to one side, a cocky but charming smile, tapping the roof of his car. “It’d be too weird, you’re my best friend.”
He turns and moves closer, barricading you against his car with his palms flat on the hood behind you. “If we fucked, if I fucked you.” He licks his lips, gaze traveling down your face slowly, ending on your lips. “Showed you how it’s really supposed to be, how good it can feel. I don’t know babe.”
He sighs, moving in closer for your lower halves to press together. “How are you going to look me in the eye after I’ve had my dick so deep inside your pussy, make you feel that shit in the back of your throat.” 
“Jay, that’s—“
“Can you really have a conversation with me again without dripping between your thighs, without focusing on my tongue and all the ways I made you scream with my mouth latched on that pussy?”
“Oh.”
“You’re thinking about it, huh?” He has to laugh again, a deep ‘hah-hah-hah’. 
How can you not? He’s so fucking disgusting.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah well,” patting your hip, he pushes you to get inside the car. “Keep dreaming darling.”
“You’re staying over right? My parents won’t be home until super late.” You say suggestively, thighs clamped together tightly.
“I’ll stay as late as you’ll have me babe.” Jay’s smooth, he’s real smooth. You know he is, but maybe it’s how unsatisfied last night left you, dragging your ass home after getting fucked in less than 5 minutes. Maybe it’s the way your best friend uses one hand to drive you home, pats your thighs while you crack jokes and mess up song lyrics. 
“Jay, we’re best friends.” 
“Uh, yeah.” He snorts, pulling into park. “Stating the obvious?”
“Why don’t you talk to me about girls much? I tell you everything..” you head to your bedroom together, jumping onto your bed with him in tow. “Like, I don’t even think I know what your type is? You literally know my body count, probably better than me.”
He does, he can name your first kiss, time and place. The first guy that fingered you, first one that ate you out, first that got to fuck you. He can name them all, and none of them have been him.
“My type..” he sits next to you, pulling his favorite pillow of yours to his chest. Hugging tightly for the scent of your shampoo permanently drenched through the cotton to emit. “I like..” looking at you from the corner of his eye, he reaches for your knee, thumb caressing. “Cute girls, that play extra dumb with me. Pretty face, you know..” he fully turns to look at you, pinching your chin with his other hand. “Like yours, and well,” he nods, continuing down your body, hand dropping to your chest. “Nice body, not too fit, curvy in the right places.”
“Jay..”
“Basically you.” He smiles, a forced smile. A smile to hold up this act and not crush under the weight of the truth. Because if you wanted to know the truth, no bullshit, he’d rip his heart out of his chest for you and let you break him in half. He’d empty his soul if you asked, whatever your wish is, he’d figure out how to make it come true.
“You know.” It’s easy to grab his hand, there’s no fear or shyness. Even with your heartbeat fastening, stomach fluttering. “It’s stupid but whenever I get a crush I always end up comparing them to you. Like Sunghoon right, he’s got that crazy jawline, and I’d think about how yours is still sharper, more angled.” 
Instinct has him straightening his spine, jaw muscles flexing, lifting his eyebrows up playfully. “I definitely have something you can’t compare to any of them..”
“Show me then.” You urge just as playfully, swinging your hands. 
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jay sits up onto his knees, thighs smushed together in the position, jeans squeezing around the muscles. “Think you can handle it?”
“I think I can.” 
He’d swoop at the chance to make fun of you if not for how fast your expression shifts. Eyes gone hooded, lips pouting out and parted open, unabashedly ogling his pronounced size. 
As much as he wants to keep up his confident image, he’s screaming inside. The horny teenager that started jerking off to the thought of you years ago after seeing you in a swimsuit for the first time coming out of his dark gloomy cave to shout at the top of his lungs. This is it, this is his chance.
“Don’t say ‘damn!’ when you see how big I am.” Leave it to Jay to break the tension with a corny line, making you smack your face and groan. His shoulders bounce, unzipping himself and shoving his jeans under his ass. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
“Stopppp.”
Despite moving closer, he can sense how nervous you are now. The way you continue to look around and play with your hair. He rolls his eyes and grabs one of your hands right before you can toy with your earring. “Quit fucking around.”
To be fair, it’s not technically the first time you’ve seen his dick. Albeit that was years ago, and he’s grown ten times in size since the days you’d rinse off together quickly after hours at the pool. Even back then Jay was never very shy about his body, clearly carrying that confidence into adulthood. 
“Are we about to fuck?” You’re asking jokingly, allowing him to direct your hand to his covered bulge, gripping around yours to make you squeeze him. 
“Only if you let me hit it raw.”
“Jongseong.”
“Serious, I’ll eat you out for hours.” The stern tone you say his full name in does nothing to deter him, nothing can now that he has you this close. Even if you didn’t want to at this point, he wouldn’t be able to stop. The thought makes his cock jump, groaning and gripping your hand around him harder. “Suck my cum right out of you, spit it back down your hole only to suck on your clit again. Get you nice and numb with my mouth, have you begging for me to eat your ass next.”
“Are you always this depraved?” There’s that fraudulent shame again, the prudish act as if he can even count the dicks you’ve taken with 2 sets of hands. The way you cower and flush lets him know all he needs to know, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. 
“I’m worse baby, exactly what you wish they all were.” Whispering huskily, he shoves your hand inside his boxers, thrusting up against your palm, eyes fluttering shut.
“Oh my God.” You gasp, fingers trembling, inspecting the girth you can barely wrap around completely. 
“Tell me how wet your pussy is.” Jay’s hands roam down your body, squeezing your waist on his way to your hips to hike up your shorts; scrunching the material up between your thighs painfully.
“Shit, you’re—“
“Do they ever get you this wet?” There’s arrogance laced throughout the question, smirking against your cheek. “I can hear it.”
It’s embarrassing because it’s true, clenching your eyes shut with another rough tug on your shorts. The sound of your cotton underwear rubbing against your cunt plays obscenely. Little splatsplats, squeezing more slick from your excited hole. “Answer me.”
“J-jay.” Oh fuck you’re already whimpering. Not even the voice messages you sent moaning could compare to this, vibrating through his ear, shooting shockwaves straight to his cock. He has to swallow hard, growling deep in his chest. 
“That’s not good enough.” Rough calloused guitar playing hands slap your exposed buttcheeks, shorts wedged up in-between. “Who gets you wet like this?”
“Y-you do, s’only you.” 
That’s it. That’s what he wants to hear, what he needs to hear. Coughing back a moan, he twists your body fast, even catching your breath as he knocks your back to his chest and dives in to cup your cunt. “Shit. Fuck.”
The hard pads of his fingers find your clit, chin hooked over your shoulder watching his hand disappear inside. The way you chant his name between struggling breaths has the veins lining his forearm flexing, rubbing figure eights on your bundle of nerves. “Little clit all hard for me.” 
“Ahh—don’t say that!” 
He’s had enough of this modest act, groaning as he grips your shorts and panties to one side. His hand draws free to land a few heavy palmed hits between your thighs, rocking against your ass that bounces up and down upon impact. “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t say, do you hear me?”
“Jay, fuck!” He hardly gives you a chance to breathe properly, shoving your chest down onto the bed, he hooks onto your ruined shorts. It’s this moment that has him floating, slowly rolling the material down your hips, exposing inch after inch. Perky ass bouncing with each new tug, lighting his erection up with pure heat. 
The amount of wet arousal that greets him could save a country from dying out of thirst, releasing globs of slick the second he exposes your hole. Jay can’t stop the round of curses that fly out from there, shoving your bottoms and panties all the way down to your ankles. He makes a place for himself between your legs, freeing himself of his jeans and briefs. “You’re sure about this.”
Because I’m not going to stop, even if you scream. No matter how much you cry and claw.
“I’m—“ your head turns, neck twisting back to look at him with your pretty sweet eyes. Eyes that look at him as if he holds the entirety of your universe in his hands. “I’m—want it. Want you to.”
“I know.” Bending over on your back, he gathers your hair away from your face, kissing up and down your cheek. Pecking a saliva wet kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Because you’re a fucking slut. You know what sluts love?”
Tears well up in your eyes, glittering at him so prettily, accepting how right he is about you with a small shake of your head. 
Jay sits up, fully mounting your backside, scratching his blunt nails from your lower back to your waist. He grips around tight, forming a belt choking your breath out with his firm hold to keep your head against the bed. Your shoulders and tits pressed down, ass high up on the air, pussy on full display.
The fat blunt tip of his cock presses to your hole, rolling your eyes up instantly. “Sluts like you..”
He breathes raggedly, gaze passing from the whites of your eyes, down your spine, over his veiny hands constricting you, gliding over the ripples rolling up your ass down to where his cock teases at your entrance. “They love to get fucked.”
It’s as if your mind goes completely blank when he’s fully inside. Mouth hung open pouring out copious amounts of drool, dead gaze staring out ahead, pussy clamped tight around his size. You’re every bit of the brainless whore he’s ever wished for, taking the entirety of his cock with only one full thrust. Wetness splatters all over the lower half of his stomach and thighs, immediately falling into a heavy neck-breaking speed. Hips clap down on your ass, fat cock burying in deep, hitting your g-spot full on. 
“Wish you could see yourself right now.” Jay rasps, pounding into you harder and faster. “Perfect little slut, my perfect little fucking slut.”
“Yesyesyes!” 
“Keep screaming for me like that.” It’s music to his ears, the claps of your wet skin against his. The cries between your moans, the broken way you keep repeating his name. “Who fucks you,” he pants, lost in his pleasure, lost in your pleasure. “Who fucks you as good as your best friend?”
Your walls immediately clench around him, pushing out a wet gushing sound on the next thrust in. Jay grunts, digging his nails into your skin to hurt, desperate to leave some marks behind. “Speak up!”
“Jay! Jay! You! Youyouyou!” Your screaming can hardly break through the sound of your wet pussy taking his thick size. 
“Sucking me in so good, how is your pussy this fucking good.” He’s rambling nonsense, stealing glances at his cock diving in and out, cunt skin stretched around his girth. Tip kissing your cervix at this angle so so good, just right. “You’re gonna cum for me.”
It’s not a question, but an order. His weight comes down on your ass, lifting up onto his feet to climb up and fully mount you, palm slapping down on your nape lodging your face against the bed. “Cum for me right the fuck now!”
He barrels in at a pace that has your toes curling, eyes at the back of your skull, gasping for breath between his weight landing down on you full force. Each bury of his cock hits right where you need as if Jay memorized the map of your insides somehow. “I’m—I’m cu—“
The most intense wave of pleasure cuts you off, scrabbling to grip onto your bed sheets, knees sliding down. He fucks you through it, moving down with you where you lay flat on your stomach, cock drilling in and out past your orgasm. “T-too deep!”
“Like it deep.” Jay grits, slamming in rapidly. The hand on your nape unrelenting, ass clapping back against every thrust he gives. He bears down harder through your screams of over sensitivity, pressing his toned chest down on your back. 
He’s filling you to the brim, stuffed full, continuously striking the place that feels so fucking good deep inside of you. “Dumb fucking slut.” Jay huffs, breathily laughing, watching your ass begin to fuck him back. “All you needed was a real good dicking.” He adds with a whip-like snap cracking down on your ass. Stinging and heating up your flesh.
“Uh—mhm—please!”
“Fuck you’re seriously cumming again.” He groans, squeezing his eyes shut, digits digging through the back of your hair to grip. “You feel so fucking good.”
Everything hits him hard. He’s inside of you, he’s finally fucking you, he’s making you his. Cock drunk, obsessed and desperate, everything he’s ever dreamed of. It’s so worth it, all the humiliation he’s put himself through, so worth it when his dick starts pouring out strings of white inside of you. So deep inside of you. 
“Fuck.” Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, he leans in to lick up your tear stained cheek, pecking the side of your nose. Hips rolling as he empties out inside of you.
Right now, right here in your room, the bed he’s cuddled with you on for years. He’s here, he’s inside of you, and it's still not close enough. It will never be enough when it comes to you.
As much as it pains him to pull out, he fully intends to lick you clean, to spend the next hour with his nose pressed to your clit. 
After he turns you over to look at him, strips your top off, swipes his thumb across your chin to clean off the drool. “Jay..”
“I know.” Sucking his digit clean, he bends down to kiss you, chest hallowing when you kiss back. “I know, and I’m nowhere near done with you yet baby.”
1K notes · View notes
writtenbymoonflower · 2 months
Text
Stumble
James is drunk and you are easily flustered. James Potter x kinda shy!reader
cw: mentions of drinking, being drunk, swearing, slight mention of smut
806 words
You would’ve been scared of the sudden sound of your front door opening if you hadn’t heard your boyfriend's erratic giggles echoing from behind the entrance, along with someone fervently shushing him. 
“Fuck Prongs, are you trying to wake up the whole bleedin’ city?” You heard Sirius’ irritated voice. 
You rushed to the front door to see all the commotion, you knew that James had gone out with Remus and Sirius tonight, but you didn’t expect them to be home so early. 
“Oh thank fuck you’re awake.” Sirius sighed in relief, nudging your bumbling boyfriend towards you. 
“Angel! Oh Merlin, I missed you.” He flung himself towards you, nearly sending you both tumbling to the carpeted floor. You giggled despite yourself. 
“Someone had fun tonight.” You stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the light amount of sweat coating the tendrils. 
“Oh believe me, he did." Sirius said, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "He got slightly drunk within thirty minutes and started sharing way too much information about the two of you.” Your face heated and scrunched at that, thankful Sirius chose not to share specifics. “Then he tried to order a lemonade to slow down, but the bartender thought he meant a vodka lemonade. Dumbass didn’t notice until his fourth.” Sirius cracked up, clearly finding humor at his friend's expense. 
“Oh baby,” You laughed in pity. “Thanks for getting him home, Siri.” You waved at your friend before he left, while he muttered something about can’t take him anywhere as he shut the door. 
“Y/N…” James slurred, still not letting you go. “My girl, my sweet baby girl, I missed you so much.” 
“You saw me not three hours ago, Jamie.” You said gently, trying to urge him towards your shared bedroom. He finally relented, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and side-hugging you as you both walked down the hall (you walked at least, he stumbled). 
“I know! A whole three hours without seeing this pretty face.” He tried to boop your nose but ended up just pawing at your face. “How am I supposed to thrive under these conditions? I felt myself dying, I was being drained. You’re too cute to be kept from me.” You thanked your lucky stars he was probably too wasted to notice how his words affected you. 
You were always easily flustered by James, anytime he was his usual sickly sweet self your whole body heated and you couldn’t look him in the eye. He made you feel all too exposed and all too small at the same time. Thankfully, he was a kind boyfriend and rarely used his powers to torment you (despite how much he wanted to declare his love for you every second of every day). But apparently, in his impaired state he either didn’t remember how he made you suffer or didn’t care. 
You walked through the bedroom (having to tug James away from the bed, which was very difficult considering he was both strong and dead weight), into the ensuite. 
“You’ve gotta brush your teeth, Jamie.” He whined but complied, grabbing his toothbrush and jumping onto the counter like a little kid. "Thank you." You said, being extra gentle with him in this state.
“How am I supposed to disobey when you sound so cute bossing me around?” You rolled your eyes, trying to keep from getting dizzy with affection. You put some paste onto his brush and he got to cleaning his teeth, keeping his doe-eyes on you the whole time. He brushed for about 20 seconds before jumping from the counter, spitting and rinsing his mouth. He didn’t waste any time grabbing for you. 
“Jamie, c’mon, let’s get you changed.”
“Yeah? You gonna strip me down, baby?” You stifled a pained laugh, turning to ash on the spot. “If you wanted me naked you just had to say so, you didn’t have to pretend there was another reason. Sneaky girl.” He grabbed your face in his hands and squished your cheeks, kissing your pushed-out lips. You shook him off and he quickly started undressing down to his boxers. Once he was done with that he grabbed you again. 
“Let’s get to bed.” You tried to gently lead him over but he flung you both onto the mattress. You every so gently pulled his glasses form his face, folding them and setting them on the nightstand.
“Never stop touching me, I can’t handle it.” He whined, looking deep into your eyes with enough love to make your chest burn. “You’re too pretty to let go. Way too pretty. You’re like, glowing. You always are. It’s no fair, Angel.” He grabbed your face in his hands and started kissing all over your face. 
You had a feeling the night was nowhere close to being over. 
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classyrbf · 2 months
Text
BLINDED BY LUST!
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SYNOPSIS...your situationship with the older man was supposed to be no more than casual sex, but you found yourself falling for him knowing he didn’t feel the same. All Toji wanted was a girl who’d give him the attention he craved, so when he found out you caught feelings, he called it off. Though, he finds himself looking for you in every other girl he meets
INFO...dilf!toji x fem!reader, angst, situationship, slight age gap (reader in early 20s, toji in early 30s), reader has feelings for toji but he doesn’t feel the same, implied sex, partying, drinking, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
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The morning sun broke through the curtains of Toji’s bedroom, beams of light falling upon his face as he awoke. A tired groan left his lips as he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. A cold breeze hit his skin as he pulled the duvet off of his body. A pounding feeling erupted in his head as he sat up, remnants of last night popping into his head. The scent of a subtle but strong perfume filled his nostrils befkre he was reminded of the woman he had brought home with him. He looked over his shoulder with narrow eyes, the girls long, silky black hair laid out across the silk pillow. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath as she soundly slept comfortably in his bed. Toji rolled his eyes at the sight, looking away from her.
Clothes were thrown across the wooden floor of his bedroom, his and hers mixed up. He grabbed a pair of sweats from his dresser, quickly throwing them on as he walked to the restroom to use it and brush his teeth. It was obvious Toji had brought her here for sex, though he can barely remember talking to her last night. How much did he drink? He light out a sigh, spitting out the toothpaste into the sink before rinsing his mouth out. Staring at his reflection, his fingertips ran over his eye bags, a significant sign of age and lack of sleep that he was getting. He popped open the bottle of Tylenol, downing two pills with a quick sip of water from the sink.
“Morning.” Toji stopped in his tracks as he heard a soft voice call out to him. He looked up and saw the girl he had brought home was awoke, hair frizzy with a lazy smile on her face as she covered up her naked body with the fluffy duvet. Toji walked into the room, giving her silent nod of approval. “I had a good time last night.” She reached her hand out to his arm, squeezing at his bicep, her acrylic nails slightly digging into his skin. “Breakfast?” She asked.
“I’d love to, but uh, I got somewhere to be.” He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging her hand off of him. He could see the evident pout in her features. “Work stuff, you know?” He let out a light chuckle. The girl nodded back. He looked down at the floor, grabbing her panties for her as she began to get dressed. “Here.” He held up the thin piece of fabric.
“Thanks.” She grabbed them from him and slipped them on. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again. No string attached, of course.” She bit down on her bottom lip as she buttoned her jeans. Toji was all too familiar with the ‘no strings attached’ rules. He’s done it a million times before, all different women, older and younger, either way they didn’t mean much to him. The last relationship he had like that was with someone younger, nearly a decade younger than him. Though he was enjoying his time with her, it turned out all the same, the forbidden events of catching feelings and losing it all. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t deal with another relationship, it’s not what he wanted, it’s not what you both agreed to.
“Hey!” The woman’s voice snapped him out his thoughts, now realizing that she was standing in front of him. He looked down at the small piece of paper in her hand, numbers scribbled on it. “Call me if anything.” She placed a kiss on his cheek, smirking at him as she walked out and out the front door of his apartment. He inspected the numbers on the paper, scoffing and crumpling it up in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even remember last night, doesn’t even know if it felt good, if it was worth it. Why was he even doing this if each time he ends up feeling nothing and forgetting everything in the end?
He plopped down on the edge of his bed, letting out a deep sigh and throwing the small piece of paper somewhere into the corner of his room. He’ll clean it up later. He can’t stand another night of getting drunk at a random club or bar taking every girl he lays eyes upon back to his house. He used to love it, love the adrenaline it gave him, but now it just tires him out, fogs his mind. Maybe he was getting too old for this.
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The time went by slowly as you sat at your desk, waiting for the moment you could finally go home. The office was quiet, not much work had to be done today, yet you were still asked to stay just in case. Getting a job fresh out of university wasn’t for the weak. Being put to work immediately right after getting your degree felt like an entire alternate universe. You went from having fun and hanging out with friends to working full time and always tired, too tired to even do errands. “Y/n, still here?” Your coworker asked.
“Mm, yeah.” You rubbed your eyes. “I think I’m gonna head out though.” You pressed the off button on your computer, putting your belongs into your bag. Your coworker hummed in response, giving you a quickly goodbye as you walked out of the office. The walk to your car was silent, left you thinking about how quickly your life has changed. You thought about the time you were in college in a few months ago and met this guy who always came into the coffee shop that you worked at part time. He was tall, handsome, had dark hair and an intimidating presence. He was older than you, but you didn’t mind. You find him cute, handsome, flirting with him just for fun because what else was there to do at the boring job you worked around. Surprisingly, he would flirt back, always make an appearance and made sure to come in when you worked. He came in so much that you memorized his order, you still remember to this day.
It was a mistake to indulge in that stupid crush of yours, to accept the invite to his house to have ‘dinner’. That dinner ended turning into something much more. Deep conversations about life and what you wanted to do after graduation. You got to know each other very well in just the few hours you hung out with him and before you knew it, you ended up in his bed. It didn’t happen once either, it kept happening again and again. It was a dangerous game you were playing, especially with a man who was nearly a decade older than you. He was everything you wanted in a man, secure in his work, his own place and car, makes money, spoils you, and fucks you good. All the other boys you were with in college didn’t compare to him, he brought breath or fresh air into your life. It was just one thing that bugged you, something you knew you couldn’t bring up to him.
He wasn’t the type to commit to anything. It was clear from the very start he was only looking for something temporary. Each time he called you up it’ll be to ask you if you were busy and if you could stop by his place. You already knew what he was asking for, and you knew it was the only way to get his attention and be close with him. It crushed you inside, especially when you both agreed this would turn into nothing more, but the lingering touches he leave on your skin told a different story. The way his arms wrapped around your waist and he held you close after sex made you feel a sense of hope. The times you two would eat breakfast at the dining table, laughing at how much syrup you’d douse your pancakes in. All those things gave you a false thought that maybe he’d feel the same.
Was he doing it on purpose to play with your feelings? Did he know that a young girl like you would fall so easily into his trap and find amusement in breaking your heart? The weight of holding the truth was heavy on your shoulders. You remember the night you told him, finally confessing your feelings for him regardless of how he felt. You couldn’t stand keeping it to yourself anymore and you felt like you couldn’t tell anyone about your relationship with him without getting shamed for it. Afraid you’d be told how stupid you were to fall for an older man, how he’d never feel the same and he was only using you because how naive you were. It was that night that you texted him, asking to meet up. You made your way to his apartment, heart thumping in your chest as you recited what you were going to say over and over in your head.
When you saw his face, it’s like all thoughts went out the window. Everything that you had planned on saying to him seemed to have disappeared. “Missed me?” He asked jokingly as he allowed you in. You wanted to say yes, give him the truthful answer, but all you did was laugh it off. Toji didn’t expect the mood to change so suddenly when you said you need to talk to him. In his head, he already knew what it was about. He’s been through this situation too many times before not to know. His smile dropped as you dropped the words his didn’t want to hear.
“I have feelings for you.” The silence was deafening and left you feeling like an idiot as you sat there and watched him walk over to kitchen counter to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Typical. He sighed, gulping down the bitter liquid before his eyes met yours.
“I thought we agreed that we weren’t gonna catch feelings.” He clenched his jaw, running his hand over his face. Immediately, you knew that he didn’t feel the same and it all came crashing down on you that maybe you shouldn’t have said a word. “You should’ve known better. I should’ve known better than to mess with a young girl like you.” Another sigh left his lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You grew defensive at his words.
A bitter laugh left his lips. “What do you think it means? You’re too young, live off attention and fall for anyone who gives it to you.”
You were at a loss for words. “So you’re saying it’s my fault? Were you not the one cuddling me after ‘meaningless sex’? Were you not the one cooking breakfast for the both of us when I stayed over? Were you not the one offering to buy me things? What’d you expect?!” You were bewildered that he was putting this all on you when he was the one treating this like a relationship in the first place.
“I expected you to understand,” he bluntly spoke. “Clearly I overestimated your ability to.” He stared at you with dead eyes. You couldn’t put this all on him, you knew from the beginning what you were getting into, but sometimes the heart wants what it wants you couldn’t stop yourself. So, you blame yourself too. Maybe you were too young to understand. You guess this is how he’s treated all the other women that came before you, they understood him better. “I was just looking for a good time.”
Your throat felt like it was closing in. What more could you say to him? It’s not like you were going to change his mind. He’s said what he said. This wasn’t a fairytale romance where he magically falls for you, what were you thinking? He’s a man in his thirties who isn’t tied down yet and that should’ve been loud enough for you, yet here you, indulging in everything he had to offer, all for a little fun. “I was too, I guess I got too carried away,” you spoke just above a whisper. Embarrassing. Without saying another word, you hurriedly left his apartment and never looked back. It was best to leave and forget about it. Forget about him.
Thinking back on it, you wish you would’ve ignored him, treated him like a normal customer that came into the coffee shop. It would’ve saved you so much time, so much confusion. You never spoke to him against after that talk, blocking his number on the way out of his apartment so you’d never be tempted to contact him again. Now, all you do is go to work and sit at home, binge watching your favorite shows and movies while you eat a standard microwaved meal. Boring, but it was your life now. The young girl in you itched for drama and fun, but you had to remind yourself you’re getting older and that life will no longer be benefit you. Dabbling in things you have no business in will only lead to consequences. You had to figure that out the hard way. Obviously.
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It was the first night in weeks that Toji hasn’t gone out in search of a woman to accompany him, give him temporary pleasure only to forget about it in the next few hours. Hell, the woman earlier this morning, he didn’t even remember her name. Did she even know his? He was bored out of his mind, stuck inside his head as he watched the show on his tv, clearly trying to occupy himself. He stood up to his feet, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled and looked at the small piece of white paper he had thrown in the corner of the room earlier.
He was debating it, calling her. Anything to make this boredom go away. He just didn’t want her thinking this would be the start of something, it wasn’t interested in going down that path again.
“I was too, I guess I got too carried away.” Your voice rang in his head like an echo. He immediately sat back down on his bed. It was a reminder to him how he almost got too carried away. He was slipping, becoming too soft. Those nights he let you stay over, cook breakfast with him. The way he cuddled you, held you close against him and kissed your forehead. How quick he was to buy you anything he wanted, the urge to treat you like you deserved to be treated. He could see it in your eyes how much you longed for him, but he was hoping it was just him being delusional. He was wrong, unfortunately.
He had to pull back away from you, immediately recognizing what he was doing. He never thought it’d hurt as much as it did when he told you he was only looking for good time. Toji couldn’t tell the difference between love and lust. That was his problem. But why doesn’t he get that same adrenaline rush when he gets the woman he was eyeing at the bar all night? He has no problem getting in a girls pants, but all these woman end up turning out the same. He gets so drunk he blacks out and completely loses the feeling. He tries to ignore the voices in his head, the ones telling him that he’s searching for you in every girl he brings back in his bed. Why was he so different with you? Why could he always relish in the feeling you gave him after he came down from his high? He hates it.
He never had to get drunk to be with you. Each time you were around him he was sober, not an ounce of alcohol flowing through his body. All you had to do was be around him to give him that same feeling he gets when drunk. He can’t describe it. He describe you. For all he knows, you’ve most likely forgotten about him. It was for the best though. Most likely he’d break your heart either way. You were young lively girl who had her whole life ahead of her. You were only slowing yourself down getting caught up with him. But when he saw you, he couldn’t help but fall for that pretty smiling and those dazzling eyes. Even when you were having bad at work, he remembers the way your face would light when he’d walk in, immediately telling him about all the shitty customers you’ve had. You two clicked immediately. He was intrigued when you’d flirt back with him, chuckling at your little flirty remarks.
Why can’t he get you off his mind? Toji groaned, clenching his eyes shut as he falls back onto his bed. The show he was watching falls upon deaf ears as he stared up at the ceiling. If he does go out tonight, what were the chances he’d bring another stranger home? He already knew the answer, but deep down he wanted to test himself. So, that’s what he decided to do. It was his life regardless and it was another way to distract himself of you.
Part 2?
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sluttywonwoo · 7 months
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thinking about ji coming home from the studio hyped as fuck knowing he made another banger and he wants to celebrate but you’re asleep. good thing you told him he can fuck you in your sleep so he does just that. spooning you from behind while he slowly moves in and out and softly caresses your thighs and shoulders so you don’t wake up. hnnng. -💛
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they popped the fancy champagne tonight. it was a bottle they had been saving for a special occasion, a gift from someone with more money than they knew what to do with.
the track they’d been working on was far from perfect but it was finished and that was a huge feat in itself. chan, changbin, and jisung had been wrestling with the song for months. they kept pushing it to the back burner, telling themselves they’d save it for the next comeback, the next album, the next single. they would’ve tossed it had all three of them not been convinced it was good. it had the potential to be a title track if they could just figure out what was missing.
well, tonight jisung did just that and they celebrated like one of them had just won the lottery, drinking the sparkling wine out of paper cups from the water dispenser.
“it’s getting late, you should get home if you want to ride that high,” chris advised, giving jisung a knowing look.
the other two producers were well aware of how jisung liked to work off his adrenaline. you called to tell them as much, cursing them out over the phone for making too many good songs because you were tired of waking up sore.
jisung could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck and blossoming on his cheeks but he didn’t try to deny what his leader was implying because they both knew it was true. changbin even threw in an (un)helpful “go easy on her!” as jisung packed his bag and walked out the door, leaving a couple very confused staff members behind.
he was still buzzed when he made it home. he doesn’t drink often so he’s a bit of a lightweight but he stopped in the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the sink in an effort to rehydrate and prevent any hangover symptoms come morning.
the bedroom is dark. the whole house is dark but jisung had been holding out hope that maybe you had just tucked yourself away for the night and were still awake. maybe you were cozy in bed with a book or scrolling through your phone while you waited for him. he had no such luck.
he curses under his breath when he sees you curled up on your side beneath the covers, sighing quietly to himself. you’re even snoring softly. he should’ve asked his driver to go faster… but he didn’t want to stress the guy out. he doesn’t even know how long you’ve been asleep so it might’ve been in vain anyway.
jisung figures he should get ready for bed too so he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth before slipping back into your room to grab something to sleep in. light from the bathroom spills into the bedroom, illuminating your side of the bed. he couldn’t tell before, but now that he can see you properly he realizes your shoulders are bare.
he blinks a couple of times just to be sure he isn’t seeing things.
jisung is used to you not wearing pants to bed but you usually wear one of his t-shirts because you get kind of cold during the night.
is it possible you’re… completely naked under there? jisung’s dick twitches at the thought.
he’d taken a cold shower in an effort to resolve his… excitement but it didn’t really help. he’s still half-hard and the idea that you’d been waiting for him like this is enough to make even more blood rush to his cock.
he quietly tiptoes over to his own side of the bed where he pulls back the blankets to reveal your sleeping figure.
his breath catches when his suspicions are confirmed. you had in fact, not worn anything to bed.
it had to be a sign, right? you’d talked about it before— several times, actually. your sex drives are pretty equal, which is kind of surprising considering how horny jisung is. but since he’s always working, you don’t get much time to indulge each other in that way. at least, not as much time as you’d like.
a solution you’d offered was sex while one of you was sleeping. jisung immediately agreed to it. he would let you do anything you wanted to him. but he was more hesitant to be the one to initiate when you were sleeping.
he knew it was a fantasy of yours, he knew it was a fantasy of his, it just felt so wrong to take advantage of you when you were unconscious.
but this feels like the perfect opportunity. he was already full of adrenaline and you’re naked in the bed you shared and his cock is starting to ache with how hard he is…
“fuck it.”
he decides against pajamas for the time being and crawls into bed with you. if you’re already naked he might as well be too.
jisung lets out a sigh of relief when you don’t wake up to the movement of the mattress. you shift a bit in your sleep as he gets settled but that’s it.
your warmth draws your boyfriend in, closer and closer until he’s practically spooning you. he’s hardly breathing because he’s scared of waking you up but in order to continue with his plan he has to move you. he starts with a hand on your hip before bringing it down to your knee so that he can part your thighs, pausing when he finds you’re already wet.
fuck, had you fallen asleep touching yourself?
“were your own fingers not enough, baby?” he whispers, condescension dripping from his voice even though you can’t hear a word he’s saying. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”
jisung still wants to make sure you’re stretched enough for him so he slips one finger inside of you, then two. they’re met with little resistance but jisung keeps them in for a little longer, stroking up on that spot that makes you gush.
he works you up but doesn’t push you over the edge because he knows cumming will definitely wake you up. once he’s satisfied with his efforts, he inches even closer to you until his body is flush with yours.
since you fuck in this position all the time, it’s easy for jisung to line himself up and push into you.
he makes a quiet sound of relief when he bottoms out and has to fight the urge to bite and/or kiss your shoulder like he usually would. you let out a little sound of your own and jisung imagines the way your face must be scrunching up as you adjust to the feeling of being full. his hips stutter forward involuntarily at the thought and he freezes… waiting to see if he’s woken you up.
he doesn’t start moving again until your breathing evens out, caressing your thigh with his calloused palm to soothe you as he builds momentum.
it’s a lot slower than the sex you usually have but it’ll definitely be enough for jisung to cum. just the idea of fucking you in your sleep turns him on so much that he’s having trouble holding back even now when he’s barely started.
“so wet for me, baby. need me all the time, huh? even in your dreams.”
“ji?”
fuck, he’d pushed his luck too much with the talking. his mouth was always getting him in trouble.
you try to turn around but jisung holds you in place. “shhh, baby it’s okay. go back to sleep.”
“when did you get home? did you finish the song? ah- what… what are you doing?”
you know what he’s doing, even in your half-awake state. still, you want to hear him say it.
“i’m um… i, do you want me to stop?”
you shake your head and let your eyes fall shut again.
“don’t stop, feels good.”
“thank god,” your boyfriend groans, wrapping his arms around you in a full embrace, relieved that he can touch you as much as he wants to now.
“we finished the song, baby,” he tells you between kisses to your neck. “rushed home to celebrate with you.”
“i’m s-sorry i fell asleep!” you whine.
“nothing to be sorry for, my love. came home and found you all wet and needy… worked out perfectly, wouldn’t you say?”
“i missed you,” is the only response you offer.
“yeah? were you wishing it was me touching you instead of yourself?”
“yes,” you whimper, “couldn’t… couldn’t cum.”
jisung pouts and lets the expression seep into his voice. “poor thing. i bet you were so frustrated.”
“mhm.”
“what about now though, baby? think you can cum for me?”
you nod, almost head butting your boyfriend.
“‘m so close…”
“already?”
“i woke up with your dick inside me, what do you want from me?”
jisung laughs. “sorry, babe. you’re right. should we cum together? do you think you can hold it a little longer?”
“i’ll try,” you promise.
“that’s my girl.”
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writingcroissant · 4 months
Text
Late Nights and Faerie Wine | Azriel x reader
Summary: Azriel takes care of his drunk mate.
A/N: I know Azriel's shadows are an exception when it comes to wards, and I know they could have just gone to the townhouse instead, but let's just accept my half-assed justification attempts for the sake of this story, shall we? Anyway, let me know what you think and whether you’d like a second part with drunk Azriel. ♡
Word count: 2215
Warnings: alcohol, language, suggestiveness (if that’s a warning?), some teeth-rotting fluff at the end
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Azriel did his best to fight the wheeze that threatened to part his lips when he finally reached the very top of the ten thousand stairs leading up to the House of Wind. It had been a while since he last had to climb them on foot. Some two hundred years, to be exact. He certainly hadn't missed it. Especially with the extra weight.
He felt her chin on his shoulder, her hair blowing in the wind and tickling his nose. She'd kept her arms and legs looped tightly around him to hold herself up throughout the entirety of his ascent, and only now did she slide off his front to land on wobbly legs.
"Wooow," she drawled, grinning at him when he took hold of her elbows to keep her from tumbling back down all those steps. "You're real strong, Azzie. I would have vomited somewhere around that third flight of stairs."
He fought a smirk as he watched her attention flicker to the stars above.
"Might I remind you that you did vomit."
She waved her hand dismissively.
"Well, yeah," she said. "But I would have vomited much more if you hadn't carried me."
Azriel brushed a strand of hair from her face to tuck it behind her ear. "You're welcome."
Of course his original plan had entailed a simple flight home. An arm beneath her knee, one behind her back, home within a few minutes. Simple. He'd done it a thousand times before.
Tonight, however, they'd only made it up to the height of some 3000 stairs when she'd suddenly announced that she was going to be sick. Which she then had been. Thoroughly.
She'd emptied her stomach into a bush for ten whole minutes, while Azriel had held back her hair and stroked a soothing palm over the length of her back.
He'd never known her to be motion sick, but then again, she didn't usually spend her nights binge drinking with Mor either. And since winnowing of any sort wasn't possible within the bounds of the House of Wind... up the stairs he went.
She lifted a hand to pat his cheek twice, and her gaze softened. "You're a good friend, Azriel. Loyal." A grin split her face in two. "Finding someone who is willing to carry you up one trillion stairs is..." she narrowed her eyes in search of the right word. "Rare."
Azriel chuckled softly, turning his head to nip the tip of her thumb with his teeth. She drew her hand back laughing.
"Anytime, sweetheart," he said, smiling. He leaned the tiniest bit closer, and delighted in the way she craned her neck a bit closer as well. She didn't seem to even realise she was doing it. "But call me a friend again, and I'll let you climb those last thousand steps on your own next time."
His smile widened when she burst into a fit of bubbly laughter, throwing her arms around his neck to hang most of her weight on him. He felt her joy shoot across the bond, though he did his best to muffle it as much as his heart allowed.
When he'd gone to pick her up earlier, he'd almost grown a little light-headed from all the alcohol she'd consumed, so he tried to keep a lid on the bond for both their sakes.
"There's something else I'd like to climb." A suggestive grin exposed most of her teeth as she tilted her head back as far as her neck allowed to stare up at him from where she kept her chin pressed to his chest.
Azriel smiled and gently pushed her off him by her upper arms to turn her towards the warmth promised within the House of Wind.
"Let's get you inside first," he suggested.
"Yeah, let's."
Her first step was a bit too enthusiastic, almost sending her into a stumble that would have ended in her face-planting the stone floor if Azriel hadn't maintained his hold on her arms. But she soon found her rhythm. A slow one, yes, but a rhythm nonetheless.
They'd almost made it up the stairs that led to their bedroom when Cassian turned a corner.
If Cassian hadn't noticed her state of intoxication from the instable stand she maintained, he certainly would have when she threw her arms wide open to fall face first against his chest.
"Cass, I'm so glad you're here!"
The Lord of Bloodshed threw a bewildered look at his shadow-wielding brother, who sighed through his nose in return.
"I'm so glad you're here, too, sweetheart," Cass then grinned, scrunching his nose when she pushed off him to stagger back into Azriel's awaiting arms. "You and half of Rita's liquor cabinet judging by your breath." He pushed the air from his lungs in a long exhale. "I'd stay away from open flames if I were you."
"You're so funny," she snorted, seeking out Azriel's hand behind her back. "But don't mind us, we're on a mission."
"Oh yeah?" Cassian asked, grinning when he leaned back against the wall to cross his arms over his chest. He ignored the warning in Azriel's eyes. "And what mission is that?"
She turned to run the tip of her nose up the length of Azriel's neck, and he couldn't suppress a shiver at the cold that still clung to her skin.
Her voice was soft when she spoke—so unlike her previous vigour, and incredibly unfitting in the face of her words.
"Getting your brother to do me."
Cassian snorted, and Azriel stared at her, perplexed.
"I'm sure he'd be more than willing to comply." Cassian grinned at his brother as he spoke, and Azriel could have throttled him.
Azriel’s attention only snapped back to his intoxicated mate when she gave a heavy sigh and slumped a bit further into his side.
"I doubt it," she muttered. "Whenever I drink, he gets real stingy with the di—"
"Alright, that's enough, my love," Azriel mumbled, meeting her gaze when she turned to look up at him. "He gets the idea."
Cassian snickered. "I love how she has no filter when she's drunk."
"I'm not drunk!" she gasped as soon as the words had left his mouth, outrage edged into her features when she looked at him. "That's the point!"
"Oh please," Cass snorted. "You’re shitfaced. Though I must say, I'm surprised you're still in control of your tongue. My words would be losing their suffixes by now."
The smile on her face grew sultry when she turned back to look at Az, fingers spread on his chest.
"Hear that?" she said, tilting her head ever so slightly as her gaze flickered to Azriel’s mouth. "I'm still very much in control of my tongue."
“Alright,” Azriel sighed, though the corners of his lips gave a telling twitch. He once again took gentle hold of her elbows before turning and steering her further down the hall. “Time to go to bed. Say goodnight to Cass.”
“Good night, Cass!” she threw over her shoulder, to which the Lord of Bloodshed snickered.
“Good night, sweetheart. Make good choices.”
As soon as they reached their bedroom, all remaining strength seemed to leave her muscles at once, and she flopped face first onto the bed, arms spread like the wings of a bird mid-flight.
“Do you need help getting ready for bed?” Azriel asked, suppressing a smile as he dug one of his old shirts from the depth of a drawer.
She rolled to her back and sat up, blinking slowly.
Passing over his question, she began to speak, lids heavy.
“I have some bad news.”
“Yeah?” Azriel asked, all the while unbuckling his leathers.
“Yeah,” she said, her tone as grave as the expression on her face. “I think I’m in no shape to have sex right now.”
Amusement pulled the corners of Azriel’s lips higher when he watched her sigh as though her puppy had just passed. “That’s too bad, my love.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “But we’ll totally have sex tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
A crease appeared between her brows. “You don’t sound enthusiastic at all, Azriel. Are you even excited?”
“So excited!” Azriel said with the necessary vigour in his tone, bending down for the tip of his nose to brush hers. He lifted a palm to cup her face and smiled when her eyes fluttered closed at his touch. “I won’t be able to think about anything else,” he said, only half lying. “Now, please lift your arms.”
She did as she was told, and Azriel pulled her shirt over her head, followed closely by skilled fingers unhooking her bra before he held open the collar of his shirt for her to easily stick her head through.
It went well until she confused the slits for his wings with the armholes and got caught in the fabric, laughing when Azriel attempted to untangle her.
As soon as she was free, she fell back onto the mattress with a loud exhale, and Azriel proceeded to open the laces on her pants. With a gentle tap of his hand against her hip, she lifted her butt just far enough for him to pull the fabric down her legs.
“You know what, Azriel?”
“What, my love?”
“You’re really pretty.”
When Azriel lifted his head to meet her gaze, he found her watching him from where she still lay with her back to the mattress, a cheeky grin on her face.
Azriel felt his own cheeks lift as he smirked to himself and left for the briefest of moments to fetch her a glass of water. When he returned, she’d already managed to slip beneath the blanket, and suddenly she looked soft enough for Azriel’s heart to skip a beat.
He transferred the glass into her awaiting hands before dropping the last of his leathers and joining her in bed. A slight flinch tore through him when ice-cold feet found his legs, and he narrowed his eyes at her when she chuckled in response.
“Is that the thanks I get for carrying you up one trillion stairs?”
“No, I already told you, you’ll get that tomorrow,” she grinned, to which Azriel gave a soft snort.
As soon as she’d placed the now-empty glass on her nightstand, Azriel wrapped his arm around her mid-section to drag her across the mattress until her back hit his chest and she gave yet another laugh.
He closed his eyes when he lowered his face to her neck, inhaling the scent that—even despite the time spent in a crowded pub—still smelled so distinctly like her it made his head cloud with adoration.
“I love you,” he breathed against her skin, noting with satisfaction the way she shivered at the tone and feel of his words so close to her ear.
Her hand found his, and she wrapped nimble fingers around his wrist to curl his arm a bit tighter around her until his palm lay pressed to her ribcage, her fingers intertwined with his.
“And I love you,” she whispered into the comfortable silence of the room. “Thank you for taking me home.”
He breathed a kiss to the edge of her jaw. “Anytime.”
“You know what, Azriel?” she asked for the second time tonight, her words growing heavier by the second.
“What, my love?”
“Before I met you, I always stopped after two drinks, tops.”
Azriel smirked. “Are you saying I’m turning you into an alcoholic?”
“No,” she drawled, turning in his arms until she faced him, her body still pressed to his, her face now mere centimetres away. He couldn’t stop his gaze from flickering to her lips when she spoke. “I’m saying you make me feel safe. I know you’ll always be there on the other end of that line, looking out for me. When I feel you tug on the bond just to check in, and I know you’d be there within seconds if I needed you to, it’s… the best feeling in the world.”
She lifted a hand to his face, gentle fingertips tracing his lips as though following the lines of a precious art piece.
Azriel swallowed.
“Always,” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ll always come when you need me to.”
A mischievous gleam entered her eyes, and Azriel knew he’d said the wrong thing before she so much as opened her mouth.
“Well, I’ll need you to do that tomorrow.”
Azriel snorted softly and drew the tip of her finger between his teeth in a teasing bite. “Leave it to your drunk ass to ruin the moment.”
She giggled, curling deeper into his chest.
A long while passed with neither of them saying a word, and just when her breathing had grown deeper and Azriel thought that she’d managed to fall asleep, her quiet tone broke the silence once again.
“Azriel?”
He smiled, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“Yes, my love?”
“I’ll always look out for you, too.”
He swallowed again, pulling her a bit closer, and this time, when her breathing evened out, Azriel was sure that she really was asleep now. And as he held her to his chest, and felt the emotion grow where her heart beat right next to his, he knew that she’d meant it.
-
Read part two with drunk Az here!
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chxrryhansen · 1 month
Note
hi baby! wasn’t sure if you did headcannons, but i have one if you do!
clubbing with rafe? sfw and nsfw!
thank u sweetie! — 💞
hi sweetheart! i have no idea how to write headcanons so this is my first attempt🫶🏻 ive also never written sfw or fluff so here we go!
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sfw: in my head rafe is the type to never leave your side no matter what, oh you need to pee? he’s there watching you do it so no creeps follow you into the bathroom. you need to throw up? hes outside holding your hair while you puke into a bush.
he never NEVER. lets you pay for your own drinks, your his baby and he takes care of you and buys you everything you want bc thats what daddys like him do😌 and his hand is always covering the top of your drink (hes obviously holding it while you dance, duh)
if you don’t feel like bringing a purse/bag that night he definitely fills his pockets with all your shit, your lip gloss, keys, phone. anything you want, he’s got it.
if you start getting a little too drunk he’s there at your side, holding you upright as you stumble giggling at how uncoordinated you are. “cmon pretty girl, time to go.” or “i think you’ve had enough to drink now, sweetheart.”
when you get home he takes you into the bathroom, brushing your teeth for you as you sit on the toilet seat with your eyes closed. he changes your clothes and takes off your pretty dress, pulling you into a pair of his shorts and one of his shirts, he makes sure to tuck you in and wipe your makeup off with a cloth before applying your skincare and he fetches a glass of water upstairs for you alongside some paracetamol (or aspirin) to make sure you don’t wake up with a killer headache
nsfw: rafe wouldn’t dream of letting you dance alone, even if it means hes standing there like a brick wall, barely even moving his hips while you grind your ass up against him, rubbing on his bulge.
hes soooo protective so he definitely makes sure to stare down every guy in the club with his hand wrapped around your waist, just so they know your his. alongside marking up your neck with love bites before you leave the house, blotches of purple/red marks layered on your skin.
when your teasing grinding gets too much for him hes so quick to pull you into the bathroom, fucking you in one of the stalls. your hands pressed up against the wall, one thick hand around your waist and the other gripping your hair, his hips slamming into your ass from behind.
“dirty fuckin’ girl, letting daddy fuck you right here in public, such a naughty slut.”
“your just so needy and desperate for daddys cock you couldn’t even wait until we got home, huh?”
knowing FINE WELL he was the one who couldn’t wait, your pretty little body driving him crazy. he def gets off on the stares you both get as you leave the bathroom, your hair messy and your makeup running down your cheeks from crying so hard on his cock. a smirk plastered across his face with one hand on your shoulder. the glares from envious men (and women) not slowing his speed one bit as he struts across the crowded club.
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moremaybank · 6 months
Text
INNOCENCE + STEPCEST — r.c
pairing rafe cameron x step-sister!reader
warnings unprotected sex, fingering, slight (??) oral sex (fem. receiving), stepcest (obvi), innocence kink, loss of virginity, rafe has a daddy kink, language/dirty talk
author's note i'm so sorry for the wait on this, but i hope it was worth it ♡︎
kinktober masterlist ;; rafe masterlist
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Rafe’s hot breath on your skin made the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and goosebumps started to form in response. His fingers pulled at the strings of your dress, loosening the straps so he could gently tug them down your shoulders. He littered wet kisses there as his nose took in your scent. 
Sweet, hypnotizing, you.
“You’re so beautiful, princess,” he breathed, turning you around to face him. His warm palms brushed over your covered nipples, feeling them perk up beneath his touch. Your breath grew shaky as his hands trailed down your sides, skimming over your waist, hips and thighs. They slipped underneath the bottom of your dress, teasing the waistband of your panties. “So pure.” 
“Rafe, we shouldn’t.” Your voice trembled and you shivered. “It’s not right.” 
“It is, baby. It is right. You just don’t know it yet.”
You watched Rafe crouch down, raising the bottom of your dress above your hips. His nose traced your slit, feeling the soft cotton and lace fabric rubbing against it. He inhaled deeply, eyes rolling back as he savoured it. Pulling the thin number down your legs, he let them pool around your ankles before helping you step out of them. He pocketed them, saving them for later when he couldn’t have you with him, under him. 
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmured timidly. Your cheeks were hot to the touch, and the nerves were taking over. Rafe was gorgeous. Dangerous and thrilling, so much so that you didn’t know what to do with yourself when you were around him. He made you feel things you hadn’t known to exist, a million different feelings flooding you and leaving you breathless.
“That’s okay, sweet girl. I’ll show you.” He rose back onto his feet, his hands now finding your face. He peered down into your eyes. “Bet you haven’t even touched yourself, have you? Don’t even know all the ways I’m gonna make you feel good.” 
Rafe’s hands stripped you of your dress, casting it away on the floor. His blue eyes lit up once he got a look at your body, stripped and completely bare before him. His hands moved delicately, brushing over your tits and stomach so lightly that you shivered. Then his touch dipped, ghosting over the front of your core. You trembled, slightly shocked, and a smile tugged at the corners of Rafe’s lips. 
“You’re like a doll. Dainty and soft and gentle. And if I’m not careful,” he pauses, his bottom lip sinking between his teeth momentarily, “I could break you.” 
You gulped, feeling the blood rush to your poor, untouched pussy. It throbbed at his words, his tone, hell, just him in general. But you were puzzled. You’d heard the rumours constantly circling the island about him. Rafe Cameron, Kook Prince. He could have anyone he wished. So, why did he want you?
“Rafe?” You voiced out, quiet as a mouse.
His head ducked down, and he dragged his lips across your clavicle, up your neck to the base of your jaw. He inhaled deeply, drinking in your fragrance again as he hummed in response. “Hm?”
“Why me?”  
Rafe pulled away from you, looking down into your eyes so deeply as if he was trying to hypnotize you. He probably could manage to do so, looking and speaking the way he did. But he guided your hand to the prominent bulge he was sporting, helping you rub on him gently. His broad chest rose as he sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering at the contact. 
“You see how hard you make me, sweet girl?” You managed to give him a nod, unsure if your voice was even still present. “You drive me insane, and I don’t even think you know it. Always wearin’ those short little skirts and dresses, smelling so damn good. At first, I thought you were just being coy, but now I know…you’re just innocent. Pure and clean. And baby, that just makes me want to ruin you. Do you want me to ruin you?” 
“Please,” you breathed. 
“Please what, baby? You want daddy to get you nice and dirty? Ruffle those perfect feathers?” 
You nodded again. “Yes.” 
“Say it. Say it for me.”
“Please make me dirty. I wanna be dirty for you, Rafe.” 
“Daddy,” he corrected. His hand found your throat, cupping it at first before squeezing a tad. “Not Rafe. Daddy.” 
“Please make me dirty, daddy.” 
“Good girl.” 
Rafe led you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He instructed you to lie down but prompted you to stay up on your elbows so you could watch him. “Eyes on me. Want you to watch, so every time you look down here, you’ll remember that I’m the only one who makes you feel good. Got it, angel?” 
“Yes, daddy,” you agreed. 
“See? Such a good girl already, listening to me and doing everything I say.” Rafe sunk to his knees again, using his large palms to urge your thighs apart. His fingers massaged your sensitive skin, inching closer to your core with each movement. His lips followed, leaving a trail of wet kisses up your flesh. When he reached your core, he let his tongue trace feather-light lines around you, letting his hot breath fan over your most intimate places. Then he upgraded to licking stripes through your folds. He flicked his tongue over your clit softly, watching you squirm for him at the foreign feeling. 
You felt hot, could feel the heat pricking at your skin and the nerves bubbling in your stomach. You weren’t quite sure of the ache in your core, or sure of what all these surfacing feelings for Rafe meant. But you knew without any doubt that you needed him in ways you couldn’t even comprehend. The thought of partaking in an act that you definitely shouldn’t have been, with someone equally as forbidden pulled at you. Reeled you in and promised not to release you if you didn’t explore it. 
Rafe’s thumb started to rub circles into your bundle of nerves, and he watched your mouth gape open. Your chest heaved as you kept your eyes trained on his actions. You let out a soft moan. 
“‘M warming you up, sweetheart. That feel good?” 
“So good,” you exhaled. “More, please.” 
“Yeah? You think you can handle it?” His hand came up to the seam of your lips, and he nudged his middle finger into your mouth as he ordered you to suck. You did, lathering his digit up in your spit. He gave you another crooked smile when he withdrew it from your mouth, and brought it down to your entrance, running through the slick seeping from you. He probed his finger, pushing in ever so slightly and revelling in the breathy moan that escapes you. Slowly, he slides inside, not stopping until he’s knuckle-deep. Your walls welcome him in, the fit tight and snug. “So tight, princess. Squeezin’ me so tight, and that’s just my finger.” 
You already felt an inexplicable feeling in your belly, barely there but beginning to rumble when he started to push in and out of you. A string of whines falls from your lips as he continues his work, each intrusion more euphoric than the last. His thumb brushes over your clit, starting to stimulate it again. 
“I want you to cum, baby. Can you do that for me?” He hooked the finger inside you, hitting a sweet spot inside of you and turning you into putty. He took your cries of pleasure as a yes and swapped out his thumb for his tongue. He lapped at you while speeding up his fingers, and eventually, you erupted. Your release gushed out of you, the warm, glowy feeling rushing through your body. The fine hairs on your skin stood high, your shivering sprouting them up, and you sunk into the mattress as you tried to catch your breath.
What Rafe had done to you was a rush. The way you felt was addicting, and you never wanted the pleasure to stop. You only wanted more. You couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on how wrong it was, because how could something so fucked up feel like heaven to you? 
You pawed at him, trying to get his attention. “I want more. Want you.” 
“I’m right here, princess. My finger’s still inside you. ‘N my mouth’s about to be back on you.”  
“You know what I mean,” you spoke, biting back a whine. You could see the ‘cat got the cream’ expression painted on his face. He knew you craved more than just his fingers or even his mouth. But he wanted to hear the filthy words on your tongue. 
“You can say it, sweet girl,” he encouraged. “Tell me you want my cock.” 
Your eyes left his, feeling raw and exposed under his heated gaze. He was already turning you into someone you couldn’t recognize, but it was someone you wanted to be. You looked at him again, speaking up. “I want your cock, daddy.” 
“There’s my good girl,” Rafe grinned, quickly working to rid himself of his clothing. He urged you to scoot up on the mattress, and he followed you, lying you at the head of the bed. Your legs spread on their own accord, allowing Rafe to slot his body in between them. You both could feel the heat radiating off of each other’s flesh, the desire burning so brightly that it might even blind you. Hell, it already had blinded you. 
Rafe cupped your cheek gently and leaned in, finally letting his lips mould with yours. It started slow, but not devoid of passion. Then it deepened, and his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, licking at you and letting you taste the remnants of your sweet release that still lingered on him. He sucked on your tongue, the action sending more fire between your legs. He pulled away just slightly, enough to speak against your lips. 
“I’m gonna take this slow, sweetheart. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?” 
“Yes, daddy,” you said, your doe eyes boring into his. 
The look on your face made Rafe’s head spin. You were a dizzying concoction of virtue and innocence, yet you were more than willing to be walked into the dark side by him. You would take his hand and let him tug you into the depths of hell and everything that accompanied it. He almost didn’t want to stain you, change you forever, but then he thought about how no one else had ever had you in a compromising position like this. No one had ever touched you or tasted you, or been inside of you the way he soon would be. And nothing would ever be great enough to make him walk away from that offer.
Drawing back from you, Rafe spat down onto your core, watching it dribble down your folds. He gripped his cock, guiding it through your folds to lube himself up. Unable to resist, he rutted his length against your clit, providing you both with some friction. He wanted you as wet as he could get you before he stretched you out, which wasn’t to say that you weren’t already dripping with both your arousal and release, but he wanted you on cloud nine when he finally buried himself inside you. 
“You ready, sweet girl?” His eyes found yours as his tip kissed your entrance. You nodded, giving him a yes as your hands ran up his forearms, bracing yourself. He pushed inside bit by bit, feeling the pure bliss of your tight, wet heat casing him in. It took everything in him not to slam inside of you because feeling you felt so damn good and he needed you fully wrapped around him. But still, he managed to take his time. 
Your body was tense, muscles clenching at the wide stretch of his intrusion. Your nails printed crescent shapes into his skin, and your eyes welled with tears. It stung, and Rafe noticed the pained look on your face.
“Hey,” he cooed, “Relax for me, yeah?” 
His fingers sought after your clit, massaging it the way he’d learned that you liked to relieve at least the tiniest bit of discomfort. He ducked his head down, letting his lips paint sweet kisses into the crook of your neck. He made his way up, eventually finding your mouth and kissing you as he finally bottomed out. The stimulation on your clit didn’t stop, only continued as you started to feel that pleasure inside. Rafe shifted, and the small movement filled you with butterflies. You looked up at him, eyes pleading silently as you moved your hips against him.
“Can I move, baby?” 
“Please.” 
He pecked your lips and began to pull out of you. He didn’t go too far before pushing in again, hearing you moan. He guided your legs around his waist, and you held him close, tighter and tighter as he continued thrusting into you. His lips peppered kisses anywhere they could reach, nibbling and sucking, licking, and whispering sweet words of praise as you took him. 
“You feel so good, princess. So fuckin’ tight, can barely take it.” 
Your hands moved from his arms, looping around the back of his neck as you stared up at him—the sight before you majestic. Rafe was undoubtedly perfect, so handsome and devilish. His lust lit his eyes up, making the blue orbs sparkle. His jaw was tense, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he took what he craved from you. His hands cascaded along your sides, squeezing your hips as he started to fuck you deeper, more calculated. His only goal was to turn you into putty in his hands, and he was far-past succeeding. 
“You like it, baby? Like the way I feel inside you?” He questioned. You whimpered out a yes, clutching onto him. “You gonna tell our parents how hard your big brother makes you cum?” 
Your walls started to clamp down on him, milking him as his words goaded you. 
“What about letting me fuck you while they’re home? Gonna have to be nice ‘n quiet if you don’t want them finding out about our little secret.”
Your cries had reached shameless heights, growing louder as the discomfort faded away completely. Rafe’s hands both cupped your face, holding your eyes on him as he wordlessly reminded you that he was the one responsible for the high you were riding. 
“Oh, baby,” he crooned. “You’re so beautiful. Knew it all this time. But you’re fuckin’ perfect while I’m fucking you.” 
The look on your face was pathetic, your brows pulled together and jaw slack as Rafe kept you locked in the intimate moment between you. He knew what he was doing, there was no doubt about it. He had you right where he wanted you, and to be honest, you didn’t want to be anywhere else. You now knew that all you needed was him. 
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He nosed at your cheek, leaving a kiss there too. You couldn’t manage anything more than a mewl, and his head rose to look at you. His voice carried a soft tone as he spoke. “Tell me.” 
You felt his intense gaze trained on you, even as your eyes shut for a swift moment. He was waiting for your response as if the tell-tale signs your body was giving him weren’t enough confirmation. 
“‘M gonna cum, daddy. I’m close,” you croaked. “Please let me cum.”
“You got it, sweet girl. Go ahead. S’gonna feel so good, promise.” His forehead plastered against yours as his thrusts grew more selfish. Your orgasm shattered you into a million pieces, the rush eliciting the loud call of Rafe’s name. He nodded, letting you feel it. “That’s it. There we go. So good, princess. So damn good.” 
He twitched inside of you, right at the edge, about to fall over. “Gonna cum inside you. Gonna claim you. You’re mine, got it?” 
You nodded, eyes hooded and hazy as you tilted your head up to kiss him. 
“Tell me you’re mine, baby.” 
“Yours,” you repeated. “All yours.” 
Your words gave him the final push, and he came inside you. You felt the warmth of his cum painting your walls, and you clenched around him again when his groan filled your ears. He cussed loudly, and nothing had ever sounded better. 
“That’s right,” he spoke, going back to your conversation from earlier. “You’re mine. No one else will ever have you the way I do.”
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RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE): @pankowperfection @maybankslover @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @softherveauxs @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @belcalis9503 @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafesthroatbaby @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy
2K notes · View notes
pinkrelish · 11 months
Text
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
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singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶"Can I kiss you?"✶
NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+
chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date
Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.
It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.
Oh, he remembered it all.
And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.
The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.
He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.
He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.
Oh, God.
His knees went weak.
Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.
“Good morning, hand—Oh?”
Eddie froze.
You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.
“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”
His lips parted.
Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?
“Eddie?”
“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.
Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.
Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”
Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.
“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.
“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.
“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”
Salvation reigned upon him.
Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”
In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.
“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”
Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.
You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”
“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.
“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”
As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.
Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 
The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.
You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.
He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”
“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.
“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”
A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”
“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”
You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.
Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.
“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”
He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”
By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.
Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.
————
It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.
You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.
Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.
DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)
              YES    or   NO
ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?
              YES    or   NO
By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.
Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.
You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.
(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)
Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.
You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.
Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.
The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.
“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”
Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”
“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.
“Never, never,” he promised.
Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.
“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.
There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.
The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.
Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.
what did you have in mind?
I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.
  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU
    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME
       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE
PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?
Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.
In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.
“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”
“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”
You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.
All night? He wished.
Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”
“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.
The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.
sounds perfect :)
YOURE PERFECT =)
For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.
Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.
————
Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.
“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”
There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”
“Rob,” you groaned.
“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.
The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”
Oh dear God get me out of here.
Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..
The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.
His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.
And yet?
Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.
You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.
“Hey there, sweetness.”
“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.
Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.
You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”
“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”
“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”
Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.
“Is that so strange?”
“It’s a little strange.”
“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.
What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.
He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.
Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.
“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.
You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”
“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”
The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.
It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.
The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.
So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.
“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”
So, no Adrie, and no uncle.
“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.
Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.
Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.
He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.
Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.
Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.
Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.
“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.
Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.
Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”
Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.
Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.
“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.
He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”
His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.
Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.
“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”
Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.
Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.
The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.
Right?
You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?
..Right?
Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.
The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.
“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.
“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.
Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.
Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.
He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.
“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.
“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.
“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”
“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”
You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”
“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”
Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.
Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.
“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.
Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.
“Sweet!”
Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.
“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”
You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”
His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”
Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.
“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”
You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.
Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.
Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.
Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.
The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.
Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”
And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.
He nodded.
Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.
He shifted. You shifted.
The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.
“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”
During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.
You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”
The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.
“And awkward.”
“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.
Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.
Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.
“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.
Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.
Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”
It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”
“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”
As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.
This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”
But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.
Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.
You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.
An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.
“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”
His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”
“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.
He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.
He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?
Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.
A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?
That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.
So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.
“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.
Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”
You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.
“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”
You squeezed.
He squeezed back.
Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.
Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.
Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.
You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”
Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.
At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?
~~~
The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.
Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”
“You should name a character after him in DND.”
“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”
With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.
He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”
“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”
Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.
You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.
You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.
He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”
Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”
He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.
“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”
“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”
“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”
It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.
“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”
A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.
If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”
Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
How sweet.
It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..
Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.
At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.
“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”
Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.
“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”
“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”
He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.
The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.
You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—
He dropped his gaze to your lips.
Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?
Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.
Was the unspoken language shouting now?
Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”
You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.
The floor beneath him creaked.
Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.
The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.
Briefly, you considered uttering his name.
The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.
Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.
He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”
Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”
Well, at least you could always make him laugh.
~~~
Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.
Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.
Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.
The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.
You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.
Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.
“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.
You were stunned at the effort.
The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.
Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.
“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”
His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.
As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.
“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.
When they came to a rest, you both sighed.
“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”
Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”
You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”
“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.
Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.
Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..
Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.
He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.
“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.
His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.
Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.
“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.
Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.
The pressure to continue conversation waned.
He squeezed.
You squeezed back.
~~~
Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.
While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.
Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.
Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.
Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.
Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.
The air was thick with awareness.
You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.
He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.
Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..
Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?
Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?
What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?
Shit.
While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.
The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.
Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—
You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”
Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.
You remembered you remembered you remembered—
“If you adore me so much..” you added.
Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.
Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.
He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.
You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.
Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.
His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.
The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.
“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.
You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”
He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.
He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”
You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.
Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.
Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”
“Eddie—”
The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.
Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.
Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.
Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.
Hums lowered into a depraved moan.
The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.
There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.
Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.
He really did worry too much.
Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.
You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”
The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.
“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.
For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.
Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.
Just let go.
He listened.
As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.
He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.
Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.
He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.
But it wasn’t scary.
It was slow and steady.
The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..
Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.
He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—
Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.
Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.
“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.
Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”
A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.
“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”
“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”
A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.
You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.
“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.
Time to pick up where that phone call left off—
“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.
His breath hitched.
Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.
Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.
Slightly over seven inches, indeed.
Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.
“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.
His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.
Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”
Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”
Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”
“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”
He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”
Your face fell flat.
You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”
He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”
You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”
He blinked dumbly.
Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”
You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.
Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.
Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—
For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.
Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.
Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.
Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.
Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.
Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.
Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.
You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.
“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.
The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.
The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.
His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.
Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.
More nylon stitches popped.
Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.
Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.
Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.
A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”
Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.
Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.
The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.
The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.
You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.
He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.
He was so wrecked on intimacy. 
Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 
Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.
“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.
A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.
Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.
The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.
You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.
You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”
He made a choked off noise in response.
Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.
You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.
His muscles jumped under your lips.
Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.
He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.
Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.
“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”
“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”
Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.
Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”
His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.
Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”
You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”
The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.
It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.
“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”
Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”
He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.
Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.
The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.
Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.
Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.
He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”
“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.
With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”
You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.
Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.
His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.
His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.
Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.
When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.
His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?
To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.
Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.
Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.
It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.
Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”
He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.
Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.
Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.
In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.
You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.
The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.
“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”
A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”
Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.
“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.
You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.
You backed off. His face went lax in relief.
“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”
Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.
Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.
You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.
All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.
His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.
You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.
You draped his balls over your mouth.
It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.
Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.
“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.
With his approval, you indulged.
The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.
Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.
Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.
You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 
Eddie whimpered.
His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.
You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.
“Fuck, baby—”
At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.
Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.
The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.
His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.
Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.
“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”
His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”
Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”
“Is it the best?”
The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.
“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”
You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.
This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”
With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.
There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 
“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.
He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.
A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.
You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.
Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.
You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.
You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.
He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.
The pace was not shy.
You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.
“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.
Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.
Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.
His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.
You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.
In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.
At once, he was at home in your throat.
In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.
“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.
Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.
The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.
His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.
Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.
You swallowed.
And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.
In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.
“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”
His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.
You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”
“That I am!” he stated proudly.
Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.
Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”
You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”
The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.
He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”
~~~
“God, that feels so good.”
“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”
“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”
Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.
One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.
You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.
Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.
You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.
Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”
He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”
Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.
Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.
“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.
“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”
Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.
You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.
A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.
Oh, he was very awake.
Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”
“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.
He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.
You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”
“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.
Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.
“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—
Lightning struck, and the phone rang.
Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.
It rang a second time.
He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”
Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.
He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.
“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.
As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.
Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”
His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.
Thunder rocked the trailer.
“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”
The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.
He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.
Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.
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Drunk Girls Do Cry - LN
Summary: Lando has to take care of his drunk girlfriend after she has a girls night out and it’s safe to say she’s very much a mess.
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During their relationship, Lando has preferred to be present with y/n while she drinks. Not because he’s controlling or possessive but because she just can’t handle her drink. She is innocently ignorant to men who try to flirt with her, thinking they’re just being friendly and nice or trying to use her to get to her friends. They’re not. On more than one occasion Lando has stepped in and made his presence clear to the men thinking they have a chance.
But she promised she’d be with the girls so Lando told her to call if she needed him then decided to have Max over and livestream for Quadrant.
He does sort of keep tabs via her instagram and snapchat stories along with sending a couple messages to make sure she’s ok just for his own peace of mind.
Then a little after 2am strikes and the boys are still on livestream, that’s when they hear a racket outside making Max look at Lando with a small laugh.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Max asks making Lando smile.
“Probably-who the fuck is that?” Lando cackles checking the ring camera and finding the poor taxi driver trying to help her. “I have to go get her. One second.”
Lando disappears leaving Max to look at the chat then directly at the camera.
“Y/n is the messiest drunk, but she is so funny. We’ll see if he brings her in here.” Max whispers before hearing y/n shouting, though he’d bet she has no idea just how loud she’s being.
“Max? Where’s Max? No-Stop, I want to see him.” Y/n exclaims with thuds and Lando’s laughter following before she appears looking tearful making Max stop his own laughter to look at her in the same way a parent looks at a toddler who is hurt. “Max! Lando is laughing at me because…I fell out the taxi and-and at the club.”
“Lando, you horrible boyfriend. Don’t be so mean.” Max scolds just playing into it before he holds out his hand. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes, I’m bleeding!”
“Oh no. Lando, can you be a good boyfriend for once and actually take care of your girlfriend?” Max questions making Lando’s jaw drop since they both know Lando is one of the most tentative boyfriends. Max looks at her grazed plans which are actually bloodier than his expected while she seems to feel the pain set in. Eyes tearing up and lip quivering as he inspects the damage. “It’s alright, it’s not that bad.”
“It really hurts.” Y/n states with a wobbly voice thick as she tries to not cry on camera since she knows they’re on live but from hearing her voice like that Lando visibly grows concerned.
“Come on, baby. I’ll clean you up.” Lando states making her turn, lip jutted before she moves over as he shoots Max a look then guiding her out the room.
Lando takes her to the bathroom sitting her on the closed toilet lid before he smiles at her.
“Did you have a good time, baby? What happened to the rest of the girls?” Lando asks softly while cleaning up the blood from her palms and noting the fact he knees need a clean up too. But when he mentions the rest of the girls she was supposed to be with, she begins hiccuping and crying. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? What is it?”
“I went to the bathroom and when I came out they were gone. Then I realised I’d lost my phone and my whole bag! So I went to security and they called me a taxi.” Y/n explains making Lando’s stomach drop. “I-I need to tell the bank to cancel my cards and block my phone.”
“Alright, we’re going to get it all sorted but it’s late so we need to wait for tomorrow ok?” Lando assures her then gently kissing her cleaned up palms. “Better?”
Y/n nods before smiling when Lando stands up to kiss her forehead.
“Better?”
“Yeah, better.” She nods then sighing softly as he moves over and picks up her toothbrush. After putting toothpaste on it he moves over and gently opens her mouth, pushing her jaw down before beginning to brush her teeth for her, much to her amusement.
“I don’t trust you to do it properly.” Lando states making her pout for a moment before helping to coordinate it for him.
He keeps brushing making sure he reaches all needed areas before he grabs a cup for her to spit in. “Ok, I need a bit of help with the skincare steps. I know how picky you are.”
“No. Not tonight, just get me a cloth and rub it off.” She mutters shaking her head while he laughs a little.
“We have to do some of it. Your sober self will be mad with both of us if we don’t.”
Y/n only grumbles before he moves over getting a cloth to really get the thick of her make up off and to just get her skin kind of wet. Then following up with cleanser since in a more sober state she has talked him through the skincare routine when he’s helped with it.
“We left Max.” Y/n murmurs as he gently rubs the cleaner around her face trying to focus on not missing a spot.
“He’ll survive. He’s probably spilling all the gossip about us.” Lando jokes while y/n breaks into a smile. “Are you feeling ok? Not feeling sick or anything?”
“I think I need food and water. We were meant to go get pizzas after we finished for the night but we didn’t.” She pouts earning a nod from him.
“I think you need some food and water too. What sounds good?”
“I just want a sandwich.”
“Ok. We’ll finish up in here and get you a sandwich.” Lando smiles earning a slightly dopey grin in return.
Lando gets her wait in bed while he finds the biggest bottle of water he has and makes her a sandwich. “Ok, water and a sandwich-“
It was definitely optimistic to expect her to be awake, but he is a little sad the sandwich will go uneaten. He instead he puts the water down and finds a bucket, just incase she is sick, and heads back to see Max.
“Hey, mate. How’s she doing?” Max asks still on live but knowing Lando has been gone for the better part of an hour now.
“Lost her phone and bag, lost the girls entirely and had to get security to call her a taxi…but I’ve cleaned her up, didn’t manage to get her to eat anything but I left some water there. No way she’s going to remember any of that in the morning but I just figured I’d come let you know that I’m going to go to sleep too. Just wanted to check, you’re staying here right?”
“Yeah, yeah. If that’s alright.” Max nods getting a thumbs up and a quick hug. Then Lando leaves, only just catching his friend’s last words. “He is very cute with her. Never seen my boy so hooked on someone, he’s obsessed with her but in the best way. I mean he just loves her.”
-
Y/n wakes up with the overwhelming ache of her hangover feeling like she fell down a flight of stairs.
“Easy.” Lando soothes making her head whip around far too fast for her eyes to cope making her clamp them closed and groan. “You were a mess-“
“Don’t. God. Please don’t.” Y/n whines shaking her head then hiding herself in the pillow while feeling Lando’s arms wrap around her. “Where’s my phone?”
“I wish I knew, you came back bloody and in tears after a taxi drive dropped you off. Told me you went to the bathroom and came out, had lost the girls, and your bag had disappeared. We’ll need to sort all that out today when you’re ready.” Lando hums while gently rubbing her back.
“Oh fuck. Fucking hell.” Y/n groans then hiccuping, clearly the hangover adding to her emotions while he kisses her temple a couple times just letting her have the moment because really it’s an easy. “I’m so stupid. The girls are probably worried sick.”
“I text a couple of them to let them know you were home and with me.” Lando assures her since he did make sure to let them know that she was safe and no wandering around without anyone else there.
“What a disaster.” Y/n sighs then looking at her hands and grimacing. “Oh christ, how much did I fall over?”
“I don’t know, but I know it was enough that you needed some serious cleaning up.” Lando chuckles then pulling her hands over and almost repeating last night’s actions as he kisses her palms. “You were caught on live pouting to Max when you came in.”
“Poor Max.”
“Ah he loves you. Although it was like watching a parent with a toddler.”
It takes another couple hours and a few litres of water, but eventually she is up getting up and showering off the night before while Lando moves out to find Max awake eating a bowl of cereal he must’ve found while Lando and y/n were still in bed.
“How’s the princess?” Max asks making Lando sighs gently sitting down as he looks at his best friend.
“She’s feeling the after effects of alcohol. Still need to call the bank and block her cards and her phone.” Lando shrugs then tilting his head in gesture of her. “She’s having a shower now.”
“Well, I just wanted to see you guys before I headed out. I’m glad she’s ok, I thought I might wake up to find a note saying you were taking her to the hospital for alcohol poisoning with the state she was in.” Max jokes though he did genuinely think there was a chance with that.
“Ah, Maxie!” Y/n gasps when she appears looking damp but cleaned up in a pair of shorts and a stolen sweater from Lando. “I’m sorry for interrupting the live.”
“No, it’s fine. I think everyone does believe that you’re using Lando to get to me though.” Max sighs while she sits down on Lando’s lap, her hand going up to his hair immediately while he smirks a little at the comment of her liking Max but she doesn’t even seem to have a second thought about it. “Too bad I’m taken.”
“Oh yeah, I’m devastated. I’ll just have to settle for Lando.” Y/n hums sarcastically before they all burst out laughing. “Oh shit, uhh…baby, can I borrow your phone please?”
“Yes. Of course you can.” Lando smiles then pulling his hand from his pocket before he hands it to her.
“Thank you. I’ll try and be quick.” Y/n mumbles before taking off to another room so she doesn’t interrupt the boys.
Lando and Max end up talking about something for a while but it’s not long later than there’s a suddenly loud bang and a curse from y/n that follows, and unbeknownst to her it makes Lando literally jump up to his feet.
“I’m fine! It’s fine, I just-I dropped your phone but it’s fine! Nothing is broken, it landed on my foot!” Y/n exclaims while Max laughs shaking his head as Lando seems to consider still going through to check she’s ok.
“What?” Lando questions finally sitting back down.
“Just I think you’ve found the girl you’re going to marry and you don’t even seem to know it.” Max shrugs innocently while Lando looks at him in shock for a moment. There was a few things he expected from his friend but the suggestion of marriage was not one of them. “Oh come on, don’t act like I’m wrong.”
“I really never even thought about it.” Lando states now not being able to think about anything else.
A few minutes later and y/n reappears sitting back down on Lando’s lap as she had before, handing Lando his phone back. Lando is silent just taking a moment to admire his girlfriend while y/n rambles about what she’s going to have to do to get everything figured out for IDs and cards along with replacing her handbag and everything else that was in it. The easiest thing to replace seems to be her phone.
Neither notice Max capturing the moment that he intends to keep for the wedding day or when they have a kid. Whichever comes first.
“But essentially everything is sorted.” Y/n explains with a soft smile finally looking at Lando before frowning. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. I’m just glad you got everything figured out.” Lando shrugs as she grins and leans down to kiss him. “How are you feeling?”
“Uhh…better much better, but I could still use another nap just to really recover properly.” Y/n hums while shuffling down to mould herself against him. “Can I nap here?”
“Yeah, I’ve got no plans.” Lando smiles before raising his hand to Max with his middle finger up since he’s noticed they’re being recorded.
“I’ll leave the two of you to it. See you later.” Max states standing up while Lando hums and y/n grins at him, none the wiser to the video that was just captured of them. “Feel better, y/n. Don’t be mean to her, Lando.”
“I’m never mean.” Lando argues immediately as y/n sends his friend a small wave.
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